myself that I had lived to see the peaceable establishment of the Red
Republic of Letters。
Many of the things I shall put down I have no doubt told before in a
fragmentary way； how many I cannot be quite sure； as I do not very
often read my own prose works。 But when a man dies a great deal is
said of him which has often been said in other forms； and now this
dear old house is dead to me in one sense； and I want to gather up my
recollections and wind a string of narrative round them； tying them
up like a nosegay for the last tribute： the same blossoms in it I
have often laid on its threshold while it was still living for me。
We Americans are all cuckoos；we make our homes in the nests of
other birds。 I have read somewhere that the lineal descendants of
the man who carted off the body of William Rufus； with Walter
Tyrrel's arrow sticking in it； have driven a cart （not absolutely the
same one； I suppose） in the New Forest； from that day to this。 I
don't quite understand Mr。 Ruskin's saying （if he said it） that he
couldn't get along in a country where there were no castles； but I do
think we lose a great deal in living where there are so few permanent
homes。 You will see how much I parted with which was not reckoned in
the price paid for the old homestead。
I shall say many things which an uncharitable reader might find fault
with as personal。 I should not dare to call myself a poet if I did
not； for if there is anything that gives one a title to that name； it
is that his inner nature is naked and is not ashamed。 But there are
many such things I shall put in words； not because they are personal；
but because they are human； and are born of just such experiences as
those who hear or read what I say are like to have had in greater or
less measure。 I find myself so much like other people that I often
wonder at the coincidence。 It was only the other day that I sent out
a copy of verses about my great…grandmother's picture； and I was
surprised to find how many other people had portraits of their great…
grandmothers or other progenitors； about which they felt as I did
about mine； and for whom I had spoken； thinking I was speaking for
myself only。 And so I am not afraid to talk very freely with you； my
precious reader or listener。 You too； Beloved； were born somewhere
and remember your birthplace or your early home； for you some house
is haunted by recollections； to some roof you have bid farewell。
Your hand is upon mine； then； as I guide my pen。 Your heart frames
the responses to the litany of my remembrance。 For myself it is a
tribute of affection I am rendering； and I should put it on record
for my own satisfaction； were there none to read or to listen。
I hope you will not say that I have built a pillared portico of
introduction to a humble structure of narrative。 For when you look
at the old gambrel…roofed house； you will see an unpretending
mansion； such as very possibly you were born in yourself； or at any
rate such a place of residence as your minister or some of your well…
to…do country cousins find good enough； but not at all too grand for
them。 We have stately old Colonial palaces in our ancient village；
now a city； and a thriving one；square…fronted edifices that stand
back from the vulgar highway； with folded arms； as it were； social
fortresses of the time when the twilight lustre of the throne reached
as far as our half…cleared settlement； with a glacis before them in
the shape of a long broad gravel…walk； so that in King George's time
they looked as formidably to any but the silk…stocking gentry as
Gibraltar or Ehrenbreitstein to a visitor without the password。 We
forget all this in the kindly welcome they give us to…day； for some
of them are still standing and doubly famous； as we all know。 But
the gambrel…roofed house； though stately enough for college
dignitaries and scholarly clergymen； was not one of those old Tory；
Episcopal…church…goer's strongholds。 One of its doors opens directly
upon the green； always called the Common； the other； facing the
south； a few steps from it； over a paved foot…walk； on the other side
of which is the miniature front yard； bordered with lilacs and
syringas。 The honest mansion makes no pretensions。 Accessible；
companionable； holding its hand out to all； comfortable； respectable；
and even in its way dignified； but not imposing； not a house for his
Majesty's Counsellor； or the Right Reverend successor of Him who had
not where to lay his head； for something like a hundred and fifty
years it has stood in its lot； and seen the generations of men come
and go like the leaves of the forest。 I passed some pleasant hours；
a few years since； in the Registry of Deeds and the Town Records；
looking up the history of the old house。 How those dear friends of
mine； the antiquarians； for whose grave councils I compose my
features on the too rare Thursdays when I am at liberty to meet them；
in whose human herbarium the leaves and blossoms of past generations
are so carefully spread out and pressed and laid away； would listen
to an expansion of the following brief details into an Historical
Memoir！
The estate was the third lot of the eighth 〃Squadron〃 （whatever that
might be）； and in the year 1707 was allotted in the distribution of
undivided lands to 〃Mr。 ffox；〃 the Reverend Jabez Fox of Woburn； it
may be supposed； as it passed from his heirs to the first Jonathan
Hastings； from him to his son； the long remembered College Steward；
from him in the year 1792 to the Reverend Eliphalet Pearson；
Professor of Hebrew and other Oriental languages in Harvard College；
whose large personality swam into my ken when I was looking forward
to my teens； from him the progenitors of my unborn self。
I wonder if there are any such beings nowadays as the great
Eliphalet； with his large features and conversational basso profundo；
seemed to me。 His very name had something elephantine about it； and
it seemed to me that the house shook from cellar to garret at his
footfall。 Some have pretended that he had Olympian aspirations； and
wanted to sit in the seat of Jove and bear the academic thunderbolt
and the aegis inscribed Christo et Ecclesiae。 It is a common
weakness enough to wish to find one's self in an empty saddle； Cotton
Mather was miserable all his days； I am afraid； after that entry in
his Diary： 〃This Day Dr。 Sewall was chosen President； for his Piety。〃
There is no doubt that the men of the older generation look bigger
and more formidable to the boys whose eyes are turned up at their
venerable countenances than the race which succeeds them； to the same
boys grown older。 Everything is twice as large； measured on a three…
year…olds three…foot scale as on a thirty…year…olds six…foot scale；
but age magnifies and aggravates persons out of due proportion。 Old
people are a kind of monsters to little folks； mild manifestations of
the terrible； it may be； but still； with their white locks and ridged
and grooved features； which those horrid little eyes exhaust of their
details； like so many microscopes not exactly what human beings ought
to be。 The middle…aged and young men have left comparatively faint
impressions in my memory； but how grandly the procession of the old
clergymen who filled our pulpit from time to time； and passed the day
under our roof； marches before my closed eyes！ At their head the
most venerable David Osgood； the majestic minister of Medford； with
massive front and shaggy over…shadowing eyebrows； following in the
train； mild…eyed John Foster of Brighton； with the lambent aurora of
a smile about his pleasant mouth； which not even the 〃Sabbath〃 could
subdue to the true Levitical aspect； and bulky Charles Steams of
Lincoln； author of 〃The Ladies' Philosophy of Love。 A Poem。 1797〃
（how I stared at him！ he was the first living person ever pointed out
to me as a poet）； and Thaddeus Mason Harris of Dorchester （the same
who； a poor youth； trudging along； staff in hand； being then in a
stress of sore need； found all at once that somewhat was adhering to
the end of his stick； which somewhat proved to be a gold ring of
price； bearing the words； 〃God speed thee； Friend！〃）； already in
decadence as I remember him； with head slanting forward and downward
as if looking for a place to rest in after his learned labors； and
that other Thaddeus； the old man of West Cambridge； who outwatched
the rest so long after they had gone to sleep in their own
churchyards； that it almost seemed as if he meant to sit up until the
morning of the resurrection； and bringing up the rear； attenuated but
vivacious little Jonathan Homer of Newton； who was； to look upon； a
kind of expurgated； reduced and Americanized copy of Voltaire； but
very unlike him in wickedness or wit。 The good…humored junior member
of our family always loved to make him happy by setting him
chirruping about Miles Coverdale's Version； and the Bishop's Bible；
and how he wrote to his friend Sir Isaac （Coffin） about something or
other； and how Sir Isaac wrote back that he was very much pleased
with the contents of his letter； and so on about Sir Isaac； ad
libitum；for the admiral was his old friend； and he was proud of
him。 The kindly little old gentleman was a collector of Bibles； and
made himself believe he thought he should publish a learned
Commentary some day or other； but his friends looked for it only in
the Greek Calends；say on the 31st of April； when that should come
round； if you would modernize the phrase。 I recall also one or two
exceptional and infrequent visitors with perfect distinctness：
cheerful Elijah Kellogg； a lively missionary from the region of the
Quoddy Indians； with much hopeful talk about Sock Bason and his
tribe； also poor old Poor…house…Parson Isaac Smith； his head going
like a China mandarin； as he discussed the possibilities of the
escape of that distinguished captive whom he spoke of under the name；
if I can reproduce phonetically its vibrating nasalities of 〃General
Mmbongaparty；〃a name suggestive to my young imagination of a
dangerous； loose…jointed skeleton； threatening us all like the armed
figure of Death in my little New England Primer。
I have mentioned only the names o