James Russell Lowell, A Biography; vol 2/2Scudder, Horace Elisha
History
James Russell Lowell, A Biography; vol 2/2
Scudder, Horace Elisha
Authors, American -- 19th century -- Biography; Diplomats -- United States -- Biography; Lowell, James Russell, 1819-1891
so, by natural association, to one of his old themes, the sanctity of
the English tongue. In introducing Webster also, he has some quiet
criticism on the function of Form; and when he passes to Chapman, an
enquiry into the personal element in literature leads him into some
remarks on biographies, autobiographies, and the modern zest for
intimacies in the lives of men, remarks which gain some earnestness, no
doubt, from experiences which he had undergone.
But for the most part, he keeps closely to his business of inviting his
hearers to share with him the enjoyment of the dramatists whom he reads
and comments on, and when we compare the actual appreciation and
criticism in the two books, the difference is mainly in the mellowness
and quiet assurance which pervade the later treatment, and in the fact
that in the earlier book he was more concerned with what in
old-fashioned terms were the “beauties” of the poets, in the later, with
the art and the constructive faculty.
In his half-homeless condition, Lowell looked with eagerness to his
summers in England. There he had in its leisurely form the social life
which had come to be a real solace to him, and there too he found the
world arranged for the ease and comfort of a solitary. He sailed for
England this year on the 21st of April, and found himself shortly in his
familiar lodgings in London. He liked the sense of world activity which
he felt in the heart of that great city. “Nothing can be more
bewildering,” he wrote to his daughter, “than the sudden change in my
habits and surroundings. Were it merely from the dumbness of
Southborough to the clatter and chatter of London, it would be queer
enough; from the rising and falling murmur of the mill to this roar of
the human torrent. But I can hardly help laughing sometimes when I think
how a single step from my hermitage takes me into Babylon. Meanwhile it
amuses and interests me. My own vitality seems to reënforce itself as if
by some unconscious transfusion of the blood from these ever-throbbing
arteries of life into my own.”[99]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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