

HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL. 



351 



it gives me a grim pleasure to recall ; for no ma- 

 ternal or other female eyes would explore the cav- 

 ity of that dread implement in search of contra- 

 band commodities." Of the homesickness that he 

 experienced he writes : " Mine was not a bad case, 

 but it excited sympathy. There was an ancient 

 faded old lady in the house, very kindly, but very 

 deaf, rustling about in dark autumnal foliage of 

 silk or other murmurous fabric, somewhat given 

 to snuff, but a very worthy gentlewoman of the 

 poor-relation variety. She comforted me, I well 

 remember, but not with apples, and stayed me, 

 but not with flagons. She went, in her benevo- 

 lence, and, taking a blue and white soda powder, 

 mingled the same in water, and encouraged me 

 to drink the result. It might be a specific for 

 seasickness, but it was not for homesickness." 



He says, when describing the school building : 

 " On the side of the long room was a large clock 

 dial bearing these words, ' Youth is the seed- 

 time of life.' I had indulged in a prejudice up 

 to that hour that youth was the budding-time 

 of life, and this clock dial, perpetually twitting 

 me with its seedy moral, always had a forbid- 

 ding look to my vernal apprehension. ... A 

 slight immature boy finds his materials of 

 thought and enjoyment in very shallow and 

 simple sources. Yet a kind of romance gilds 

 for me the tableland of that cold New England 

 hill. It did not take much to please us, I sus- 

 pect. What else could have made us think it- 

 great sport to leave our warm beds in the mid- 

 dle of winter and ' camp out ' on the floor of our 

 room with blankets disposed tentwise, except 

 the fact that to a boy a new discomfort in place 

 of an old comfort is often a luxury." 



From Andover Holmes went to Harvard Col- 

 lege. At Andover he had made his first at- 

 tempt at rhyme in a translation of the first book 

 of Virgil's " ^Erieid," in which he began with 

 true New England disregard of the rights of the 

 letter r : 



Thus by the power of Jove's imperial arm 

 The boiling ocean trembled into calm. 



This ear defect Holmes must have corrected, 

 hard as the task often proves, for no one was 

 more sensitive than he to the slightest peculiar- 

 ities in speech. He was graduated in 1829, and 

 was one of 16 members of the class who were 

 elected to the Phi Beta Kappa Society. He 

 was during his course a frequent contributor 

 to college publications, and delivered the poem 

 at commencement. Lying in the Charlestown 

 Navy Yard at that time was the United States 

 frigate ''Constitution," which had been given 

 the appellation of " Old Ironsides." It was pro- 

 posed by the Government to break up this ship as 

 no longer fit for service. A general exclamation 

 of disapproval went up, and an expression of 

 this disapproval was copied from the New York 

 " Journal of Commerce " into the Boston " Ad- 

 vertiser," where it fell under the eye of Holmes, 

 who then wrote the well-known lyric beginning 

 " Ay, tear her tattered ensign down ! " which 

 brought him immediate reputation, and did 

 more than any other expression to save the ves- 

 sel from destruction. 



Holmes entered Cambridge law school, but 

 the single year that he spent there must have 

 seen more midnight oil burned over manuscript 



verses than over text-books, for during it he" 

 produced some of the well-known lyrics that 

 grace his earliest volume, published in 1836. 

 Among the very first was " The Last Leaf." 

 He tells us that this poem referred to an old Revo- 

 lutionary soldier " whose costume (cocked hat 

 and knee breeches) was out of date, but whose 

 patriotism never changed with years." Poe dis- 

 cussed the stanzas as a new form of meter, and 

 Abraham Lincoln recited them from memory to 

 Gov. John A. Andrew. Holmes soon learned 

 that his taste was not for the law, and as the 

 instincts of his surgical ancestor worked within 

 him, he decided to turn his attention to the 

 study of medicine. After a course with Dr. 

 James Jackson he went abroad and spent three 

 years in preparation, chiefly in Paris, being 

 graduated in 1836. Meantime, in company with 

 Epes Sargent and Park Benjamin, he had been 

 a contributor to " The Harbinger," the profits of 

 which were to go toward the erection of an asy- 



he 



sy- 

 ub- 



lum for the blind, and on his return 

 lished a slender volume of poems. 



He was chosen Professor of Anatomy and 

 Physiology in Dartmouth College in 1839, and 

 one year later he married Amelia, daughter of 

 Judge Charles Jackson, of the Supreme Court 

 of Massachusetts. The young pair settled in 

 Boston, where Dr. Holmes began a general prac- 

 tice of his profession. He also established a 

 summer home in Pittsfield, Mass. In 1847 he 

 became Professor of Anatomy and Physiology 

 at Harvard College, succeeding Dr. John C. 

 Warren. He had gained three of the Boylston 

 prizes for medical dissertations, and these essays 

 were published in 1838. He went upon the 

 lyceum lecture platform, where many of the 

 American public can still remember his charm- 

 ing essays of mingled prose and verse, always 

 elegant, with learning, genial humor, and sound 

 sense sent home with keen and delicate wit. 

 The following stanzas chosen from poems that 

 he read in connection with those lectures will give 

 an idea of his happy quality in this field. These 

 stanzas are from the poem entitled " After a. 

 Lecture on Wordsworth " : 



Come, spread your wings, as I spread mine, 



And leave this crowded hall 

 For where the eyes of twilight shine 



O'er evening's western wall. 



These are the pleasant Berkshire hills, 



Each with its leafy crown ; 

 Hark ! from their sides a thousand rills 



Come singing sweetly down. 



A thousand rills ; they leap and shine, 

 Strained through the shadowy nooks, 



Till, clasped in manv a gathering twine, 

 They swell a hundred brooks. 



A hundred brooks, and still they run 



With ripple, shade, and gleam. 

 Till, clustering all their braids in one, 



They flow a single stream. 



A bracelet spun from mountain mist, 



A silvery sash unwound, 

 With ox-bow curve and sinuous twist 



It writhes to reach the Sound. 



This is my bark, a pygmy's ship ; 



Beneath a child it rolls ; 

 Fear not, one body makes it dip, 



But not a thousand souls. 





