Whittier, grown old amid American scenery and life, we can only
guess from his earlier poems, which are as naturalistic, fresh and unmystical
as could be desired; but certain it is that, from his long
familiarity with the medieval view of nature, and its semi-pagan
offspring, the romantic view, he was brought, for the greater part of
his life, to look upon the world of men and things either as the middle
scene of a miracle play, with a heaven of rewarding happiness above
and a purgatory of purifying pain below, or else as a garment concealing,
while it revealed, spiritual forms of unfathomed mystery.
During this time he could hear “the trailing garments of the night
sweep through her marble halls,” and see “the stars come out to
listen to the music of the seas.” Later on, as he approached his
second youth (he was spared a second childhood), he tended to a more
pagan view. About the time when he was writing The Mask of
Pandora, he could see “in the sunset Jason’s fleece of gold,” and hear
“the waves of the distracted sea piteously calling and lamenting”
his lost friend. But through all the periods of his life his view of the
world was essentially religious and subjective, and, consequently, his
manner of dealing with it hymnal or lyric. This fact, even more than
his merits as an artist, serves to account for his immense popularity.
Too well-informed, too appreciative and too modest to deem himself
the peer of the “grand old masters,” or one of “those far stars
that come in sight once in a century,” he made it his aim to write
something that should “make a purer faith and manhood shine in the
untutored heart,” and to do this in the way that should best reach
that heart. This aim determined at once his choice of subjects and
his mode of treating them.
The subjects of Longfellow’s poetry are, for the most part, aspects of nature as influencing human feeling, either directly or through historical association, the tender or pathetic sides and incidents of life, or heroic deeds preserved in legend or history. He had a special fondness for records of human devotion and self-sacrifice, whether they were monkish legends, Indian tales, Norse drápas or bits of American history. His mode of treatment is subjective and lyric. No matter what form his works assume, whether the epic, as in Evangeline, The Courtship of Miles Standish and Hiawatha, the dramatic, as in The Spanish Student, The Golden Legend and The Mask of Pandora, or the didactic, as in The Psalm of Life and many of the minor poems; they are all subjective. This is not the highest praise that can be given to works of art; but it implies less dispraise in Longfellow’s case than in almost any other, by reason of his noble subjectivity.
If we look in Longfellow’s poetry for originality of thought, profound psychological analysis or new insights into nature, we shall be disappointed. Though very far from being hampered by any dogmatic philosophical or religious system of the past, his mind, until near the end, found sufficient satisfaction in the Christian view of life to make it indifferent to the restless, inquiring spirit of the present, and disinclined to play with any more recent solution of life’s problems. He had no sympathy with either scepticism or formal dogmatism, and no need to hazard rash guesses respecting man’s destiny. He disliked the psychological school of art, believing it to be essentially morbid and unhealthy. He had no sympathy with the tendency represented by George Eliot, or with any attempt to be analytic in art. He held art to be essentially synthetic, creative and manifesting, not analytic, destructive or questioning. Hence he never strove to draw from nature some new secret, or to show in her relations never discovered before. His aim was to impress upon her familiar facts and aspects the seal of his own gracious nature. A man in intellect and courage, yet without conceit or bravado; a woman in sensibility and tenderness, yet without shrinking or weakness; a saint in purity of life and devotion of heart, yet without asceticism or religiosity; a knight-errant in hatred of wrong and contempt of baseness, yet without self-righteousness or cynicism; a prince in dignity and courtesy, yet without formality or condescension; a poet in thought and feeling, yet without jealousy or affectation; a scholar in tastes and habits, yet without aloofness or bookishness; a dutiful son, a loving husband, a judicious father, a trusty friend, a useful citizen and an enthusiastic patriot,—he united in his strong, transparent humanity almost every virtue under heaven. A thoroughly healthy, well-balanced, harmonious nature, accepting life as it came, with all its joys and sorrows, and living it beautifully and hopefully, without canker and without uncharity. No man ever lived more completely in the light than Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Perhaps the most remarkable traits in Longfellow’s character were his accessibility and his charity. Though a great worker, he seemed always to have time for anything he was asked to do. He was never too busy to see a caller, to answer a letter, or to assist, by word or deed, any one that needed assistance. His courtesy to all visitors, even to strangers and children who called to look at him, or who, not venturing to call, hung about his garden-gate in order to catch a glimpse of him, was almost a marvel. He always took it for granted that they had come to see Washington’s study, and, accordingly, took the greatest interest in showing them that. He never, as long as he could write, was known to refuse his autograph, and so far was he from trying to protect himself from intruders that he rarely drew the blinds of his study windows at night, though that study was on the ground floor and faced the street. His acts of charity, though performed in secret, were neither few nor small. Of him it may be said with perfect truth, “He went about doing good”; and not with his money merely, but also with his presence and his encouragement. To how many sad hearts did he come like an angel, with the rich tones of his voice waking harmonics of hope, where before there had been despair and silence? How many young literary people, disappointed at the unsuccess of their first attempts, did he comfort and spur on to renewed and higher efforts! How careful he was to quench no smoking flax! How utterly free he was from jealousy or revengefulness! While poor, morbid Edgar Allan Poe was writing violent and scurrilous articles upon him, accusing him of plagiarism and other literary misdemeanours, he was delivering enthusiastic lectures to his classes on Poe’s poetry. His charity was unbounded. Once, when the present writer proposed to the president of the Harvard University Visiting Committee that Longfellow should be placed on that committee, the president replied: “What would be the use? Longfellow could never be brought to find fault with anybody or anything.” And it was true. His whole life was bathed in that sympathy, that love which suffers long and envies not, which forgives unto seventy times seven times, and as many more if need be. Even in his last years, when loss of friends and continual physical pain made life somewhat “cold, and dark and dreary” for him, he never complained, lamented or blamed the arrangements of nature, and the only way in which it was possible to know that he suffered was through his ever-increasing delight in the health and strength of younger men. His whole nature was summed up in the lines of his favourite poet:—
| “Luce intellettual, piena d’amore, |
See his Life . . . with Extracts from his Journals and Correspondence, by Samuel Longfellow, and the “Riverside” edition of the prose and poems (Boston, 11 vols., 1886–1890). An enlarged edition of the Life (3 vols., 1891) included the journals and correspondence, 1866–1882, published in 1887 as Final Memorials (Boston and New York). Also the volume by T. W. Higginson in the “American Men of Letters” series (1902); E. C. Stedman’s criticism in Poets of America; and an article in W. D. Howells’ My Literary Friends and Acquaintance (New York, 1900) which contains a valuable account of Longfellow’s later life. (T. Da.)
LONG FIVES. This game, though played in a tennis-court,
bears but a slight resemblance to tennis, but is nevertheless a
valuable form of preparatory practice. The game is 8 or 11
points, each stroke won counting one point to the winner. The
server gives 3 points in 8, or 4 points in 11 to the striker-out.
There are no chases. The winning openings count as at tennis.
If a ball be struck into any other gallery or opening, it may be
counted, by arrangement, either as a “let” (the rest being
annulled) or against the striker; a similar arrangement is made
for balls that make any chase on the hazard-side, or a chase
of the last gallery on the service-side.
LONGFORD, a county of Ireland in the province of Leinster,
bounded N.W. by Leitrim, N.E. by Cavan, E. and S. by Westmeath
and W. by Lough Ree and Roscommon. With the
exception of Carlow, Louth and Dublin, it is the smallest county
in Ireland, the area being 269,408 acres, or about 421 sq. m.
The general level surface is broken occasionally by low hills,
which cover a considerable area at its northern angle. The
principal rivers are the Camlin, which rises near Granard and
flows past Longford to the Shannon, and the Inny, which
entering the county from Westmeath crosses its southern
corner and falls into Lough Ree. Lough Ree is partly included in
Longford, and the other principal lakes are Lough Gowna,
Derrylough, Lough Drum and Lough Bannow.
The Silurian axis of Newry reaches the north of this county, where Lough Gowna lies upon it. The rest of the county, but for anticlinals which bring up Old Red Sandstone at Longford town and Ardagh, belongs to the Carboniferous Limestone plain, in which Lough Ree forms a very characteristic lake, with signs of extension by solution along its shores. Marble of fine quality has been raised. In the north indications of iron are abundant, and there are also some traces of lead.
The climate is somewhat moist and cold, and there is a large extent of marsh and bog. The soil in the southern districts resting on the limestone is a deep loam well adapted for pasture, but in the north it is often poor. The proportion of tillage to pasture is roughly as 1 to 2. Oats and potatoes, in decreasing quantities, are the principal crops. The numbers of cattle, sheep, pigs and poultry are well maintained. The population is almost wholly rural, but the principal industry of agriculture is supplemented by a slight manufacture of coarse woollens and linen. The Midland Great Western line from Mullingar to Sligo crosses the centre of the county by way of the county town of Longford; and the Cavan branch touches the extreme east. The Royal Canal enters the county in the south at Abbeyshrule, and joins the Shannon near Cloondara.
