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Updated: May 13, 2025
His cousin, James Russell Lowell, once asked me regarding this, and my reply was that it reminded me of a character in the ``Biglow Papers'' who ``had a dre'dful winnin' way to make folks hate him. This was doubtless an overstatement, but it contained truth; for at times there was perhaps lacking in his handling of delicate questions something of the suaviter in modo.
I had myself never been a great reader of his poetry, when I met him, though when I was a boy of ten years I had heard my father repeat passages from the Biglow Papers against war and slavery and the war for slavery upon Mexico, and later I had read those criticisms of English poetry, and I knew Sir Launfal must be Lowell in some sort; but my love for him as a poet was chiefly centred in my love for his tender rhyme, 'Auf Wiedersehen', which I can not yet read without something of the young pathos it first stirred in me.
"Well, I did think that there was a troop of elephants doing tap dancing up here. But that isn't the point just what are you doing?" "Cleaning house." Ricky flicked a gray rag in his direction freeing a cloud of dust. "Don't you think it needs it?" Rupert sneezed. "It seems so. But why ? Miss Biglow!"
The poems which he published during the next twenty years did little to enhance his reputation, which, as a poet, must rest upon his "Biglow Papers," his odes, and his "Vision of Sir Launfal." Yet poetry was but one of his modes of expression, and, some think, the less important one.
Then, in the generation which has just passed away, we have such men as Thoreau, racy of his native soil; Longfellow, in his day and way the chief interpreter of America to England; Whittier, so intensely local that, as Professor Matthews puts it, "he wrote for New England rather than for the whole of the United States;" Lowell, courtly, cultured, cosmopolitan, and yet the creator of Hosea Biglow; Holmes, as American in his humour as Lamb was English, who justly ranks with Lamb and Goldsmith among the personally best-beloved writers of the English tongue.
He was one of the finest after-dinner speakers, and that brought him in contact with the best of English public life. He told me an amusing instance. As soon as he was appointed, everybody who expected to meet him sent to the book stores and purchased his works. Among them, of course, was the "Biglow Papers." One lady asked him if he had brought Mrs. Biglow with him.
Van Astrachan made a dead halt at the idea of Dick Follingsbee. He never would receive that man under his roof, he said, and he never would enter his house; and when Mr. Van Astrachan once said a thing of this kind, as Mr. Hosea Biglow remarks, "a meeting-house wasn't sotter." But then Mrs.
Swinburne says that the starting-point of their discussion was the Biglow Papers, which 'famous and admirable work of American humour' Jowett placed in the second class. Swinburne himself thought that the Biglow Papers was too good for the second class and not quite good enough for the third.
After a while Rupert went away without Charity noticing his leaving. The sun burned Val's cheek where the paint had dried and he felt a trickle of moisture edge down his spine. But Charity worked on, thoroughly intent upon what was growing under her brushes. It must have been close to noon when she was at last interrupted. "Hello there, Miss Biglow!"
In 1848 he pub. a third vol. of Poems, A Fable for Critics, The Biglow Papers, and The Vision of Sir Launfal; and he was in 1855 appointed Professor of Modern Languages at Harvard in succession to Longfellow. His later poems included various Odes in celebration of national events, some of which were coll. in Under the Willows, The Cathedral, and Heartsease and Rue.
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