The Dallas weekly herald. [volume] (Dallas, Tex.) 1873-1885, 1874-12-26


hOusos, or roin some way
associated with the ownership Of
rare historical property, Longlollow
lwclls IN tho freedom Of literary
retirement in the old Crnigc house,
on the shaded avenue to Watcrton,
n mansion which Washington took
possession of soon after tho battle
of Bunker Hill, aud which the poet
filed with the associations Of song,
lie perfectly describes tho house in
"Thc Old Clock on the Stairs
We last saw Longlelow at the
funeral of Agassiz, Tho old college
chapel was filed with the perfume
of flowers and through tho aroma
the delicious music of Cherubim' S
requiem was solcmnly falling. He
looked wrinkled and old his hair
was thin and silvcly, and he seemed
to feel that around the generation
Of men he represented tho shadows
of eventide were falling, He has
three daughters, who usually remain
with him at Cambridge, though
fond Of society and travel,
His residence is much visited-so
much so, in fact, that horse-cars
usually stop before the house and
the conductors shout Long
fellow's!" Curiosity-seckcrs some.
times venture within the inviting
precincts of the poets estate. A
party some time ago made such Il
venture, and were Hospitality re-
ceived by the poet, who astonished
them with the historical associations
Of the house. AS they were about
leaving one Of them asksd:
"Can you tell us who lives here
now?"
"Certainly, sir; live here"
ooh, you? What is your name ?''
"Longfellow."
"Any relation to the Wiscasset
Longtellers?'
Tho poet bowed out the party,
rcflectively.
james Russell Lowell, the humor-
list, lives not far from Longfellow, Il,
Elmwood, on an old colonial estate
which retains all of1he old features
of its traditional condition. The
poets pride seems to be in his trees,
and although the lawns in front OF
the old mansian make some pretcn-
sions to modern art. one may wan
der into the acres that stretch be.
You'd us into an ancient forest The
display Of really magnificent Gins
induced the poet to call the provin-
cial estate Elmwood. 1t comprises
about thirteen acres, and is only
by the road from Mount
Auburn:
thought of n mound in Sweet Auburn,
Where a little he r'stone stooi,
How the snowfiakes wrre folding it gently
AS robins the babes in the wood.
Oliver Wendell uoImes, II natty
man, who may daily be seen
in the streets Of Boston. looking far
more like IL neat retired tailor than
a philosopher or poet, was born and
passed his childhood in the old his.
toric house at Cambridge, in which
the plan Of the American army was
begun and the battle of Bunker
Hill was planned. He long lived
in Charles street, Boston, near the
college, in whose dissecting
room he for many years has cracked
his jokes over the dead, to the great
delight of tho medical students.
He has now settled down among
the true-blue money princes OF
Beacon street.
Authors of modern date are wealthy
fellows.
Emerson still lives ut Concord in
n house and on an estate long his
toric. He is an old man, seldom
in public, though his
bowed form was seen bending over
the grave of Sumner on that still,
mild afternoon, to the music Of
trombones and the singing of Lu.
theirs grand hymn, the statesman
was lowered into his bed of flowers.
Whittier, q constant contributor
to the Atlantic during all the days
Of its history, lives in very plain
little cottage on the Mcrrimack, at
Amcsbury. He, too, is growing
Did, being nearly sixty, but his muse
seems to gather ripcness as the long
curtain of his life moves on. He
has written nothing finer
han his tribute to Sumner. "Snow
Bound gives us true picture Of his
Early home and early life; for all
is characters are real sketches,
wen to poor, crazy Harriet Liver
more, without any Of the cololings
If authorship. Garrison was the
irst to discover poet in the hard
farmer boy, and when the
first met the poet it
vas in the town of East Havcrhill,
md he found him at work in the
ield. "Hazel Blossoms suggests
he happy home which Whittier had
With his sister after his retirement
rom journalism. Elizabeth Whit
Ter was very amiable and gifted
luakeress, and the poet was accus-
omcd to submit to her all that he
wrote. He was left very lonely after
Ter death. "Since she died." said
lie to a friend, patheticaily, II can
hardly tell whether what | write is
rood for anything or not"
]. Il. Trowbr dge, an old contrib
ltor to the Atlantic, and the editor
# Our Young Folks in the prosper
'us days of Boston publishing, lives
It Arlington, near Cambridge, on a
,lace that is associated with Mother
3athorick's exploit of revolutionary
anne. He continues to communi-
ate with a large audience of young
eaders by writing for ST Nicholas
nd the Youths Companion, though |
t is his ambition to devote the re-
of his literary life to more
cvere and careful composition. He,
90, has turned gray. He has n
r;kinp f,ca with ramarkahla