The fiery wonder sinks, and all along
A dark deep crimson rests--a sea of blood,
Untroubled by a wave. And over all
Bendeth a luminous arch of pale, pure white,
Clearly contrasted with the blue above,
And the dark red beneath it. Glorious!
How like a pathway for the Shining Ones,
The pure and beautiful intelligences
Who minister in Heaven, and offer up
Their praise as incense, or like that which rose
Before the Pilgrim prophet, when the tread
Of the most holy angels brightened it,
And in his dream the haunted sleeper saw
The ascending and descending of the blest!
And yet another change! O'er half the sky
A long bright flame is trembling, like the sword
Of the great angel of the guarded gate
Of Paradise, when all the holy streams
And beautiful bowers of Eden-land blushed red
Beneath its awful wavering, and the eyes
Of the outcasts quailed before its glare,
As from the immediate questioning of God.
And men are gazing at these "signs in heaven,"
With most unwonted earnestness, and fair
And beautiful brows are reddening in the light
Of this strange vision of the upper air:
Even as the dwellers of Jerusalem
Beleaguered by the Romans--when the skies
Of Palestine were thronged with fiery shapes,
And from Antonia's tower the mailed Jew
Saw his own image pictured in the air,
Contending with the heathen; and the priest
Beside the temple's altar veiled his face
From that fire-written language of the sky.
Oh God of mystery! these fires are thine!
Thy breath hath kindled them, and there they burn
Amid the permanent glory of Thy heavens,
That earliest revelation written out
In starry language, visible to all,
Lifting unto Thyself the heavy eyes
Of the down-looking spirits of the earth!
The Indian, leaning on his hunting-bow,
Where the ice-mountains hem the frozen pole,
And the hoar architect of winter piles
With tireless hand his snowy pyramids,
Looks upward in deep awe,--while all around
The eternal ices kindle with the hues
Which tremble on their gleaming pinnacles
And sharp cold ridges of enduring frost,--
And points his child to the Great Spirit's fire.
Alas for us who boast of deeper lore,
If in the maze of our vague theories,
Our speculations, and our restless aim
To search the secret, and familiarize
The awful things of nature, we forget
To own Thy presence in Thy mysteries!
This imitation of "The Old Oaken Bucket" was written in 1826, when
Whittier was in his nineteenth year, and except a single stanza, no
part of it was ever before in print. The willow the young poet had in
mind was on the bank of Country Brook, near Country Bridge, and also
near the site of Thomas Whittier's log house. Mr. Whittier once pointed
out this spot to me as one in which he delighted in his youth. On a
grassy bank, almost encircled by a bend in the stream, stood, and
perhaps still stands, just such a "storm-battered, water-washed willow"
as is here described:--
THE WILLOW
Oh, dear to my heart are the scenes which delighted
My fancy in moments I ne'er can recall,
When each happy hour new pleasures invited,
And hope pictured visions more lovely than all.
When I gazed with a light heart transported and glowing
On the forest-crowned hill, and the rivulet's tide,
O'ershaded with tall grass, and rapidly flowing
Around the lone willow that stood by its side--
The storm-battered willow, the ivy-bound willow, the water-washed
willow, that grew by its side.
Dear scenes of past years, when the objects around me
Seemed forms to awaken the transports of joy;
Ere yet the dull cares of experience had found me,
The dearly-loved visions of youth to destroy,--
Ye seem to awaken, whene'er I discover
The grass-shadowed rivulet rapidly glide,
The green verdant meads of the vale wandering over
And laving the willows that stand by its side--
The storm-battered willow, the ivy-bound willow, the water-washed
willow, that stands by its side;--
How oft 'neath the shade of that wide-spreading willow
I have laid myself down from anxiety free,
Reclining my head on the green grassy pillow,
That waved round the roots of that dearly-loved tree;
Where swift from the far distant uplands descending,
In the bright sunbeam sparkling, the rivulet's tide
With murmuring echoes came gracefully wending
Its course round the willow that stood by its side--
The storm-battered willow, the ivy-bound willow, the water-washed
willow that stood by its side.
Haunts of my childhood, that used to awaken
Emotions of joy in my infantile breast,
Ere yet the fond pleasures of youth had forsaken
My bosom, and all the bright dreams you impressed
On my memory had faded, ye give not the feeling
Of joy that ye did, when I gazed on the tide,
As gracefully winding, its currents came stealing
Around the lone willow that stood by its side--
The storm-battered willow, the ivy-bound willow, the water-washed
willow, that stood by its side.
This is a fragment of a poem written in the album of a cousin in
Philadelphia, in 1838. It was never before in print:--
THE USES OF SORROW
It may be that tears at whiles
Should take the place of folly's smiles,
When 'neath some Heaven-directed blow,
Like those of Horeb's rock, they flow;
For sorrows are in mercy given
To fit the chastened soul for Heaven;
Prompting with woe and weariness
Our yearning for that better sky,
Which, as the shadows close on this,
Grows brighter to the longing eye.
For each unwelcome blow may break,
Perchance, some chain which binds us here;
And clouds around the heart may make
The vision of our faith more clear;
As through the shadowy veil of even
The eye looks farthest into Heaven,
On gleams of star, and depths of blue,
The fervid sunshine never knew!
In the summer of 1856, Charles A. Dana, then one of the editors of the
New York "Tribune," wrote to Whittier, calling upon him for campaign
songs for Fremont. He said: "A powerful means of exciting and
maintaining the spirit of freedom in the coming decisive contest must
be songs. If we are to conquer, as I trust in God we are, a great deal
must be done by that genial and inspiring stimulant." Whittier
responded with several songs sung during the campaign for free Kansas,
but the following lines for some reason he desired should appear
without his name, either in the "National Era," in which they first
appeared, August 14, 1856, or with the music to which they were set. A
recently discovered letter, written by him to a friend in Philadelphia
who was intrusted to set the song to music, avows its authorship, and
also credits to his sister Elizabeth another song, "Fremont's Ride,"
published in the same number of the "Era." As the brother probably had
some hand in the composition of this last-mentioned piece, it is given
here. This is Whittier's song:--
WE 'RE FREE
The robber o'er the prairie stalks
And calls the land his own,
And he who talks as Slavery talks
Is free to talk alone.
But tell the knaves we are not slaves,
And tell them slaves we ne'er will be;
Come weal or woe, the world shall know.
We 're free, we 're free, we 're free.
Oh, watcher on the outer wall,
How wears the night away?
I hear the birds of morning call,
I see the break of day!
Rise, tell the knaves, etc.
The hands that hold the sword and purse
Ere long shall lose their prey;
And they who blindly wrought the curse,
The curse shall sweep away!
Then tell the knaves, etc.
The land again in peace shall rest,
With blood no longer stained;
The virgin beauty of the West
Shall be no more profaned.
We 'll teach the knaves, etc.
The snake about her cradle twined,
Shall infant Kansas tear;
And freely on the Western wind
Shall float her golden hair!
So tell the knaves, etc.
Then let the idlers stand apart,
And cowards shun the fight;
We'll band together, heart to heart,
Forget, forgive, unite!
And tell the knaves we are not slaves,
And tell them slaves we ne'er will be;
Come weal or woe, the world shall know
We 're free, we 're free, we 're free!
It was Whittier's habit to freely suggest lines and even whole stanzas
for poems submitted to him for criticism, and it may be readily
believed that his hand is shown in this campaign song of his
sister's:--
FREMONT'S RIDE
As his mountain men followed, undoubting and bold,
O'er hill and o'er desert, through tempest and cold,
So the people now burst from each fetter and thrall,
And answer with shouting the wild bugle call.
Who 'll follow? Who 'll follow?
The bands gather fast;
They who ride with Fremont
Ride in triumph at last!
Oh, speed the bold riders! fling loose every rein,
The race run for freedom is not run in vain;
From mountain and prairie, from lake and from sea,
Ride gallant and hopeful, ride fearless and free!
Who 'll follow, etc.
The shades of the Fathers for Freedom who died,
As they rode in the war storm, now ride at our side;
Their great souls shall strengthen our own for the fray,
And the glance of our leader make certain the way.
Then follow, etc.
We ride not for honors, ambition or place,
But the wrong to redress, and redeem the disgrace;
Not for the North, nor for South, but the best good of all,
We follow Fremont, and his wild bugle call!
Who 'll follow? Who 'll follow?
The bands gather fast;
They who ride with Fremont
Ride in triumph at last!
The following poem was written at the close of his last term at the
Academy, and was published in the "Haverhill Gazette" of October 4,
1828, signed "Adrian." Probably no other poem written by him in those
days was so universally copied by the press of the whole country. Its
rather pessimistic tone no doubt caused the poet to omit it from
collections made after the great change in his outlook upon life to
which reference has been made on another page.
THE TIMES
"Oh dear! oh dear! I grieve, I grieve,
For the good old days of Adam and Eve."
The times, the times, I say, the times are growing worse than ever;
The good old ways our fathers trod shall grace their children never.
The homely hearth of ancient mirth, all traces of the plough,
The places of their worship, are all forgotten now!
Farewell the farmers' honest looks and independent mien,
The tassel of his waving corn, the blossom of the bean,
The turnip top, the pumpkin vine, the produce of his toil,
Have given place to flower pots, and plants of foreign soil.
Farewell the pleasant husking match, its merry after scenes,
When Indian pudding smoked beside the giant pot of beans;
When ladies joined the social band, nor once affected fear,
But gave a pretty cheek to kiss for every crimson ear.
Affected modesty was not the test of virtue then,
And few took pains to swoon away at sight of ugly men;
For well they knew the purity which woman's heart should own
Depends not on appearances, but on the heart alone.
Farewell unto the buoyancy and openness of youth--
The confidence of kindly hearts--the consciousness of truth,
The honest tone of sympathy--the language of the heart--
Now cursed by fashion's tyranny, or turned aside by art.
Farewell the social quilting match, the song, the merry play,
The whirling of a pewter plate, the merry fines to pay,
The mimic marriage brought about by leaping o'er a broom,
The good old blind man's buff, the laugh that shook the room.
Farewell the days of industry--the time has glided by
When pretty hands were prettiest in making pumpkin pie.
When waiting maids were needed not, and morning brought along
The music of the spinning wheel, the milkmaid's careless song.
Ah, days of artless innocence! Your dwellings are no more,
And ye are turning from the path our fathers trod before;
The homely hearth of honest mirth, all traces of the plough,
The places of their worshiping, are all forgotten now!
I find among Mr. Whittier's papers the first draft of a poem that he
does not seem to have prepared for publication. As it was written on
the back of a note he received in March, 1890, that was probably the
date of its composition:--
A SONG OF PRAISES
For the land that gave me birth;
For my native home and hearth;
For the change and overturning
Of the times of my sojourning;
For the world-step forward taken;
For an evil way forsaken;
For cruel law abolished;
For idol shrines demolished;
For the tools of peaceful labor
Wrought from broken gun and sabre;
For the slave-chain rent asunder
And by free feet trodden under;
For the truth defeating error;
For the love that casts out terror;
For the truer, clearer vision
Of Humanity's great mission;--
For all that man upraises,
I sing this song of praises.
The following poem is a variant of the "Hymn for the Opening of Thomas
Starr King's House of Worship," and was contributed in 1883 to a fair
in aid of an Episcopal chapel at Holderness, N. H.
UNITY
Forgive, O Lord, our severing ways,
The separate altars that we raise,
The varying tongues that speak Thy praise!
Suffice it now. In time to be
Shall one great temple rise to Thee,
Thy church our broad humanity.
White flowers of love its walls shall climb,
Sweet bells of peace shall ring its chime,
Its days shall all be holy time.
The hymn, long sought, shall then be heard,
The music of the world's accord,
Confessing Christ, the inward word!
That song shall swell from shore to shore,
One faith, one love, one hope restore
The seamless garb that Jesus wore!
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: This story is told more fully in _Life and Letters_, pp.
53, 54.]
[Footnote 2: This picture is reproduced from a drawing by Miss
Francesca Alexander in her exquisite volume, _Tuscan Songs_. It is the
face of an Italian peasant, but bears so extraordinary a resemblance to
Harriet Livermore (as testified by several who knew her) that it is
here given as representing her better than any known portrait.]
[Footnote 3: This letter has been published in full in a limited
edition, by Mr. Goodspeed, together with a New Year's Address referred
to in it as having given offense to some of the citizens of Rocks
Village. A portion of this Address (which appeared in the _Haverhill
Gazette_, January 5, 1828) is given in _Life and Letters_, pp. 62, 63.
The lines that seem to have given offense are these:--
"_Rocks_ folks are wide awake--their old bridge tumbled
Some years ago, and left them all forsaken;
But they have risen, tired of being humbled,
And the first steps towards a new one taken.
They're all alive--their trade becomes more clever,
And mobs and riots flourish well as ever."
Thirty-five years later, perhaps remembering the offense he had given
in his youth by his portrayal of the _liveliness_ of the place, he
shaded his picture in _The Countess_ with a different pencil, and we
have a "stranded village" sketched to the life.]
[Footnote 4: It is of curious interest that although the poem
_Memories_ was first published in 1841, the description of the
"beautiful and happy girl" in its opening lines is identical with that
of one of the characters in _Moll Pitcher_, published nine years
earlier, and I have authority for saying that Mary Smith was in mind
when that portrait was drawn. Probably the reason why Whittier never
allowed _Moll Pitcher_ to be collected was because he used lines from
it in poems written at later dates.]
[Footnote 5: This is how it happened: Mr. Downey saw a newspaper item
to the effect that Mrs. S. F. Smith was a classmate of Whittier's. He
knew that his wife was a classmate of Mrs. Smith, and "put this and
that together." Without saying anything to her about it, he sent a
tract of his to Whittier, and with it a note about his work as an
evangelist; in a postscript he said, "Did you ever know Evelina Bray?"
Whittier wrote a criticism of the tract, which was against Colonel
Ingersoll, in which he said, "It occurs to me to say that in thy tract
there is hardly enough charity for that unfortunate man, who, it seems
to me, is much to be pitied for his darkness of unbelief." He added as
a postscript, "What does _thee_ know about Evelina Bray?" Downey
replied that she was his wife, but did not let her know of this
correspondence, or of his receipt of money from her old schoolmate. He
was not poor, only eccentric.]
[Footnote 6: This house is now cared for by the Josiah Bartlett chapter
of the Daughters of the Revolution.]
[Footnote 7: The house of these brothers and the barn in which the
husking was held may be seen near the West Ossipee station of the
Boston and Maine Railroad. The Bearcamp House was burned many years
ago, and never rebuilt.]
[Footnote 8: There was a forest fire on a shoulder of Chocorua at this
time.]
[Footnote 9: She was knitting at the time.]
[Footnote 10: She had refused to sing that evening.]
[Footnote 11: Lucy Larcom was then suffering from hay fever.]
[Footnote 12: The papers had an item to the effect that some one had
given Whittier a cottage at the Isles of Shoals.]
[Footnote 13: The only lawyer present.]
[Footnote 14: A line is here missing. I had the copy of this poem from
Mr. Weld himself when he was ninety years of age. He had accidentally
omitted it in copying for me; and his death occurred before the
omission was noticed.]
INDEX
INDEX
"Abram Morrison," 86.
"Adrian," 152.
Agamenticus, 86, 89.
Aldrich, T. B., 75.
Allinson, Francis Greenleaf, 39.
Allinson, W. J., 39.
American Manufacturer, 69, 71, 102, 136.
Amesbury, 3, 42, 55-89.
Amesbury public library, 95.
Ancient desk, 20.
Andover, 5.
Anecdotes as told by Whittier:
Aunt Mercy's vision, 22, 23;
Country Bridge ghost, 15;
conscience stirred by thunderstorm, 27;
Elizabeth's practical joke, 28;
the "tipsy wife," 31, 32;
cold drives to Amesbury, 33;
"Old Butler," 36;
the Morse boys, 36;
Garrison's first visit, 37;
a Quaker swaps cows, 37;
"the power of figures," 40-42;
instance of guidance of spirit, 82, 83;
legend of Po Hill, 85, 86;
Chase characterizes Lincoln's stories, 98;
Hiram Collins and Emerson, 98, 99.
Anecdotes related of Whittier:
Last visit to birthplace, 24-38;
the fire on the hearth, 26;
attempt at levitation, 28;
visits site of "In School Days," 32;
cherry-tree incident, 34;
story of Evelina Bray, 68-72;
receives lightning stroke, 73;
taking notes at Quaker meeting, 82;
sees mirage at Salisbury Beach, 91;
Miss Phelps describes first meeting, 102;
thirteen at table, 93, 94;
clock strikes mysteriously, 95;
the May Quarterly Meeting, 96;
saving money for funeral expenses, 96;
the pet parrot, 97, 98;
husking at West Ossipee, 111-114;
an evening at Bearcamp, 114-118;
Alice Freeman Palmer's story, 118, 119;
contract of perpetual bachelorhood, 119;
his English Quaker guest, 122;
escapes dedication of Bartlett statue, 122.
Anti-Masonic poem, 141.
Appledore, 92.
Artichoke River, 57, 58.
"A Sea Dream," 69.
"A Song of Praises," 153, 154.
Ayer, Capt. Edmund, 29, 30.
Ayer, Lydia, 26, 30.
Ayer, Lydia Amanda (Mrs. Evans), 30.
Ayer, Mrs., 117.
Bagley, Valentine, 84.
Bailey, Mary, 116.
Bailey's Hill, 83.
Bancroft, George, 64.
Barnard, Mary, 96.
Bartlett, Josiah, 84, 122-125.
Bearcamp House, 110-117.
Beecher, Catherine, 70.
Beecher, Henry Ward, 76.
Birchy Meadow, 44.
Birthplace of Whittier, 8, 9-40.
Blaine, James G., 64, 77, 78.
Boar's Head, 86, 89.
Bonny Beag, 86.
Boon Island, 86.
Boston "Statesman," 102.
Boutelle, Thomas E., 99.
Boyd, Rev. P. S., 4.
Boynton, E. Moody, 122-124.
Bradbury, Judge, and wife, 56.
Bradford, 3.
Bradstreet, Anne, 5.
Bray, Evelina, 68, 71.
Brown's Hill, 84.
Burnham, Thomas E., 38.
Burroughs, George, 101.
Butler, Benjamin F., 36.
Butler, Philip, 76.
Butters, Charles, 38.
Byron, Lord, 134-136.
Caldwell, Adelaide, 112, 113, 117.
Caldwell, Louis, 113.
Caldwell, Mary (Whittier), 25, 74.
Cape Ann, 86.
Captain's Well, The, 83, 84.
Carleton, James H., 38.
Cartland, Gertrude (Whittier), 20, 104, 113.
Cartland house, Newburyport, 20, 101.
Cartland, Joseph, 82, 85, 92, 104, 113.
Catalogue of father's library, 24, 25.
Cate, George W., 101.
Centre Harbor, N. H., 99, 110, 113.
Chain Bridge, 59, 60.
Chamber in which Whittier died, 94.
"Changeling, The," 92.
Chase, Aaron, 30, 32.
Chase, Mrs. Moses, 32.
Chase, Salmon P., 98.
Child, Lydia Maria, 75.
Chocorua, 110-115.
Churchill, J. W., 123.
Claflin, William, 102, 118.
Clarkson, Thomas, 25.
Clay, Henry, 77, 141.
"Cobbler Keezar's Vision," 86.
Coffin, Joshua, 26, 30, 31, 103, 104.
Coggswell, William, 64.
Collier, Rev. William R., 102.
Collins, Hiram, 124.
"Common Question, The," 97.
Corliss Hill, 30-32.
"Countess, The," 47, 51.
Country Bridge, 14, 15, 46.
Country Brook, 14-17, 104.
Crane Neck, 86.
Currier, Horace, 117.
Curson's Mill, 57, 58.
Cushing, Caleb, 5.
Dana, Charles A., 149.
Danvers, 86.
Daughters of the Revolution, 84.
Davis, Robert T., 122.
Deer Island, 5, 58-60.
Dickens, Charles, 108.
"Division, The," 109.
Douglass, Frederick, 64.
Downey, Evelina (Bray), 71.
Downey, W. S., 70.
Duncan, Sarah M. F., 38.
Dustin, Hannah, 40.
East Haverhill, 3.
East Haverhill church, 51.
Ela, Amelia, 19.
"Eleanor," 46.
Ellwood's "Drab-Skirted Muse," 25.
Emerson, Nehemiah, 66.
Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 65, 99.
Emmons, "Ginger-Pop," 124.
Essex Club, 64.
"Eternal Goodness, The," 63, 107.
"Eternity," 137, 138.
"Exiles, The," 84.
Fernside Brook, 9, 11, 12, 16, 17.
Ferry, the, 75.
Fields, Annie, 102.
Fields, James T., 46, 102.
Fletcher, Rev. J. C., 58, 89, 92.
Ford, Miss, 112, 116.
"Fountain, The," 87.
Fox, George, 25, 47.
"Fragment, A," 136.
Frankle, Annie W., 38.
Fremont, J. C., 149.
Friend Street, 58.
Friends' meeting-house, 33, 80, 81.
Frietchie, Barbara, 65.
Frinksborough, 138.
"Gail Hamilton's Wedding," 120-122.
Garden at birthplace, 18.
Garden room, Amesbury, 32, 62-71.
Garrison, William Lloyd, 37, 76, 103, 104.
Garrison's birthplace, 103.
Golden Hill, 8.
Goodspeed, C. E., 51 note. (TR: now Footnote 3)
"Goody" Martin, 56, 57, 84.
Gordon, "Chinese," 65.
Gove, Sarah Abby, 92, 93.
"Grave of Morgan, The," 142, 143.
Green, Ruth, 29.
Greene, Nathaniel, 102.
Greenleaf, Sarah, 20, 22, 29, 103.
Grimke, Angelina, 119.
Group at Sturtevant's, 113.
Groveland, 3.
"Hamilton, Gail," 108, 120-122.
Hampton Beach, 86, 88.
Hampton Falls, 92, 93.
Hampton marshes, 92.
Hampton River, 88.
Haskell, George, 40.
"Haunted Bridge of Country Brook," 15.
Haverhill, 3, 7.
Haverhill Academy, 6, 129.
"Haverhill Gazette," 24, 48, 136, 143, 152.
Hawkswood, 58.
Hay, John, 75.
Higginson, Thomas Wentworth, 78.
Hines, Peter, 117.
Hoar, George F., 64.
Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 108.
"Homecoming of the Bride, The," 15, 104.
How, George C., 38.
"How they climbed Chocorua," 111.
Howe, Julia Ward, 75.
Hume, Isabel, 116.
Huntington, Jacob R., 84, 122.
Hussey, Mercy Evans, 22, 26, 61, 62, 85.
Ichneumon, the living, 138.
"In School Days," 26, 30, 32.
Ipswich, 86.
Ireson, Capt. Benjamin, 72.
Isles of Shoals, 86, 89, 91, 117.
"I would not lose that Romance Wild," 130.
Jackson, Andrew, 141.
Job's Hill, 9, 12, 17, 36.
Johnson, Caroline, 101.
Johnson, Mary, 101.
"June on the Merrimac," 58.
"Justice and Expediency," 22.
Kansas, 150, 151.
Kearsarge, 86.
Kelley, Clarence E., 38.
Kimball's Pond, 95.
Kitchen at birthplace, 17, 19, 21, 23
Knox brothers, 110-115.
Ladd, "Squire," 32.
Lake Kenoza, 8, 10.
Lansing, Miss, 111, 116.
Larcom, Lucy, 111, 114, 116.
"Last Walk in Autumn, The," 56.
"Last Will of Man in Bear-Trap, The," 116-118.
"Laurels, The," 58.
Lee, N. H., 100.
Little Boar's Head, 86.
Livermore, Harriet, 39, 101.
Lloyd, Elizabeth, 34.
Longfellow, Henry W., 65, 108.
Lowell, James Russell, 108.
"Mabel Martin," 56, 84.
Macy house, 84.
Macy, Thomas, 84.
"Maids of Attitash, The," 95.
Map of Whittier-Land, xii.
Marlboro Hotel, 102.
"Memorial, A," 98.
"Memories," 66.
Menahga, 46.
Merrimac, town, 3, 44, 82.
Merrimac River, 3, 4, 44, 56, 58, 60.
Millvale, 15, 46, 104.
Minot, Harriet (Mrs. Pitman), 138.
"Miriam," 86.
Mitford, Mary Russell, 75.
"Moll Pitcher," 66 note (TR: now Footnote 4), 131.
Monadnock, 33, 86.
Morgan, William, 141.
Morrill, Jettie, 116.
Morse, "Goody," 104.
Mother's room, 22, 23.
Moulton house, Hampton, 92.
Moulton's Hill, 58.
Mount Washington, 86.
Mundy Hill, 84, 87.
"My Double," 123-125.
"My Namesake," 39.
"My Playmate," 44, 46, 67.
"Name, A," 74.
"National Era," 76, 150.
Newbury, 3, 14, 32, 44, 56, 58, 86, 103.
Newburyport, 3, 86.
"New England," 131-134.
"New England Review," 43, 76, 131, 137.
New York "Tribune," 149.
"New Wife and the Old, The," 92.
Niagara Falls, 141.
Nicholson, Elizabeth, 34.
"Northern Lights, The," 146, 147.
Nottingham, N. H., 96.
Oak Knoll, Danvers, 99, 101, 122, 123.
Ode for dedication of Academy, 7.
"Old Burying Ground, The," 51.
"Old Oaken Bucket, The," 147.