to buy volumes at five dollars a copy, so that he could burn them. The poems were rather commonplace, and not very interesting.

Whittier's interests at this time were equally divided between literature and politics. Some of his friends wished to nominate him for Congress, but as he had not yet reached the required age, twenty-five years, he was obliged to refuse the honor. It was shortly before this that he became very much interested in the antislavery movement- that is, the effort to make the negroes free men and women. Though his Quaker training made him dread and disapprove of war, he did everything in his power to help the cause by peaceful means. In the time of certain riots which grew out of the antislavery movement, though he was often in the thick of the danger, he always refused to arm himself; but he would assist his friends to arm themselves if they wished.

As Whittier's fame as a poet increased, he was constantly receiving letters from all over the country praising his poems extravagantly. These letters embarrassed him greatly. He was all his life shy and reserved, yet he had a strong sense of humor.

He was never married. In the latter part of his life the poet suffered a great deal from illness. At times it seemed almost impossible for him to sleep, and he used to say that he had rarely missed seeing a sunrise for forty years.

Whittier has left some seven volumes of collected works. Most of his poems are written in a very simple metre, and this fact has led some people to think that the poet lacked a musical ear, because of the strictness of his Quaker training, which allowed no music of any sort. Whittier often felt this lack of music in himself, and this feeling made it harder for him to put melody into his poems; yet sometimes they have a good deal of this fine quality.

Whittier was very much a poet of "out-of-doors." That is, he liked to write about outdoor things, and did this much better and more naturally than most poets of his time, because he knew about the outdoor life from personal experience, whereas the others usually did not. For instance, Longfellow described the country exquisitely; as a clever writer he was able to put down what he saw, but he stood apart from country life, a city-bred man. Lowell also, in spite of his capital studies of Yankee life in the country, yet never quite entered into it himself. But Whittier was born and bred on a farm, and as Edmund Clarence Stedman said of him, "Whittier is always the boy poet of the Essex farm, however advanced in years and fame."

Whittier himself says, in speaking of rural poetry, "He who would successfully strive for it must be himself the thing he sings, one who has added to his booklore . . . the rugged toil, the hearty amusements, the trials and pleasures, he describes."

Whittier is perhaps more clearly a writer of ballads than any other one of our poets. A fine example of his ballad writing is "Cassandra Southwick," which tells in a stirring way of a young Quaker girl sentenced to be sold as a slave on account of her religion.

In his poems of the sea, Whittier makes himself as much a part of the life of the sea as he makes himself a part of the country in his rural poetry. Perhaps one reason for this sympathetic quality in the sea poetry is that he was born and brought up very near the sea. A boy living by the sea quickly gets under the influence of the great ocean; it grows to seem almost like a living creature to him, so many and changing are its moods. This sympathy with the changing waters which grew up in the boy Whittier remained with him when he was a man. It makes his sea poems so real that one can almost smell the salt as one reads.

But, after all, it is his poems of home and everyday life which Whittier's readers enjoy the most, and it is a curious thing that these poems are those most read and enjoyed in England, where the home life is quite different from ours.

The poet died on September 4, 1892, peacefully and happily, saying in a low voice more than once on the last day of his, life, "Love to all the world."

mort'gage, a pledge for the payment | ex'qui site ly, in a rare or perfect of debt.

manner.

THE BAREFOOT BOY

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

BLESSINGS on thee, little man, Barefoot boy with cheek of tan! With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes; With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill; With the sunshine on thy face Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; From my heart I give thee joy,

I was once a barefoot boy!

- —

Prince thou art, -the grown-up man Only is republican.

Let the million-dollared ride!

Barefoot, trudging at his side,

Thou hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye,
Outward sunshine, inward joy:
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

O for boyhood's painless play,
Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
Health that mocks the doctor's rules,
Knowledge never learned of schools,
Of the wild bee's morning chase,
Of the wild flower's time and place,

Flight of fowl and habitude

Of the tenants of the wood;
How the tortoise bears his shell,
How the woodchuck digs his cell,
And the ground mole sinks his well;
How the robin feeds her young,
How the oriole's nest is hung;

Where the whitest lilies blow,
Where the freshest berries grow,
Where the ground nut trails its vine,
Where the wood grape's clusters shine;
Of the black wasp's cunning way,
Mason of his walls of clay,

And the architectural plans
hornet artisans ! -

Of gray

For, eschewing books and tasks,
Nature answers all he asks;

Hand in hand with her he walks,
Face to face with her he talks,
Part and parcel of her joy, -
Blessings on the barefoot boy!

O for boyhood's time of June,
Crowding years in one brief moon,
When all things I heard or saw,
Me, their master, waited for.
I was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming-birds and honey-bees;
For my sport the squirrel played,