Life of Oliver Wendell Holmes Part 19

Who taught the new world what the old could teach; Whose silent hero, peerless as our own, By deeds that mocked the feeble breath of speech Called up to life a State without a throne.

As year by year his tapestry unrolled, What varied wealth its growing length displayed!

What long processions flamed in cloth of gold!

What stately forms their glowing robes arrayed!"

Contrasting with Prescott's and Motley's the subject of Parkman's histories, the poet says,

"Not such the scenes our later craftsman drew, Not such the shapes his darker pattern held; A deeper shadow lent its sombre hue, A sadder tale his tragic task compelled.

He told the red man's story; far and wide He searched the unwritten records of his race; He sat a listener at the sachem's side, He tracked the hunter through his wildwood chase.

Soon o'er the horizon rose the cloud of strife, Two proud, strong nations battling for the prize; Which swarming host should mould a nation's life, Which royal banner flout the western skies.

Long raged the conflict; on the crimson sod Native and alien joined their hosts in vain; The lilies withered where the lion trod, Till peace lay panting on the ravaged plain."

In the extracts given from this fine poem, with its stately, majestic rhythm, it is plain to see that, even at the age of eighty-four, our autocrat poet had lost none of the vigor and fire of youth.

In the closing verses he speaks most tenderly of Parkman's patient, untiring energy,

"While through long years his burdening cross he bore,"

and concludes with this fine eulogy:

"A brave, bright memory! his the stainless s.h.i.+eld No shame defaces and no envy mars!

When our far future's record is unsealed His name will s.h.i.+ne among its morning stars."

It was in January, 1889, that Doctor Holmes sent to Doctor Richard M.

Hodges, who was at that time president of the Boston Medical Library a.s.sociation, the following characteristic letter:

MY DEAR SIR:

I have transferred my medical library to the hall of the Boston Medical Library a.s.sociation. Please accept it as a gift from its late president. As there is no provision for its reception, and as I liked the idea of keeping together the books which had been so long together, I have provided a new set of shelves in which they can be properly and conveniently arranged.

Your very truly, O.W. HOLMES.

To show how highly Doctor Holmes valued this library, which consisted of nine hundred and sixty-eight extremely rare volumes, Doctor Chadwick, the librarian, said: "All these books have been collected by him in his fifty years of experience, and it is fitting that we should realize it is the result of years of labor. He has been ready on every occasion to deliver addresses on topics having a wide scope. He carried off with honor three of the four Boylston prizes, and this alone shows the range of his studies. He has contributed to the funds of the a.s.sociation in various ways, and now gives us his most valuable library. In this act, as well as his continuing the position as president of the a.s.sociation several years after he had relinquished all other connection with the profession, he has designated our inst.i.tution as the one in which he takes the greatest pride; in whose future he has the greatest confidence."

In reply, Doctor Holmes then said:

"The books I have offered the a.s.sociation, and which you have kindly accepted, const.i.tute my own medical library, with the exception of a few volumes which, for several reasons, I have retained. It has grown by a slow process of accretion. The first volume of it was 'Bell's Anatomy,'

and the last was 'Elements of Pharmacy.' The oldest book was written in 1490, and the latest in 1887, so it can be seen that the library covers the s.p.a.ce of four centuries."

After reviewing the better books of the library, and alluding to the private library that a pract.i.tioner should keep, Doctor Holmes added: "These books are dear to me; a twig from some one of my nerves runs to every one of them, and they mark the progress of my study and the stepping-stones of my professional life. If any of them can be to others as they have been to me, I am willing to part with them, even if they are such old and beloved companions."

Doctor Holmes' warm interest in everything connected with education was shown most emphatically in one of the last public addresses he delivered. It was at that memorable reception given at the Vendome, February 28, 1893, by the Boston publishers to Doctor Holmes and other authors, and to the members of the National Educational a.s.sociation.

Mrs. Elizabeth Phelps-Ward, with Mr. Henry O. Houghton and Mr. Edwin Ginn, gave welcome to the many distinguished guests.

When Doctor Holmes was called upon to address the large company a.s.sembled, he began:

"Surely the Autocrat never felt more powerless than he does at this moment. I meant to come here and say a few almost careless words. I was saying to myself, 'You know very well what you've got to talk about, and you can soon say it.' But," and here the Autocrat's bright face grew serious, "at half-past ten this morning there came to me an elegantly engraved copper-plate invitation to appear here, with a formality and a style about it which showed that I had deceived myself in thinking I could utter a few careless words. There was but one refuge for me, and that was the old one. I can only hold up a copy of verses," and he waved the ma.n.u.script deprecatingly.

"But not one word, not one thought of it was in my head before half-past ten to-day. There are things in literature," and here Dr. Holmes dropped his voice to a confidential key, "that are christened 'impromptus,' the authenticity of which I am inclined to doubt. I have the idea that a good many impromptus have cost their authors many sleepless nights.

"I shall tell you what I would have spoken about. I should have said, in the first place, that I have a great sympathy with instructors. I have been an instructor myself. I was for thirty-five years professor in Harvard College, and two years before that professor in Dartmouth College. I enjoyed very much the relations I had with my students in both places. Many of them have lasted up to the present time, and it is pleasant for me every now and then to have a bald-headed man come up to me and tell me he was one of my boys thirty or forty years ago.

"A great many changes have taken place since that time, but two of them are especially interesting. One is the sub-division of teaching. There were six of us who taught the medical graduates of Harvard College during a considerable part of the time when I was professor there. There are now seventy. How much better they are taught I do not know. I presume they are taught well. But a wicked thought came into my head just now--it is not every animal that has the most legs who crawls the fastest. It reminds me of the sirloin of beef one day, which was mince-meat on the second."

All these pleasantries were given in the Autocrat's happiest manner, amidst many interruptions of laughter and applause from his audience.

"I don't mean, however," he added, "to deprecate that which I accomplished by the sub-division into specialties. What I say is rather playful than serious. The next point is the education of women, which I have regarded at a distance, to be sure. But, occasionally visiting Wellesley and the Cambridge Annex, it has been a great delight to me to see how the intellects of the fair s.e.x matched with those of the sterner. I then thought I should say something of the importance of implanting ideas on all the most important subjects at a very early period of life, and I was going to recall my theology which came out of the little primer, and my patriotism which was kindled at the shrine of Dr. Dwight's 'Columbia, Queen of the World.' But all these things I would prefer to leave, and what else I would have said I will defer until the next occasion, I also wish to say here, personally, that it was most unwillingly that I appeared before an audience like this. I felt it was, at my age, more becoming that I should be a listener rather than a speaker." Here he was interrupted by cries of "No! No!" but he shook his head determinedly, saying, "I am speaking seriously now, however difficult it may be to do that. These little verses I have written, and which I am going to read, are really impromptu. They are poorly scrawled, for my hand was unsteady."

Then in a clear, strong voice he read:

"Teachers of teachers! yours the task, n.o.blest that n.o.ble minds can ask, High up Aonia's murmurous mount To watch, to guard the sacred fount That feeds the stream below.

To guide the hurrying flood that fills A thousand silvery, rippling rills In ever widening flow.

Rich is the harvest from the fields That bounteous nature kindly yields; But fairer growths enrich the soil Ploughed deep by thought and wearied toil, In learning's broad domain.

And where the leaves, the flowers, the fruits, Without your watering at the roots To fill each branching vein?

Welcome! the author's firmest friends, Your voice the surest G.o.dspeed lends.

Of you the growing mind demands The patient care, the guiding hands Through all the mists of morn.

And knowing well the future's need, Your prescient wisdom sows the seed To flower in years unborn."

It will be remembered that the last time Doctor Holmes appeared in public to read a poem was on May 28, 1893, when he attended the celebration of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the reorganization of the Boston Young Men's Christian Union. The beautiful hymn he wrote for this occasion is the sweet, simple expression of his own lifelong creed:

"Our Father! while our hearts unlearn The creeds that wrong thy name, Still let our hallowed altars burn With faith's undying flame.

Not by the lightning's gleam of wrath Our souls thy face shall see, The star of love must light the path That leads to heaven and thee.

Help us to read our Master's will Through every darkening stain That clouds his sacred image still, And see him once again,

The brother man, the pitying friend Who weeps for human woes, Whose pleading words of pardon blend With cries of raging foes.

If, 'mid the gathering storms of doubt Our hearts grow faint and cold, The strength we cannot live without, Thy love will not withhold.

Our prayers accept; our sins forgive; Our youthful zeal renew; Shape for us holier lives to live, And n.o.bler work to do!"

CHAPTER XXI.

LAST DAYS.

The eighty-fifth birthday of Doctor Holmes was quietly spent at his pleasant country home in Beverly.