true。　　That　is　almost　the　greatest　work　of　imagination　that　we　have
  produced　in　prose；　and　it　is　the　work　of　a　New　England　woman；　writing
  from　all　the　inspirations　and　traditions　of　New　England。　　It　is　like
  begging　the　question　to　say　that　I　do　not　call　it　a　novel；　however；　but
  really；　is　it　a　novel；　in　the　sense　that　'War　and　Peace'　is　a　novel；　or
  'Madame　Flaubert'；　or　'L'Assommoir'；　or　'Phineas　Finn'；　or　'Dona
  Perfecta'；　or　'Esther　Waters'；　or　'Marta　y　Maria'；　or　'The　Return　of　the
  Native'；　or　'Virgin　Soil'；　or　'David　Grieve'？　　In　a　certain　way　it　is
  greater　than　any　of　these　except　the　first；　but　its　chief　virtue；　or　its
  prime　virtue；　is　in　its　address　to　the　conscience；　and　not　its　address　to
  the　taste；　to　the　ethical　sense；　not　the　aesthetical　sense。
  This　does　not　quite　say　the　thing；　but　it　suggests　it；　and　I　should　be
  sorry　if　it　conveyed　to　any　reader　a　sense　of　slight；　for　I　believe　no
  one　has　felt　more　deeply　than　myself　the　value　of　New　England　in
  literature。　　The　comparison　of　the　literary　situation　at　Boston　to　the
  literary　situation　at　Edinburgh　in　the　times　of　the　reviewers　has　never
  seemed　to　me　accurate　or　adequate；　and　it　holds　chiefly　in　the　fact　that
  both　seem　to　be　of　the　past。　　Certainly　New　York　is　yet　no　London　in
  literature；　and　I　think　Boston　was　once　vastly　more　than　Edinburgh　ever
  was；　at　least　in　quality。　　The　Scotch　literature　of　the　palmy　days　was
  not　wholly　Scotch；　and　even　when　it　was　rooted　in　Scotch　soil　it　flowered
  in　the　air　of　an　alien　speech。　　But　the　New　England　literature　of　the
  great　day　was　the　blossom　of　a　New　England　root；　and　the　language　which
  the　Bostonians　wrote　was　the　native　English　of　scholars　fitly　the　heirs
  of　those　who　had　brought　the　learning　of　the　universities　to
  Massachusetts　Bay　two　hundred　years　before；　and　was　of　as　pure　a　lineage
  as　the　English　of　the　mother…country。
  III。
  The　literary　situation　which　confronted　me　when　I　came　to　Boston　was；
  then；　as　native　as　could　well　be；　and　whatever　value　I　may　be　able　to
  give　a　personal　study　of　it　will　be　from　the　effect　it　made　upon　me　as
  one　strange　in　everything　but　sympathy。　　I　will　not　pretend　that　I　saw　it
  in　its　entirety；　and　I　have　no　hope　of　presenting　anything　like　a
  kinetoscopic　impression　of　it。　　What　I　can　do　is　to　give　here　and　there　a
  glimpse　of　it；　and　I　shall　wish　the　reader　to　keep　in　mind　the　fact　that
  it　was　in　a　〃state　of　transition；〃　as　everything　is　always　and
  everywhere。　　It　was　no　sooner　recognizably　native　than　it　ceased　to　be
  fully　so；　and　I　became　a　witness　of　it　after　the　change　had　begun。　　The
  publishing　house　which　so　long　embodied　New　England　literature　was
  already　attempting　enterprises　out　of　the　line　of　its　traditions；　and　one
  of　these　had　brought　Mr。　T。　B。　Aldrich　from　New　York；　a　few　weeks　before
  I　arrived　upon　the　scene　in　that　dramatic　quality　which　I　think　never
  impressed　any　one　but　Mr。　Bowles。　　Mr。　Aldrich　was　the　editor　of　'Every
  Saturday'　when　I　came　to　be　assistant　editor　of　the　Atlantic　Monthly。
  We　were　of　nearly　the　same　age；　but　he　had　a　distinct　and　distinguished
  priority　of　reputation；　insomuch　that　in　my　Western　remoteness　I　had
  always　ranged　him　with　such　elders　and　betters　of　mine　as　Holmes　and
  Lowell；　and　never　imagined　him　the　blond；　slight　youth　I　found　him；　with
  every　imaginable　charm　of　contemporaneity。　　It　is　no　part　of　the　office
  which　I　have　intended　for　these　slight　and　sufficiently　wandering
  glimpses　of　the　past　to　show　any　writer　in　his　final　place；　and　above　all
  I　do　not　presume　to　assign　any　living　man　his　rank　or　station。　　But　I
  should　be　false　to　my　own　grateful　sense　of　beauty　in　the　work　of　this
  poet　if　I　did　not　at　all　times　recognize　his　constancy　to　an　ideal　which
  his　name　stands　for。　　He　is　known　in　several　kinds；　but　to　my　thinking　he
  is　best　in　a　certain　nobler　kind　of　poetry；　a　serious　sort　in　which　the
  thought　holds　him　above　the　scrupulosities　of　the　art　he　loves　and　honors
  so　much。　　Sometimes　the　file　slips　in　his　hold；　as　the　file　must　and
  will；　it　is　but　an　instrument　at　the　best；　but　there　is　no　mistouch　in
  the　hand　that　lays　itself　upon　the　reader's　heart　with　the　pulse　of　the
  poet's　heart　quick　and　true　in　it。　　There　are　sonnets　of　his；　grave；　and
  simple；　and　lofty；　which　I　think　of　with　the　glow　and　thrill　possible
  only　from　very　beautiful　poetry；　and　which　impart　such　an　emotion　as　we
  can　feel　only
  〃When　a　great　thought　strikes　along　the　brain
  And　flushes　all　the　cheek。〃
  When　I　had　the　fortune　to　meet　him　first；　I　suppose　that　in　the　employ　of
  the　kindly　house　we　were　both　so　eager　to　serve；　our　dignities　were　about
  the　same；　for　if　the　'Atlantic　Monthly'　was　a　somewhat　prouder　affair
  than　an　eclectic　weekly　like　'Every　Saturday'；　he　was　supreme　in　his
  place；　and　I　was　subordinate　in　mine。　　The　house　was　careful；　in　the
  attitude　of　its　senior　partner；　not　to　distinguish　between　us；　and　we
  were　not　slow　to　perceive　the　tact　used　in　managing　us；　we　had　our　own
  joke　of　it；　we　compared　notes　to　find　whether　we　were　equally　used　in
  this　thing　or　that；　and　we　promptly　shared　the　fun　of　our　discovery　with
  Fields　himself。
  We　had　another　impartial　friend　（no　less　a　friend　of　joy　in　the　life
  which　seems　to　have　been　pretty　nearly　all　joy；　as　I　look　back　upon　it）
  in　the　partner　who　became　afterwards　the　head　of　the　house；　and　who
  forecast　in　his　bold　enterprises　the　change　from　a　New　England　to　an
  American　literary　situation。　　In　the　end　James　R。　Osgood　failed；　though
  all　his　enterprises　succeeded。　　The　anomaly　is　sad；　but　it　is　not
  infrequent。　　They　were　greater　than　his　powers　and　his　means；　and　before
  they　could　reach　their　full　fruition；　they　had　to　be　enlarged　to　men　of
  longer　purse　and　longer　patience。　　He　was　singularly　fitted　both　by
  instinct　and　by　education　to　become　a　great　publisher；　and　he　early
  perceived　that　if　a　leading　American　house　were　to　continue　at　Boston；
  it　must　be　hospitable　to　the　talents　of　the　whole　country。　　He　founded
  his　future　upon　those　generous　lines；　but　he　wanted　the　qualities　as　well
  as　the　resources　for　rearing　the　superstructure。　　Changes　began　to　follow
  each　other　rapidly　after　he　came　into　control　of　the　house。　　Misfortune
  reduced　the　size　and　number　of　its　periodicals。　　'The　Young　Folks'　was
  sold　outright；　and　the　'North　American　Review'　（long　before　Mr。　Rice
  bought　it　and　carried　it　to　New　York）　was　cut　down　one…half；　so　that
  Aldrich　said；　it　looked　as　if　Destiny　had　sat　upon　it。　　His　own
  periodical；　'Every　Saturday'；　was　first　enlarged　to　a　stately　quarto　and
  illustrated；　and　then；　under　stress　of　the　calamities　following　the　great
  Boston　fire；　It　collapsed　to　its　former　size。　　Then　both　the　'Atlantic
  Monthly'　and　'Every　Saturday'　were　sold　away　from　their　old　ownership；
  and　'Every　Saturday'　was　suppressed　altogether；　and　we　two　ceased　to　be
  of　the　same　employ。　　There　was　some　sort　of　evening　rite　（more　funereal
  than　festive）　the　day　after　they　were　sold；　and　we　followed　Osgood　away
  from　it；　under　the　lamps。　　We　all　knew　that　it　was　his　necessity　that　had
  caused　him　to　part　with　the　periodicals；　but　he　professed　that　it　was　his
  pleasure；　and　he　said　he　had　not　felt　so　light…hearted　since　he　was　a
  boy。　　We　asked　him；　How　could　he　feel　gay　when　he　was　no　longer　paying　us
  our　salaries；　and　how　could　he　justify　it　to　his　conscience？　　He　liked
  our　mocking；　and　limped　away　from　us　with　a　rheumatic　easing　of　his
  weight　from　one　foot　to　another：　a　figure　pathetic　now　that　it　has　gone
  the　way　to　dusty　death；　and　dear　to　memory　through　benefactions　unalloyed
  by　one　unkindness。
  IV。
  But　when　I　came　to　Boston　early　in　1866；　the　'Atlantic　Monthly'　and
  'Harper's'　then　divided　our　magazine　world　between　them；　the　'North
  American　Review'；　in　the　control　of　Lowell　and　Professor　Norton；　had
  entered　upon　a　new　life；　'Every　Saturday'　was　an　instant　success　in　the
  charge　of　Mr。　Aldrich；　who　was　by　taste　and　training　one　of　the　best
  editors；　and　'Our　Young　Folks'　had　the　field　of　juvenile　periodical
  literature　to　itself。
  It　was　under　the　direction　of　Miss　Lucy　Larcom　and　of　Mr。　J。　T。
  Trowbridge；　who　had　come　from　western　New　York；　where　he　was　born；　and
  must　be　noted　as　one　of　the　first　returners　from　the　setting　to　the
  rising　sun。　　He　naturalized　himself　in　Boston　in　his　later　boyhood；　and
  he　still　breathes　Boston　air；　where　he　dwells　in　the　street　called
  Pleasant；　on　the　shore　of　Spy　Pond；　at　Arlington；　and　still　weaves　the
  magic　web　of　his　satisfying　stories　for　boys。　　He　merges　in　their
  popularity　the　fame　of　a　poet　which　I　do　not　think　will　always　suffer
  that　eclipse；　for　his　poems　show　him　to　have　looked　deeply　into　the　heart
  of　common　humanity；　with　a　true　and　tender　sense　of　it。
  Miss　Larcom　scarcely　seemed　to　change　from　date　to　date　in　the　generation
  that　elapsed　between　the　time　I　first　saw　her　and　the　time　I　saw　her
  last；　a　year　or　two　before　her　death。　　A　goodness　looked　out　of　her
  comely　face；　which　made　me　think　of　the　Madonna's　in　Titian's
  〃Assumption；〃　and　her　whole　aspect　expressed　a　mild　and　friendly　spirit
  which　I　find　it　hard　to　put　in　words。　　She　was　never　of　the　fine　world　of
  literature；　she　dwelt　where　she　was　born；　in　that　unf