our seats; the little elderly gentleman
with the hooked nose prayed, and we all stood up. When he had
finished most of us sat down. The gentleman with the hooked
nose then muttered certain cabalistic expressions, which I was
too much frightened to remember, but I recollect that at the
conclusion I was given to understand that I was married to a
young lady by the name of Frances Fairchild, whom I perceived
standing by my side, and I hope in the course of few months to
have the pleasure of introducing to you as your daughter-in-law,
which is a matter of some interest to the poor girl, who has
neither father or mother in the world.

Next to _Thanatopsis_ the most widely-known and admired of Bryant's
work is _To a Waterfowl_. There are two very interesting stories
pertaining to this much quoted poem, one relating to the origin of the
poem, the other recording its effect on two fastidious young
Englishmen, Hartley Coleridge and Matthew Arnold.

Bryant was a young man with no assurance as to what the future might
have in store for him. He was journeying over the hills to Plainfield
to see whether there might possibly be an opening for a young lawyer.
It was the 15th of December, 1816, and we can imagine that the gloom
of the gathering twilight helped to deepen the youth's despondency.
But before the glimmering light of evening had given place entirely to
the dark of night, the sky was transfigured with the bright rays of
the setting sun. The New England sky was flooded for a moment with
seas of chrysolite and opal. While young Bryant stopped to enjoy the
brilliant scene, a solitary bird made its way across the sky. He
watched it until it was lost in the distant horizon, and then went on
with new courage as he thought the thoughts so beautifully expressed
in the poem which he wrote after he reached the house where he was to
stay for the night.

The incident in regard to Matthew Arnold is related by Godwin in a
letter to Bigelow:

"Once when the late Matthew Arnold, with his family, was visiting the
ever-hospitable country home of Mr. Charles Butler, I happened to
spend an evening there. In the course of it Mr. Arnold took up a
volume of Mr. Bryant's poems from the table and turning to me said,
'This is the American poet, _facile princeps_'; and after a pause, he
continued: 'When I first heard of him, Hartley Coleridge (we were both
lads then) came into my father's house one afternoo