y be discussed in this paper. We have to deal altogether with
his literary career,--a career, which for its brilliancy has not been
surpassed on this side of the Atlantic.

As a poet he differs much from his contemporaries, but the standard he
has reached is as high as that which has been attained by Lowell and
Longfellow. In lofty verse he is strong and unconventional, writing
always with a firm grasp on his subject, and emphasizing his perfect
knowledge of melody and metre. As a writer of occasional verse he has
not had an equal in our time, and his pen for threescore years has
been put to frequent use in celebration of all sorts of events,
whether military, literary, or scientific. Bayard Taylor said, "He
lifted the 'occasional' into the 'classic'," and the phrase happily
expresses the truth. The vivacious character of his nature readily
lends itself to work of this sort, and though the printed page gives
the reader the sparkling epigram and the graceful lines, clear-cut
always and full of soul, the pleasure is not quite the same as seeing
and hearing him recite his own poems, in the company of congenial
friends. His songs are full of sunshine and heart, and his literary
manner wins by its simplicity and tenderness. Years ago, Miss Mitford
said that she knew no one so thoroughly original. For him she could
find no living prototype. And so she went back to the time of John
Dryden to find a man to whom she might compare him. And Lowell in his
"Fable for Critics," describes Holmes as

"A Leyden-jar full-charged, from which flit
The electrical tingles, of hit after hit."

His lyrical pieces are among the best of his compositions, and his
ballads, too few in number, betray that love which he has always felt
for the melodious minstrelsy of the ancient bards. Whittier thought
that the "Chambered Nautilus" was "booked for immortality." In the
same list may be put the "One-Hoss Shay," "Contentment,"
"Destination," "How the Old Horse Won the Bet," "The Broomstick
Train," and that lovely family portrait, "Dorothy Q----," a poem with
a history. Dorothy Quincy's picture, cold and hard, painted by an
unknown artist, hangs on the wall of the poet's home in Beacon Street.
A hole in the canvas marks the spot where one of King George's
soldiers thrust his bayonet. The lady was Dr. Holmes' grandmother's
mother, and she is represented as being about thirteen years of age,
with

Girlish bust, but womanly air;
Smooth