First, James himself, slight and small, with rosy cheeks and starry eyes and waving hair parted in the middle, very like Page’s picture. He was very reserved in manner, much absorbed in his lady-love, and although his wit was always brilliant, it had not then ripened into the delightful humor of after days. He and his friend William Page, the artist, were at this time possessed with a divine fury for Shakespeare’s Sonnets. The little book was forever in their hands, and happy were they when they could catch a stray brother or sister to listen to “just this one beauty,” which usually was followed by twenty more; and happy, too, was the brother or sister, for although James did not then read well, his voice being thin and without resonance, his youthful, loving enthusiasm cast a spell over his crooning, the charm of which nobody could resist.[[4]]
N.H., tall and graceful, perhaps the most highly gifted of that bright circle, dropping the diamonds of his polished wit in a languid, nonchalant manner, but capable of a rare awakening when the right moment came.
W.W.S., versatile and vivacious, a capital mimic, an adept at bright nonsense and gay repartee.
W.A.W. A good head and kind heart, always ready to cap a good story with a better, which invariably began with, “I knew a man in Watertown,” so that the man in Watertown came to be counted a regular member of the Band.
J.G.K., the leader in the revels, lighting up every meeting with his peculiar racy vein of humor, and J.F.T., the beauty of the Band and the sweetest singer of his time.
And now, with the charming group of sisters, they have all arrived at “The King’s Arms” (as they liked to call the cheerful old house) for a week’s visit, and I will try to bring back one evening of that happy time.
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
From the crayon by William Page in the possession of Mrs. Charles F. Briggs, Brooklyn, N.Y.
We were all in a peculiarly gay frame of mind, for a little plan, devised by the sisters to surprise and please James, had proved entirely successful. The “Year’s Life” was just published, but had not been as warmly received by the public as we, with our esprit de corps, thought it deserved; so it was arranged that when, on this evening, James, as usual, asked for music, one of the number (our prima donna) should sing one of his own songs, “From the closed window gleams no spark,”[[5]] adapted to a lovely old air. The song was a great favorite with both James and Maria, for whom it was written, and as the well-known words rang through the room, it was delightful to watch James’s face. Surprise, pleasure, tremulous feeling, and finally a look of delight as he turned to Maria, flashed over it. He had been a member of the Band for only a short time (through his engagement to M.W.), and this friendly appreciation was doubly valued by both of them.
In those days we always had a fourth meal at about ten o’clock, and after an evening of music and dancing, and a good time generally, we adjourned to the dining-room, where, seated at the large round table, the great festivity began, and an unfailing flow of wit, sentiment, fun, and scintillation was kept up into the small hours of the night. Sometimes James Lowell would be called upon for one of his two songs, “The Battle of the Nile,” or “Baxter’s Boys They Built a Mill.” If “The Battle of the Nile” were chosen, we prepared for fun. The words were only,