“But I am altogether willing that it should be, only in that case my name must be withdrawn from the cover. I never desired to be its editor, and I put my resignation in your hands. Get some better man, say——, who can write on all subjects equally ill at a moment’s notice. I wash my hands of the whole concern. I will read the rest of the proof of this number if you wish, for that is in the bond, but for January look out for somebody who can make something out of nothing. I recommend——.” Six days later he wrote again:—
“Correct estimates from log thus: 25 September. Lat. 42° 10´. Captain Lowell committed suicide by blowing out his brains with the gafftopsl halyards. There can be no doubt of the fact, as the 2nd officer recognized the brains for his (Cap. L.’s), he being familiar with them.
“30 September. Captain L. reappeared on the deck, having only been below to oversee the storage of ballast, whereof on this trip the lading mainly consists. What was thought to be his brains turned out on closer examination to be pumpkin pie, though the second officer was unconvinced and the Captain himself could not make up his mind.
“The fact is I was cross, and did not quite like being brought up with such a round turn at my time of life. I had done all I could, and was hoping that the literary notices would make up for the rest. I had been disappointed in three body articles by Bigelow, Poole, and Willard (on von Bismarck). Gurney will take hold of the next number and it will all go right. Say beforehand how many sheets you are willing to allow, and we will keep as near the wind as we can, but don’t—well, never mind, but I am as touchy as if I were even poorer than I am.”
The publication of “Under the Willows” brought Lowell some of those expressions of admiration and affection for which the friends of a writer gladly use such occasions. The publishing of a book is like an announcement of an engagement,—an opportunity for one’s friends to show their affection unreservedly. Among the notes which pleased Lowell was one from Mr. Aldrich who had lately come to Boston to edit Every Saturday, and in his pleasure he sent a copy of the special edition of the Commemoration Ode with this letter.
Elmwood, 23rd December, 1868.
My dear Sir,—That note was so pleasant to an old fellow who doesn’t think too well of himself, that I can’t help (with a very good will and a very balky pen) telling you how much pleasure it gave me. That I don’t deserve all the fine things you say of me doesn’t make it any the less friendly in you to say them, and I, for one, frankly confess that I like a little lubrication now and then. It makes our machine (as they used to call it in the last century) run easier for a day or two, till its general ramshackliness reproduces the familiar friction.
Now lest the twins should repeat the tragedy of Eteocles and Polynikes, and the house of Aldrich be extinguished in an internecine duel for the possession of that other fatal volume, I send what will enable your paternal anxiety to make a fair division between them. If they are proper twins (I am a kind of twins myself divided between grave and gay) they will be the one sentimental and t’other humorous. Bequeath one sacred tome to each, and keep for yourself the cordial feeling that sends both.
This which you now receive has at least the value of rarity. It is one of twelve copies printed in this form. Think of me after I am gone on (for in the nature of things you will survive me) as one who had a really friendly feeling for everything human. It is better to be a good fellow than a good poet, and perhaps (I am not sure) I might have shown a pretty fair talent that way, with proper encouragement. Any how, I wish you and Mrs. Aldrich, and the Twins a Merry Christmas, and am
Cordially yours,
J. R. Lowell.