His eyes first saw the light in Boston and his gifted mother, for whom he never failed to cherish the deepest filial admiration and devotion, impressed upon him the duty of remembering that there she had found her best and most sympathetic friends.
But he is identified with Baltimore in his lineage.
Part of his early life was passed here. His remains lie in the venerable graveyard where the bones of several generations of his kindred repose, and here, more than thirty years ago, before impartial history had fully rescued his reputation as a man from the venomous calumnies which for years it had so unjustly suffered, the first Memorial ever erected in America to a poet was reared in his honor.
Here, therefore, it is peculiarly fitting that the Centennial of his birth should be celebrated with all the emphasis that just appreciation of his extraordinary genius and literary achievements, and sympathy for his sorrows can inspire.
During the long interval since on the anniversary of
The lonesome October of his most immemorial year,
his earthly remains were laid to rest by the side of his ancestors in Westminster churchyard, every material incident of his life has been brought to light, either by the hand of sympathetic admiration, or of malevolent criticism.
The world has been truly told of all his movements from his earliest boyhood down to the melancholy hour when the pleasing prospect of extrication and release at last from the corroding trials and troubles of his stren-
