died, and another little mound in Sweet
Auburn was

"Folded close under deepening snow."

During the nine years of their married life all had been peaceful and
beautiful, and now there seemed nothing left but--

"To the spirit its splendid conjectures,
To the flesh its sweet despair,"

and many hopeless tears over--

"the thin-worn locket
With its anguish of deathless hair."

For a long time the heart of the poet would admit of no consolation. He
replied to every attempt to soften his grief,--

"There's a narrow ridge in the graveyard,
Would scarce stay a child in his race;
But to me and my thought it is wider
Than the star-sown vague of Space.

"Your logic, my friend, is perfect,
Your morals most drearily true;
But since the earth clashed on _her_ coffin,
I keep hearing that, and not you.

"Console if you will, I can bear it;
'Tis a well-meant alms of breath;
But not all the preaching since Adam,
Has made Death other than Death.

"It is pagan; but wait till you feel it,--
That jar of the earth, that dull shock,
When the ploughshare of deeper passion
Tears down to our primitive rock.

"Communion in spirit! forgive me,
But I, who am earthy and weak,
Would give all my incomes from dream-land
For a touch of her hand on my cheek.

"That little shoe in the corner,
So worn and wrinkled and brown,
With its emptiness confutes you,
And argues your wisdom down."

On the same day that Mrs. Lowell died a child was born to Mr.
Longfellow, who sent to his friend the beautiful poem, "The Two Angels."

"'T was at thy door, O friend, and not at mine,
The angel with the amaranthine wreath
Pausing, descended, and with voice divine
Whispered a word that had a sound like death."

In 1854 Mr. Lowell was appointed as Mr. Longfellow's successor to the
chair of _belles-lettres_ in Harvard University,--a place for which he
was most admirably fitted by nature and by training. He went abroad
again and studied for two years, chiefly in Dresden, when he returned
and began his lectures, which were much enjoyed by his cultivated
audience. He dwelt with loving care upon Dante, Chaucer, Shakspeare, and
Cervantes, in particular, and made a deep impression upon all who
listened to him.

In 1857 Mr. Lowell was married for the second time, to Miss Frances
Dunlap of Portland, Maine, who had had charge of the education of