a boy friend, with whom he was passing
the evening, pronounced the verses stiff and entirely lacking in
originality, a criticism that was quite true and that was harder to
bear because the critic had no idea who the author was. Longfellow
slipped away as soon as possible to nurse his wounded feelings in his
own room, but instead of letting the incident discourage him, began,
with renewed vigor, to write verses, epigrams, essays, and even
tragedies, which he produced in a literary partnership with one of
his friends. None of these effusions had any literary value, being no
better than any boy of thirteen or fourteen would produce if he turned
his attention to composition instead of bat and ball.

Longfellow remained in Portland until his sixteenth year, when he went
to Bowdoin College, entering the sophomore class. Here he remained for
three years, gradually winning a name for scholarship and character
that was second to none.

His love for reading still continued, Irving remaining a favorite
author, while Cooper was also warmly appreciated. From the
_Sketch-Book_ he would turn to the exciting pages of _The Spy_, and
the announcement of a new work by either of their authors was looked
forward to as an event of supreme importance. From time to time he
wrote verses which appeared in the periodicals of the day, and as his
college life neared its close he began to look toward literature as
the field for his future work, and it was with much disappointment
that he learned that his father wished him to study law.

But what the effect of such a course may have had upon his mind so
filled with the love of poetry, and so consecrated to the ideal, will
never be known, as the end of his college life brought to him a chance
which, for the moment, entirely satisfied the desire of his heart.

This was an offer from the college trustees that he should visit
Europe for the purpose of fitting himself for a professorship of
modern languages, and that upon his return he should fill that chair,
newly established at Bowdoin.

This was the happiest fortune that could come to Longfellow in the
beginning of his literary career. Accordingly, at the age of nineteen,
he sailed for France in good health, with fine prospects, and with as
fair a hope for the future as ever was given.

Longfellow remained abroad three years, studying and absorbing all the
new conditions which were broadening his mind, and fitting him for his
after-career. He vi