ovel of 'The Newcomes' was in course of publication, Lowell, who
was then in London, met Thackeray on the street. The novelist was
serious in manner, and his looks and voice told of weariness and
affliction. He saw the kindly inquiry in the poet's eyes, and
said, 'Come into Evan's and I'll tell you all about it. I have
killed the Colonel.'"

So they walked in and took a table in a remote corner, and then
Thackeray, drawing the fresh sheets of manuscript from his breast
pocket, read through that exquisitely touching chapter which records
the death of Colonel Newcome. When he came to the final _Adsum_, the
tears which had been swelling his lids for some time trickled down
upon his face, and the last word was almost an inarticulate sob.

The volume "Under the Willows," which contains the poems written at
intervals during ten or a dozen years, includes such well-remembered
favorites as "The First Snowfall," for an autograph "A Winter Evening
Hymn to My Fire," "The Dead House" (wonderfully beautiful it is), "The
Darkened Mind," "In the Twilight," and the vigorous "Villa Franca" so
full of moral strength. It appeared in 1869. Mr. Lowell's pen was
always busy about this time and earlier. He was a regular contributor
to the _Atlantic_ in prose and verse. He was lecturing to his students
and helping Longfellow with his matchless translation of Dante,
besides having other irons in the fire.

It is admitted that the greatest poem of the Civil War was, by all
odds, Mr. Lowell's noble commemoration ode. In that blood-red struggle
several of his kinsmen were slain, among them Gen. C. R. Lowell,
Lieut. I. I. Lowell, and Lieutenant Putnam, all nephews. His ode which
was written in 1865, and recited July 21, at the Harvard commemoration
services, is dedicated "To the ever sweet and shining memory of the
ninety-three sons of Harvard College, who have died for their country
in the war of nationality." It is, in every way, a great effort, and
the historic occasion which called it forth will not be forgotten. The
audience assembled to listen to it was very large. No hall could hold
the company, and so the ringing words were spoken in the open air.
Meade, the hero of Gettysburg, stood at one side, and near him were
Story, poet and sculptor, fresh from Rome, and General Devens,
afterwards judge, and fellows of Lowell's own class at college. The
most distinguished people of the Commonwealth lent their presence to
th