hard to secure tariff reform, and a pet idea of his was the
reformation of the American civil service system. On all these
subjects he spoke and wrote to the people with sincerity and
earnestness. When aroused he could be eloquent, and even in later
life, sometimes, some of the fire of the early days when he fought the
slaveholders and the oppressors, would burst out with its old time
energy. He was ever outspoken and fearless, regardless, apparently, of
consequences, so long as his cause was just.

As professor of _belles-lettres_ at Harvard University, he had ample
opportunity for cultivating his literary studies, and though he
continued to take a lively interest always in the political changes
and upheavals constantly going on about him, he never applied for
office. In politics he was a Republican. His party offered him the
mission to Russia, but he declined the honor. During the Hayes
administration, however, when his old classmate, General Devens, had a
seat in the Cabinet, the government was more successful with him. He
was tendered the post of Minister to Spain. This was in 1877, and he
accepted it, somewhat half-heartedly, to be sure, for he had
misgivings about leaving his lovely home at Elmwood, the house he was
born in, the pride and glory of his life, the _locale_ of many of his
poems, the historic relic of royalist days. And then again, he did not
care to leave the then unbroken circle of friends, for Dr. Holmes,
John Holmes, Agassiz, Longfellow, Norton, Fields, John Bartlett,
Whipple, Hale, James Freeman Clarke, and others of the famous Saturday
club, he saw almost every day. And then, yet again, there was the
whist club, how could he leave that? But he was overcome, and he went
to Spain, and began, among the grandees and dons, his diplomatic
career. His fame had preceded him, and he knew the language and
literature of Cervantes well. It was not long before he became the
friend of all with whom he came into contact. But no great diplomatic
work engaged his attention, for there was none to do. The Queen
Mercedes died, during his term, much beloved, and Mr. Lowell wrote in
her memory one of his most chaste and beautiful sonnets:--

"Hers all that earth could promise or bestow,--
Youth, Beauty, Love, a crown, the beckoning years,
Lids never wet, unless with joyous tears,
A life remote from every sordid woe,
And by a nation's swelled to lordlier flow.
What lurking-place, thoug