pe the second time. Before leaving America,
however, he committed the publication of "Outre Mer" to the Harpers, of
New York, who issued it complete in two volumes in 1835. Its popularity
was very decided. Soon after reaching Europe, Mr. Longfellow was visited
with a sad bereavement in the loss of his wife, who died at Rotterdam.
He devoted this European visit to the northern part of the continent,
Denmark, Sweden, Germany, and Holland, and to England, and spent some
time in Paris. Returning in the autumn of 1836, he entered upon his
duties at Harvard, and made his home in Cambridge. He continued his
contributions to the "North American Review," and a number of fugitive
pieces flowed from his pen into print.

In the summer of 1837 he went to live in the house which has ever since
been his home. This is the old Craigie House, in Cambridge, famous in
our history as having been the headquarters of Washington during the
siege of Boston. It had been built by Colonel John Vassal about the
middle of the last century, and had finally passed into the hands of
Andrew Craigie, "Apothecary General to the Northern Provincial Army" of
the infant Republic. Craigie had ruined himself by his lavish
hospitality, and his widow, a stately old lady, and worthy in every
respect of a better fate, had been reduced to the necessity of letting
rooms and parting with the greater portion of the lands which had
belonged to the mansion. Mr. Longfellow had been attracted to the house
not only by its winning and home-like appearance, but by its historical
associations. Mrs. Craigie had decided at the time to let no more rooms,
but the young professor's gentle, winning manner conquered her
determination, and she not only received him into the old mansion, but
installed him in the south-east corner room in the second story, which
had been used by Washington as his bed-chamber.

It was just the home for our poet. Its windows looked out upon one of
the loveliest landscapes in New England, with the bright river winding
through the broad meadow beyond the house, and the blue Milton Hills
dotting the distant background. The bright verdure of New England
sparkled on every side, and the stately old elms that stood guard by the
house screened it from the prying eyes of the passers on the public
road. The whole place was hallowed to its new inmate by the memories of
the brave soldiers, wise statesmen, and brilliant ladies who had graced
its heroic age, and of w