fame and
stood in the ripeness of the harvest, was expressed in the words of
Fitz Greene Halleck, which he quoted: "A little well written is
immortality." He had always acted on Horace's advice as given in the
"Poetic Art," and had chosen subjects that waited a voice, and made
what was useful, agreeable. Every poem, even though an inspiration,
had been carefully revised, until the best and most sympathetic,
picturesque, and worthy expression was found. His poems grew in art
with years. One of his earliest volumes was "Outre Mer," which was
followed by "Hyperion" after some years; both prose works were filled
with the spirit of poetry. In 1839 he published his first popular
volume of verse under the title of "Voices of the Night;" in 1841,
"Ballads and other Poems;" in 1842, "Poems on Slavery;" in 1843, "The
Spanish Student;" in 1846, "The Belfry of Bruges;" and in 1847,
"Evangeline," which established his fame. His other works were
published after intervals of two or three years, with a long silence
after the death of his wife in 1861. The last of his great poems was
"Morituri Salutamus," read by him at the fiftieth reunion of his class
at Bowdoin College. One of his most perfect poems, and perhaps the
most elegant of its kind in any language, was produced at this period
of the beginning of life's winter, "Three Friends of Mine."

One March day in 1882, a lad from one of the Boston schools came to
me, and said that some pupils from the school wished to call on the
poet, and asked me if I supposed that he would receive them and give
them his autograph. I recalled that Longfellow had said to me that he
always answered applications for autographs, adding, "Would it not be
discourteous in me to refuse my name to one who took such an interest
in anything which I had written as to write me for such a favor?" I
replied that I had no doubt but that the poet would receive them
kindly; that he loved young people, and advised them to make the call.

He received the lads with his usual kindness, showed them the historic
associations of the old house, and then in their company looked over
on the Brighton meadows and the Charles River with its now icy _C_,
for the last time. The day was declining, the last March day that he
would ever see in health. Illness came soon after this visit from the
school-boys, and soon he who had lived on the way to Mt. Auburn, was
borne to the calm city of the dead. His grave is near Spurzheim's, not