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criticism： he was the finest artist of them all； and if he praised he
must have praised with the reservations of an honest man。 Of younger
writers he was willing enough to speak。 No new contributor made his mark
in the magazine unnoted by him； and sometimes I showed him verse in
manuscript which gave me peculiar pleasure。 I remember his liking for
the first piece that Mr。 Maurice Thompson sent me； and how he tasted the
fresh flavor of it； and inhaled its wild new fragrance。 He admired the
skill of some of the young story…tellers； he praised the subtlety of one
in working out an intricate character； and said modestly that he could
never have done that sort of thing himself。 It was entirely safe to
invite his judgment when in doubt； for he never suffered it to become
aggressive； or used it to urge upon me the manuscripts that must often
have been urged upon him。
Longfellow had a house at Nahant where he went every summer for more than
a quarter of a century。 He found the slight transition change enough
from Cambridge； and liked it perhaps because it did not take him beyond
the range of the friends and strangers whose company he liked。 Agassiz
was there； and Appleton； Sumner came to sojourn with him； and the
tourists of all nations found him there in half an hour after they
reached Boston。 His cottage was very plain and simple； but was rich in
the sight of the illimitable； sea； and it had a luxury of rocks at the
foot of its garden； draped with sea…weed； and washed with the
indefatigable tides。 As he grew older and feebler he ceased to go to
Nahant； he remained the whole year round at Cambridge； he professed to
like the summer which he said warmed him through there； better than the
cold spectacle of summer which had no such effect at Nahant。
The hospitality which was constant at either house was not merely of the
worldly sort。 Longfellow loved good cheer； he tasted history and poetry
in a precious wine； and he liked people who were acquainted with manners
and men； and brought the air of capitals with them。 But often the man
who dined with Longfellow was the man who needed a dinner； and from what
I have seen of the sweet courtesy that governed at that board； I am sure
that such a man could never have felt himself the least honored guest。
The poet's heart was open to all the homelessness of the world； and I
remember how once when we sat at his table and I spoke of his poem of
〃The Challenge；〃 then a new poem； and said how I had been touched by the
fancy of
〃The poverty…stricken millions
Who challenge our wine and bread；
And impeach us all as traitors；
Both the living and the dead；〃
his voice sank in grave humility as he answered； 〃Yes； I often think of
those things。〃 He had thought of them in the days of the slave； when he
had taken his place with the friends of the hopeless and hapless； and as
long as he lived he continued of the party which had freed the slave。
He did not often speak of politics； but when the movement of some of the
best Republicans away from their party began； he said that he could not
see the wisdom of their course。 But this was said without censure or
criticism of them； and so far as I know he never permitted himself
anything like denunciation of those who in any wise differed from him。
On a matter of yet deeper interest； I do not feel authorized to speak for
him； but I think that as he grew older； his hold upon anything like a
creed weakened； though he remained of the Unitarian philosophy concerning
Christ。 He did not latterly go to church； I believe； but then； very few
of his circle were church…goers。 Once he said something very vague and
uncertain concerning the doctrine of another life when I affirmed my hope
of it； to the effect that he wished he could be sure； with the sigh that
so often clothed the expression of a misgiving with him。
VII。
When my acquaintance with Longfellow began he had written the things that
made his fame； and that it will probably rest upon： 〃Evangeline；〃
〃Hiawatha；〃 and the 〃Courtship of Miles Standish〃 were by that time old
stories。 But during the eighteen years that I knew him he produced the
best of his minor poems； the greatest of his sonnets； the sweetest of his
lyrics。 His art ripened to the last； it grew richer and finer； and it
never knew decay。 He rarely read anything of his own aloud； but in three
or four cases he read to me poems he had just finished； as if to give
himself the pleasure of hearing them with the sympathetic sense of
another。 The hexameter piece； 〃Elizabeth；〃 in the third part of 〃Tales
of a Wayside Inn；〃 was one of these； and he liked my liking its
rhythmical form； which I believed one of the measures best adapted to the
English speech； and which he had used himself with so much pleasure and
success。
About this time he was greatly interested in the slight experiments I was
beginning to make in dramatic form； and he said that if he were himself a
young man he should write altogether for the stage； he thought the drama
had a greater future with us。 He was pleased when a popular singer
wished to produce his 〃Masque of Pandora；〃 with music； and he was patient
when it failed of the effect hoped for it as an opera。 When the late
Lawrence Barrett； in the enthusiasm which was one of the fine traits of
his generous character； had taken my play of 〃A Counterfeit Presentment；〃
and came to the Boston Museum with it； Longfellow could not apparently
have been more zealous for its popular acceptance if it had been his own
work。 He invited himself to one of the rehearsals with me； and he sat
with me on the stage through the four acts with a fortitude which I still
wonder at； and with the keenest zest for all the details of the
performance。 No finer testimony to the love and honor which all kinds of
people had for him could have been given than that shown by the actors
and employees of the theatre； high and low。 They thronged the scenery；
those who were not upon the stage； and at the edge of every wing were
faces peering round at the poet； who sat unconscious of their adoration；
intent upon the play。 He was intercepted at every step in going out； and
made to put his name to the photographs of himself which his worshippers
produced from their persons。
He came to the first night of the piece； and when it seemed to be finding
favor with the public； he leaned forward out of his line to nod and smile
at the author； when they； had the author up； it was the sweetest flattery
of the applause which abused his fondness that Longfellow clapped first
and loudest。
Where once he had given his kindness he could not again withhold it； and
he was anxious no fact should be interpreted as withdrawal。 When the
Emperor Dom Pedro of Brazil； who was so great a lover of Longfellow；
came to Boston； he asked himself out to dine with the poet； who had
expected to offer him some such hospitality。 Soon after； Longfellow met
me； and as if eager to forestall a possible feeling in me； said；
〃I wanted to ask you to dinner with the Emperor； but he not only sent
word he was coming； he named his fellow…guests！〃 I answered that though
I should probably never come so near dining with an emperor again； I
prized his wish to ask me much more than the chance I had missed； and
with this my great and good friend seemed a little consoled。 I believe
that I do not speak too confidently of our relation。 He was truly the
friend of all men； but I had certainly the advantage of my propinquity。
We were near neighbors； as the pleonasm has it； both when I lived on
Berkeley Street and after I had built my own house on Concord Avenue；
and I suppose he found my youthful informality convenient。 He always
asked me to dinner when his old friend Greene came to visit him； and then
we had an Italian time together； with more or less repetition in our
talk； of what we had said before of Italian poetry and Italian character。
One day there came a note from him saying； in effect； 〃Salvini is coming
out to dine with me tomorrow night； and I want you to come too。 There
will be no one else but Greene and myself； and we