before her husband, summoned by her cries, could
extinguish the flames, she was terribly burned. Her injuries were
internal, and she soon afterwards died.

In 1868, Mr. Longfellow again visited Europe, and remained abroad more
than a year. His reception by all classes of the people of the Old World
was eminently gratifying to his countrymen. This welcome, so genuine and
heartfelt, was due, however, to the genius of the man, and not to his
nationality.

He had overstepped the bounds of country, and had made himself the poet
of the English-speaking race. A man of vast learning and varied
acquirements, thoroughly versed in the ways of the world, he is still as
simple and unaffected in thought and ways as when he listened to and
wondered at the dashing of the wild waves on the shore in his boyhood's
home. A most gifted and accomplished artist, he has been faithful to
nature in all things. Earnest and aspiring himself, he has given to his
poems the ring of a true manhood. There is nothing bitter, nothing
sarcastic in his writings. He views all things with a loving eye, and it
is the exquisite tenderness of his sympathy with his fellow-men that has
enabled him to find his way so readily to their hearts. Without seeking
to represent the intensity of passion, he deals with the fresh, simple
emotions of the human soul, and in his simplicity lies his power. He
touches a chord that finds an echo in every heart, and his poems have a
humanity in them that is irresistible. We admire the "grand old
masters," but shrink abashed from their sublime measures. Longfellow is
so human, he understands us so well, that we turn instinctively to his
simple, tender songs for comfort in sorrow, or for the greater
perfection of our happiness.

Perhaps I can not better illustrate the power of his simplicity than by
the following quotations:

There is no flock, however watched and tended,
But one dead lamb is there!
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,
But has one vacant chair!

The air is full of farewell to the dying,
And mournings for the dead;
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,
Will not be comforted.

Let us be patient! These severe afflictions
Not from the ground arise,
But oftentimes celestial benedictions
Assume this dark disguise.

We see but dimly through the mists and vapors,
Amid these earthly damps;
What see