heartrending sounds. Presently the singer gave us another and less
touching song, and before he ceased Longfellow rose and vanished from
the room in the dim light without a word."

"_September_ 27th.--Longfellow and Greene came in town in the
evening for a walk and to see the moonlight in the streets, and
afterwards to have supper.... He was very sad, and seemed to have
grown an old man since a week ago. He was silent and absent-minded. On
his previous visit he had borrowed Sidney's 'Arcadia' and Christina
Rossetti's poems, but he had read neither of the books. He was
overwhelmed with his grief, as if it were sometimes more than he could
endure."

"_Sunday, October_.--Took five little children to drive in the
afternoon, and stopped at Longfellow's. It was delightful to see their
enjoyment and his. He took them out of the carriage in his arms and
was touchingly kind to them. His love for children is not confined to
his poetic expressions or to his own family; he is uncommonly tender
and beautiful with them always."

I remember there was one little boy of whom he was very fond, and who
came often to see him. One day the child looked earnestly at the long
rows of books in the library, and at length said:--
"Have you got 'Jack the Giant-Killer'?"

Longfellow was obliged to confess that his library did not contain
that venerated volume. The little boy looked very sorry, and presently
slipped down from his knee and went away; but early the next morning
Longfellow saw him coming up the walk with something tightly clasped
in his little fists. The child had brought him two cents with which he