English　poetry；　and　I　knew　Sir　Launfal　must　be　Lowell　in　some　sort；　but
  my　love　for　him　as　a　poet　was　chiefly　centred　in　my　love　for　his　tender
  rhyme；　'Auf　Wiedersehen'；　which　I　can　not　yet　read　without　something　of
  the　young　pathos　it　first　stirred　in　me。　　I　knew　and　felt　his　greatness
  some　how　apart　from　the　literary　proofs　of　it；　he　ruled　my　fancy　and　held
  my　allegiance　as　a　character；　as　a　man；　and　I　am　neither　sorry　nor
  ashamed　that　I　was　abashed　when　I　first　came　into　his　presence；　and　that
  in　spite　of　his　words　of　welcome　I　sat　inwardly　quaking　before　him。　　He
  was　then　forty…one　years　old；　and　nineteen　my　senior；　and　if　there　had
  been　nothing　else　to　awe　me；　I　might　well　have　been　quelled　by　the
  disparity　of　our　ages。　　But　I　have　always　been　willing　and　even　eager　to
  do　homage　to　men　who　have　done　something；　and　notably　to　men　who　have
  done　something。　　in　the　sort　I　wished　to　do　something　in；　myself。　　I
  could　never　recognize　any　other　sort　of　superiority；　but　that　I　am　proud
  to　recognize；　and　I　had　before　Lowell　some　such　feeling　as　an　obscure
  subaltern　might　have　before　his　general。　　He　was　by　nature　a　bit　of　a
  disciplinarian；　and　the　effect　was　from　him　as　well　as　in　me；　I　dare　say
  he　let　me　feel　whatever　difference　there　was　as　helplessly　as　I　felt　it。
  At　the　first　encounter　with　people　he　always　was　apt　to　have　a　certain
  frosty　shyness；　a　smiling　cold；　as　from　the　long；　high…sunned　winters　of
  his　Puritan　race；　he　was　not　quite　himself　till　he　had　made　you　aware　of
  his　quality：　then　no　one　could　be　sweeter；　tenderer；　warmer　than　he；　then
  he　made　you　free　of　his　whole　heart；　but　you　must　be　his　captive　before
  he　could　do　that。　　His　whole　personality　had　now　an　instant　charm　for　me；
  I　could　not　keep　my　eyes　from　those　beautiful　eyes　of　his；　which　had　a
  certain　starry　serenity；　and　looked　out　so　purely　from　under　his　white
  forehead；　shadowed　with　auburn　hair　untouched　by　age；　or　from　the　smile
  that　shaped　the　auburn　beard；　and　gave　the　face　in　its　form　and　color　the
  Christ…look　which　Page's　portrait　has　flattered　in　it。
  His　voice　had　as　great　a　fascination　for　me　as　his　face。　　The　vibrant
  tenderness　and　the　crisp　clearness　of　the　tones；　the　perfect　modulation；
  the　clear　enunciation；　the　exquisite　accent；　the　elect　dictionI　did　not
  know　enough　then　to　know　that　these　were　the　gifts；　these　were　the
  graces；　of　one　from　whose　tongue　our　rough　English　came　music　such　as　I
  should　never　hear　from　any　other。　　In　this　speech　there　was　nothing　of
  our　slipshod　American　slovenliness；　but　a　truly　Italian　conscience　and　an
  artistic　sense　of　beauty　in　the　instrument。
  I　saw；　before　he　sat　down　across　his　writing…table　from　me；　that　he　was
  not　far　from　the　medium　height；　but　his　erect　carriage　made　the　most　of
  his　five　feet　and　odd　inches。　　He　had　been　smoking　the　pipe　he　loved；　and
  he　put　it　back　in　his　mouth；　presently；　as　if　he　found　himself　at　greater
  ease　with　it；　when　he　began　to　chat；　or　rather　to　let　me　show　what　manner
  of　young　man　I　was　by　giving　me　the　first　word。　　I　told　him　of　the
  trouble　I　had　in　finding　him；　and　I　could　not　help　dragging　in　something
  about　Heine's　search　for　Borne；　when　he　went　to　see　him　in　Frankfort；　but
  I　felt　at　once　this　was　a　false　start；　for　Lowell　was　such　an　impassioned
  lover　of　Cambridge；　which　was　truly　his　patria；　in　the　Italian　sense；
  that　it　must　have　hurt　him　to　be　unknown　to　any　one　in　it；　he　said；
  a　little　dryly；　that　he　should　not　have　thought　I　would　have　so　much
  difficulty；　but　he　added；　forgivingly；　that　this　was　not　his　own　house；
  which　he　was　out　of　for　the　time。　　Then　he　spoke　to　me　of　Heine；　and　when
  I　showed　my　ardor　for　him；　he　sought　to　temper　it　with　some　judicious
  criticisms；　and　told　me　that　he　had　kept　the　first　poem　I　sent　him；　for
  the　long　time　it　had　been　unacknowledged；　to　make　sure　that　it　was　not　a
  translation。　　He　asked　me　about　myself；　and　my　name；　and　its　Welsh
  origin；　and　seemed　to　find　the　vanity　I　had　in　this　harmless　enough。
  When　I　said　I　had　tried　hard　to　believe　that　I　was　at　least　the　literary
  descendant　of　Sir　James　Howels；　he　corrected　me　gently　with　〃James
  Howel；〃　and　took　down　a　volume　of　the　'Familiar　Letters'　from　the　shelves
  behind　him　to　prove　me　wrong。　　This　was　always　his　habit；　as　I　found
  afterwards　when　he　quoted　anything　from　a　book　he　liked　to　get　it　and
  read　the　passage　over；　as　if　he　tasted　a　kind　of　hoarded　sweetness　in　the
  words。　　It　visibly　vexed　him　if　they　showed　him　in　the　least　mistaken；
  but
  〃The　love　he　bore　to　learning　was　at　fault〃
  for　this　foible；　and　that　other　of　setting　people　right　if　he　thought
  them　wrong。　　I　could　not　assert　myself　against　his　version　of　Howels's
  name；　for　my　edition　of　his　letters　was　far　away　in　Ohio；　and　I　was
  obliged　to　own　that　the　name　was　spelt　in　several　different　ways　in　it。
  He　perceived；　no　doubt；　why　I　had　chosen　the　form　liked　my　own；　with　the
  title　which　the　pleasant　old　turncoat　ought　to　have　had　from　the　many
  masters　he　served　according　to　their　many　minds；　but　never　had　except
  from　that　erring　edition。　　He　did　not　afflict　me　for　it；　though；　probably
  it　amused　him　too　much；　he　asked　me　about　the　West；　and　when　he　found
  that　I　was　as　proud　of　the　West　as　I　was　of　Wales；　he　seemed　even　better
  pleased；　and　said　he　had　always　fancied　that　human　nature　was　laid　out　on
  rather　a　larger　scale　there　than　in　the　East；　but　he　had　seen　very　little
  of　the　West。　　In　my　heart　I　did　not　think　this　then；　and　I　do　not　think
  it　now；　human　nature　has　had　more　ground　to　spread　over　in　the　West；　that
  is　all；　but　〃it　was　not　for　me　to　bandy　words　with　my　sovereign。〃　　He
  said　he　liked　to　hear　of　the　differences　between　the　different　sections；
  for　what　we　had　most　to　fear　in　our　country　was　a　wearisome　sameness　of
  type。
  He　did　not　say　now；　or　at　any　other　time　during　the　many　years　I　knew
  him；　any　of　those　slighting　things　of　the　West　which　I　had　so　often　to
  suffer　from　Eastern　people；　but　suffered　me　to　praise　it　all　I　would。　　He
  asked　me　what　way　I　had　taken　in　coming　to　New　England；　and　when　I　told
  him；　and　began　to　rave　of　the　beauty　and　quaintness　of　French　Canada；
  and　to　pour　out　my　joy　in　Quebec；　he　said；　with　a　smile　that　had　now　lost
  all　its　frost；　Yes；　Quebec　was　a　bit　of　the　seventeenth　century；　it　was
  in　many　ways　more　French　than　France；　and　its　people　spoke　the　language
  of　Voltaire；　with　the　accent　of　Voltaire's　time。
  I　do　not　remember　what　else　he　talked　of；　though　once　I　remembered　it
  with　what　I　believed　an　ineffaceable　distinctness。　　I　set　nothing　of　it
  down　at　the　time；　I　was　too　busy　with　the　letters　I　was　writing　for　a
  Cincinnati　paper；　and　I　was　severely　bent　upon　keeping　all　personalities
  out　of　them。　　This　was　very　well；　but　I　could　wish　now　that　I　had
  transgressed　at　least　so　far　as　to　report　some　of　the　things　that　Lowell
  said；　for　the　paper　did　not　print　my　letters；　and　it　would　have　been
  perfectly　safe；　and　very　useful　for　the　present　purpose。　　But　perhaps　he
  did　not　say　anything　very　memorable；　to　do　that　you　must　have　something
  positive　in　your　listener；　and　I　was　the　mere　response；　the　hollow　echo；
  that　youth　must　be　in　like　circumstances。　　I　was　all　the　time　afraid　of
  wearing　my　welcome　out；　and　I　hurried　to　go　when　I　would　so　gladly　have
  staid。　　I　do　not　remember　where　I　meant　to　go；　or　why　he　should　have
  undertaken　to　show　me　the　way　across…lots；　but　this　was　what　he　did；　and
  when　we　came　to　a　fence；　which　I　clambered　gracelessly　over；　he　put　his
  hands　on　the　top；　and　tried　to　take　it　at　a　bound。　　He　tried　twice；　and
  then　laughed　at　his　failure；　but　not　with　any　great　pleasure；　and　he　was
  not　content　till　a　third　trial　carried　him　across。　　Then　he　said；
  〃I　commonly　do　that　the　first　time；〃　as　if　it　were　a　frequent　habit　with
  him；　while　I　remained　discreetly　silent；　and　for　that　moment　at　least
  felt　myself　the　elder　of　the　man　who　had　so　much　of　the　boy　in　him。　　He
  had；　indeed；　much　of　the　boy　in　him　to　the　last；　and　he　parted　with　each
  hour　of　his　youth　reluctantly；　pathetically。
  VIII。
  We　walked　across　what　must　have　been　Jarvis　Field　to　what　must　have　been
  North　Avenue；　and　there　he　left　me。　　But　before　he　let　me　go　he　held　my
  hand　while　he　could　say　that　he　wished　me　to　dine　with　him；　only；　he　was
  not　in　his　own　house；　and　he　would　ask　me　to　dine　with　him　at　the　Parker
  House　in　Boston；　and　would　send　me　word　of　the　time　later。
  I　suppose　I　may　have　spent　part　of　the　intervening　time　in　viewing　the
  wonders　of　Boston；　and　visiting　the　historic　scenes　and　places　in　it　and
  about　it。　　I　certainly　went　over　to　Charleston；　and　ascended　Bunker　Hill
  monument；　and　explored　the　navy…yard；　where　the　immemorial　man…of…war
  begun　in　Jackson's　time　was　then　silently　stretching　itself　under　its
  long　shed　in　a　poetic　arrest；　as　if　the　failure　of　the　appropriation　for
  its　completion　had　been　some　kind　of　enchantment。　　In　Boston；　I　early
  presented　my　letter　of　credit　to　the　publisher　it　was　drawn　upon；　not
  that　I　needed　money　at　the　moment；　but　from　a　young　eagerness　to　see　if
  it　would　be　honored；　and　a　literary　attache　of　the　house　kindly　went
  about　with　me；　and　showed　me　the　life　of　the　city。　　A　great　city　it
  seemed　to　me　then；　and　a　seething　vor