years　in　a　vigilance　for　Confederate　privateers　which　none　of　them　ever
  surprised。　　I　had　asked　for　the　consulate　at　Munich；　where　I　hoped　to
  steep　myself　yet　longer　in　German　poetry；　but　when　my　appointment　came；
  I　found　it　was　for　Rome。　　I　was　very　glad　to　get　Rome　even；　but　the
  income　of　the　office　was　in　fees；　and　I　thought　I　had　better　go　on　to
  Washington　and　find　out　how　much　the　fees　amounted　to。　　People　in
  Columbus　who　had　been　abroad　said　that　on　five　hundred　dollars　you　could
  live　in　Rome　like　a　prince；　but　I　doubted　this；　and　when　I　learned　at　the
  State　Department　that　the　fees　of　the　Roman　consulate　came　to　only　three
  hundred；　I　perceived　that　I　could　not　live　better　than　a　baron；　probably；
  and　I　despaired。　　The　kindly　chief　of　the　consular　bureau　said　that　the
  President's　secretaries；　Mr。　John　Nicolay　and　Mr。　John　Hay；　were
  interested　in　my　appointment；　and　he　advised　my　going　over　to　the　White
  House　and　seeing　them。　　I　lost　no　time　in　doing　that；　and　I　learned　that
  as　young　Western　men　they　were　interested　in　me　because　I　was　a　young
  Western　man　who　had　done　something　in　literature；　and　they　were　willing
  to　help　me　for　that　reason；　and　for　no　other　that　I　ever　knew。　　They
  proposed　my　going　to　Venice；　the　salary　was　then　seven　hundred　and　fifty；
  but　they　thought　they　could　get　it　put　up　to　a　thousand。　　In　the　end　they
  got　it　put　up　to　fifteen　hundred；　and　so　I　went　to　Venice；　where　if　I　did
  not　live　like　a　prince　on　that　income；　I　lived　a　good　deal　more　like　a
  prince　than　I　could　have　done　at　Rome　on　a　fifth　of　it。
  If　the　appointment　was　not　present　fortune；　it　was　the　beginning　of　the
  best　luck　I　have　had　in　the　world；　and　I　am　glad　to　owe　it　all　to　those
  friends　of　my　verse；　who　could　have　been　no　otherwise　friends　of　me。
  They　were　then　beginning　very　early　careers　of　distinction　which　have　not
  been　wholly　divided。　　Mr。　Nicolay　could　have　been　about　twenty…five；　and
  Mr。　Hay　nineteen　or　twenty。　　No　one　dreamed　as　yet　of　the　opportunity
  opening　to　them　in　being　so　constantly　near　the　man　whose　life　they　have
  written；　and　with　whose　fame　they　have　imperishably　interwrought　their
  names。　　I　remember　the　sobered　dignity　of　the　one；　and　the　humorous
  gaiety　of　the　other；　and　how　we　had　some　young　men's　joking　and　laughing
  together；　in　the　anteroom　where　they　received　me；　with　the　great　soul
  entering　upon　its　travail　beyond　the　closed　door。　　They　asked　me　if　I　had
  ever　seen　the　President；　and　I　said　that　I　had　seen　him　at　Columbus；　the
  year　before；　but　I　could　not　say　how　much　I　should　like　to　see　him　again；
  and　thank　him　for　the　favor　which　I　had　no　claim　to　at　his　hands；　except
  such　as　the　slight　campaign　biography　I　had　written　could　be　thought　to
  have　given　me。　　That　day　or　another；　as　I　left　my　friends；　I　met　him　in
  the　corridor　without；　and　he　looked　at　the　space　I　was　part　of　with　his
  ineffably　melancholy　eyes；　without　knowing　that　I　was　the
  indistinguishable　person　in　whose　〃integrity　and　abilities　he　had　reposed
  such　special　confidence〃　as　to　have　appointed　him　consul　for　Venice　and
  the　ports　of　the　Lombardo…Venetian　Kingdom；　though　he　might　have
  recognized　the　terms　of　my　commission　if　I　had　reminded　him　of　them。
  I　faltered　a　moment　in　my　longing　to　address　him；　and　then　I　decided　that
  every　one　who　forebore　to　speak　needlessly　to　him；　or　to　shake　his　hand；
  did　him　a　kindness；　and　I　wish　I　could　be　as　sure　of　the　wisdom　of　all　my
  past　behavior　as　I　am　of　that　piece　of　it。　　He　walked　up　to　the
  watercooler　that　stood　in　the　corner；　and　drew　himself　a　full　goblet　from
  it；　which　he　poured　down　his　throat　with　a　backward　tilt　of　his　head；　and
  then　went　wearily　within　doors。　　The　whole　affair；　so　simple；　has　always
  remained　one　of　a　certain　pathos　in　my　memory；　and　I　would　rather　have
  seen　Lincoln　in　that　unconscious　moment　than　on　some　statelier　occasion。
  V。
  I　went　home　to　Ohio；　and　sent　on　the　bond　I　was　to　file　in　the　Treasury
  Department；　but　it　was　mislaid　there；　and　to　prevent　another　chance　of
  that　kind　I　carried　on　the　duplicate　myself。　　It　was　on　my　second　visit
  that　I　met　the　generous　young　Irishman　William　D。　O'Connor；　at　the　house
  of　my　friend　Piatt；　and　heard　his　ardent　talk。　　He　was　one　of　the
  promising　men　of　that　day；　and　he　had　written　an　anti…slavery　novel　in
  the　heroic　mood　of　Victor　Hugo；　which　greatly　took　my　fancy；　and　I
  believe　he　wrote　poems　too。　　He　had　not　yet　risen　to　be　the　chief　of　Walt
  Whitman's　champions　outside　of　the　Saturday　Press；　but　he　had　already
  espoused　the　theory　of　Bacon's　authorship　of　Shakespeare；　then　newly
  exploited　by　the　poor　lady　of　Bacon's　name；　who　died　constant　to　it　in　an
  insane　asylum。　　He　used　to　speak　of　the　reputed　dramatist　as　〃the　fat
  peasant　of　Stratford；〃　and　he　was　otherwise　picturesque　of　speech　in　a
  measure　that　consoled；　if　it　did　not　convince。　　The　great　war　was　then
  full　upon　us；　and　when　in　the　silences　of　our　literary　talk　its　awful
  breath　was　heard；　and　its　shadow　fell　upon　the　hearth　where　we　gathered
  round　the　first　fires　of　autumn；　O'Connor　would　lift　his　beautiful　head
  with　a　fine　effect　of　prophecy；　and　say；　〃Friends；　I　feel　a　sense　of
  victory　in　the　air。〃　　He　was　not　wrong；　only　the　victory　was　for　the
  other　aide。
  Who　beside　O'Connor　shared　in　these　saddened　symposiums　I　cannot　tell
  now；　but　probably　other　young　journalists　and　office…holders；　intending
  litterateurs；　since　more　or　less　extinct。　　I　make　certain　only　of　the
  young　Boston　publisher　who　issued　a　very　handsome　edition　of　'Leaves　of
  Grass'；　and　then　failed　promptly　if　not　consequently。　　But　I　had　already
  met；　in　my　first　sojourn　at　the　capital；　a　young　journalist　who　had　given
  hostages　to　poetry；　and　whom　I　was　very　glad　to　see　and　proud　to　know。
  Mr。　Stedman　and　I　were　talking　over　that　meeting　the　other　day；　and　I　can
  be　surer　than　I　might　have　been　without　his　memory；　that　I　found　him　at　a
  friend's　house；　where　he　was　nursing　himself　for　some　slight　sickness；
  and　that　I　sat　by　his　bed　while　our　souls　launched　together　into　the
  joyful　realms　of　hope　and　praise。　　In　him　I　found　the　quality　of　Boston；
  the　honor　and　passion　of　literature；　and　not　a　mere　pose　of　the　literary
  life；　and　the　world　knows　without　my　telling　how　true　he　has　been　to　his
  ideal　of　it。　　His　earthly　mission　then　was　to　write　letters　from
  Washington　for　the　New　York　World；　which　started　in　life　as　a　good　young
  evening　paper；　with　a　decided　religious　tone；　so　that　the　Saturday　Press
  could　call　it　the　Night…blooming　Serious。　　I　think　Mr。　Stedman　wrote　for
  its　editorial　page　at　times；　and　his　relation　to　it　as　a　Washington
  correspondent　had　an　authority　which　is　wanting　to　the　function　in　these
  days　of　perfected　telegraphing。　　He　had　not　yet　achieved　that　seat　in　the
  Stock　Exchange　whose　possession　has　justified　his　recourse　to　business；
  and　has　helped　him　to　mean　something　more　single　in　literature　than　many
  more　singly　devoted　to　it。　　I　used　sometimes　to　speak　about　that　with
  another　eager　young　author　in　certain　middle　years　when　we　were　chafing
  in　editorial　harness；　and　we　always　decided　that　Stedman　had　the　best　of
  it　in　being　able　to　earn　his　living　in　a　sort　so　alien　to　literature　that
  he　could　come　to　it　unjaded；　and　with　a　gust　unspoiled　by　kindred　savors。
  But　no　man　shapes　his　own　life；　and　I　dare　say　that　Stedman　may　have　been
  all　the　time　envying　us　our　tripods　from　his　high　place　in　the　Stock
  Exchange。　　What　is　certain　is　that　he　has　come　to　stand　for　literature
  and　to　embody　New　York　in　it　as　no　one　else　does。　　In　a　community　which
  seems　never　to　have　had　a　conscious　relation　to　letters；　he　has　kept　the
  faith　with　dignity　and　fought　the　fight　with　constant　courage。　　Scholar
  and　poet　at　once；　he　has　spoken　to　his　generation　with　authority　which　we
  can　forget　only　in　the　charm　which　makes　us　forget　everything　else。
  But　his　fame　was　still　before　him　when　we　met；　and　I　could　bring　to　him
  an　admiration　for　work　which　had　not　yet　made　itself　known　to　so　many；
  but　any　admirer　was　welcome。　　We　talked　of　what　we　had　done；　and　each
  said　how　much　he　liked　certain　thing　of　the　other's；　I　even　seized　my
  advantage　of　his　helplessness　to　read　him　a　poem　of　mine　which　I　had　in
  my　pocket；　he　advised　me　where　to　place　it；　and　if　the　reader　will　not
  think　it　an　unfair　digression；　I　will　tell　here　what　became　of　that　poem；
  for　I　think　its　varied　fortunes　were　amusing；　and　I　hope　my　own
  sufferings　and　final　triumph　with　it　will　not　be　without　encouragement　to
  the　young　literary　endeavorer。　　It　was　a　poem　called；　with　no　prophetic
  sense　of　fitness；　〃Forlorn；〃　and　I　tried　it　first　with　the　'Atlantic
  Monthly'；　which　would　not　have　it。　　Then　I　offered　it　in　person　to　a
  former　editor　of　'Harper's　Monthly'；　but　he　could　not　see　his　advantage
  in　it；　and　I　carried　it　overseas　to　Venice　with　me。　　From　that　point　I
  sent　it　to　all　the　English　magazines　as　steadily　as　the　post　could　carry
  it　away　and　bring　it　back。　　On　my　way　home；　four　years　later；　I　took　it
  to　London　with　me；　where　a　friend　who　knew　Lewes；　then　just　beginning
  with　the　'Fortnightly　Review'；　sent　it　to　him　for　me。　　It　was　promptly
  returned；　with　a　letter　wholly　reserved　as　to　its　quality；　but　full　of　a
  poetic　gratitude　for　my　wish　to　cont