"In fancy I can hear again

The Alpine torrent roar,

The mule bells on the hills of Spain,

The Sea at Elsinore.

I see the convent's gleaming walls
Rise from its grove of pine,
And towers of old Cathedral tall,

And castles by the Rhine."

So in his poems he voiced various aspirations, both native and foreign; but as we study into his life, we find his spirit more and more dominated by his "Christus." It was a theme upon which he pondered many years, for it was in 1841, that he wrote in his diary: "This evening it has come into my mind to undertake a long and elaborate poem by the name of Christ,'" and thirty-two years later, in 1863, the poem was finished. It is a trilogy embodying the apostolic, the medieval, and the Puritan conception of the Christ. The medieval, "The Golden Legend," came out first, in 1851. This enters very intimately into the temper of the monk in the age when the land was "white with conventwalls"; when

"Men climb the consecrated stair

With weary feet and bleeding hearts;
And leave the world and its delights,
Its passions, struggles and despair,
For contemplation and for prayer
In cloister cells of cenobites."

This was followed, in 1868, by the "New England Tragedies," in which from a study of old colonial authors, he illustrated his theme with the persecution of Quakers and witches. We remember how Leonardo da Vinci, in his "Last Supper," painted the head of Christ last so Longfellow left his "Christus" for his final conception, though it came first in order. "The Christus " "The Christus" was published in

1863; and at the conclusion of all, he writes:

"My work is finished; I am strong
In faith and hope and charity;
For I have written the things I see,
The things that have been and shall be,
Conscious of right, nor fearing wrong;
Because I am in love with love

And love is life."

Was it after reading "The Christus" that one has beautifully named Longfellow "The St. John of our American Apostles "?

During all these years, Longfellow dwelt in the old "Cragie House," with his wife, and his children:

"Grave Alice and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair."

The library kept by his daughter as in the olden day is lined with pictures and antique book-cases. Upon the standing-desk, in the window where he used to write, is his statuette of Goethe. Upon the round

CRAIGIE HOUSE: HOME OF HENRY W, LONGFELLOW, CAMBRIDGE, MASS.

table, in the centre, are the inkstands of Coleridge and Tom Moore and his own quill-pen.

There, too, is his deep armchair where he so often mused before he wrote; and another chair, made from the wood of "The Spreading Chestnut Tree." This was presented to him on his seventy-second birthday by the Cambridge children. The library is rich in happy reminiscences. Here often came the poet's lifelong friends - among them Felton, Whittier, Lowell, Hawthorne, Agassiz, Holmes, and Bayard Taylor.

Specially in later life, the "rosy-cheeked patriarch" grew to be a familiar figure in Cambridge; and he tried to be kind to relic-hunters and even to autograph-seekers. One day an Englishman introduced himself with this remark: "In other countries, you know, we go to see ruins and the like; but you have no ruins in your country, and I thought - I thought I'd call and see you!" Once he had a request, asking him to copy his poem, "Break, break, break," for the writer; again a stranger called to inquire if Shakespeare lived in the neighbourhood, and he replied that he knew "no such person."

But he enjoyed, also, a far pleasanter kind of popularity, as when Professor Kneeland, returning from Iceland, bore back the following message: "Tell Longfellow that we love him, that Iceland knows him by heart!" And a workman in the streets of London stopped him to ask "to shake hands with