He disliked publicity whether in the form of newspaper chronicle of his doings or recognition in public places. He thought it absurd that because Fechter had dined with him this unimportant item must be telegraphed to Chicago and printed in the morning journals. Fond as he was of the theatre, he sometimes hesitated to go because of the interest his presence excited. It was thought extraordinary that he was willing to read his poem ‘Morituri Salutamus’ at the fiftieth anniversary of his class at Bowdoin. He was delighted when he found he was to stand behind the old-fashioned high pulpit; ‘Let me cover myself as much as possible. I wish it might be entirely.’ One trait of Longfellow’s character has been over-emphasized--his gentleness. He was indeed gentle; but continual harping on that string has created the impression that he was gentle rather than anything else. In consequence we have a legendary Longfellow in whom all other traits of character are subordinated to the one. His amiability, his sense of justice, his entire freedom from selfishness and vanity, and his genuine modesty, which led him even when he was right and his neighbor wrong to avoid giving needless pain by intimating to the neighbor how wrong he was--all contributed to hide the more forceful and emphatic qualities. But the qualities were there. Nothing is easier than to multiply illustrations of this poet’s gracious traits of character. Holmes epitomized all eulogy when he said of Longfellow: ‘His life was so exceptionally sweet and musical that any voice of praise sounds almost like a discord after it.’ III THE POET Americans sometimes disturb themselves needlessly over the question whether Longfellow was a great poet. It is absolutely of no importance whether he was or was not. Of one thing they may be sure,--he was a poet. Song was his natural vehicle of expression. He had a masterly command of technical difficulties of his art. Language became pliant under his touch. Taking into account the range of his metres, the uniform precision with which he handled words, and the purity of his style, Longfellow is eminent among American poetical masters. His sonnets are exquisite. His ballads, like ‘The Skeleton in Armor,’ have no little of the fresh unstudied character which charms us in old English ballad literature, a something not to be traced to the spirit alone but to the technique as well. The twenty-two poems of ‘The Saga of King Olaf’ show an almost extraordinary metrical power.