It is a well-known fact that when the temporary leader in any particular branch of literature or science passes away, there is often visible a slight reaction, perhaps in the interest of supposed justice, when people try to convince themselves that his fame has already diminished. Such reactions have notably occurred, for instance, in the cases of Scott, Byron, Wordsworth, and even of Burns, yet without visible or permanent results, while the weaker fame of Southey or of Campbell has yielded to them. It is safe to say that up to the present moment no serious visible reaction has occurred in the case of Longfellow. So absolutely simple and truthful was his nature and so clear the response of the mass of readers, that time has so far left his hold upon them singularly unaffected. During a recent visit to England, the author of this volume took some pains, in every place he visited in city or country, to inquire of the local bookseller as to the demand for Longfellow's poems, and the answer was always in substance and sometimes in express words, "He is a classic,"--in other words, his books had a steady and trustworthy sale. I always found his poems on the shelves, and this was true of no other American poet. Several editions of his works, single or collective, had recently appeared in London. Poems newly set to music had lately been published at the music stalls, and familiar citations from his poems were constantly heard in public speeches. Inquiries similar to mine were made a few years since in the book-stores of Switzerland and Germany by my friend, Professor W. J. Rolfe, who found without difficulty the German and English text of single or collected poems by Longfellow at Nuremberg, Cologne, Strasburg, Lucerne, Interlaken, and elsewhere.