In referring to this trait of his character, I find among the notes
made by Mr. Fields on Longfellow: "One of the most occupied of all our
literary men and scholars, he yet finds time for the small courtesies
of existence, those minor attentions that are so often neglected. One
day, seeing him employed in cutting something from a newspaper, I
asked him what he was about. 'Oh,' said he, 'here is a little
paragraph speaking kindly of our poor old friend Blank; you know he
seldom gets a word of praise, poor fellow, nowadays; and thinking he
might not chance to see this paper, I am snipping out the paragraph to
mail to him this afternoon. I know that even these few lines of
recognition will make him happy for hours, and I could not bear to
think he might perhaps miss seeing these pleasant words so kindly
expressed.'"
"_May Day_, 1876.--Longfellow dined with us. He said during the
dinner, when we heard a blast of wintry wind howling outside, 'This is
May day enough; it does not matter to us how cold it is outside.' He
was inclined to be silent, for there were other and brilliant talkers
at the table, one of whom said to him in a pause of the conversation,
'Longfellow, tell us about yourself; you never talk about yourself.'
'No,' said Longfellow gently, 'I believe I never do.' 'And yet,'
continued the first speaker eagerly, 'you confessed to me once'--'No,'
said Longfellow, laughing, 'I think I never did.'"
And here is a tiny note of compliment, graceful as a poet's note
should be:--
"I have just received your charming gift, your note and the stately
lilies; but fear you may have gone from home before my thanks can
reach you.
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