Already in 1875 we find Longfellow at work upon his latest collection
of poems, which he called "Poems of Places." It was a much more
laborious and unrewarding occupation than he had intended, and he was
sometimes weary of his self-imposed task. He wrote at this period:--
No politician ever sought for Places with half the zeal that I do.
Friend and Foe alike have to give Place to
Yours truly, H. W. L.
Again he says:--
"What evil demon moved me to make this collection of 'Poems of
Places'? Could I have foreseen the time it would take, and the worry
and annoyance it would bring with it, I never would have undertaken
it. The worst of it is, I have to write pieces now and then to fill up
gaps."
More and more his old friends grew dear to him as the years passed and
"the goddess Neuralgia," as he called his malady, kept him chiefly at
home. He wrote in 1877:--
"When are you coming back from your Cottage
on the Cliffs? The trees on the Common and the fountains are calling
for you.
"'Thee, Tityrus, even the pine-trees,
The very fountains, the very
Copses are calling.'
Perhaps also your creditors. At all events I am, who am your debtor."
The days were fast approaching when the old things must pass away. He
wrote tenderly:--
"I am sorry to hear that you are not quite yourself. I sympathize with
you, for I am somebody else. It is the two W's, Work and Weather, that
are playing the mischief with us.
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