Some have, unfortunately, full power of expression, with no depth or richness of thought or character behind it. With Mr. Longfellow, there was complete unity and harmony between his life and character ,hft (flftward Tna.niffist At.inn of this in his poetry. It was not worked out from his brain, but was the blossoming of his inward life. His nature was thoroughly poetic and rhythmical, full of delicate fancies and thoughts. Even the ordinary details of existence were invested with charm and thoughtfulness. There was really no line of demarcation between his life and his poetry. One blended into the other, and his daily life was poetry in its truest sense. The rhythmical quality showed itself in an exact order and method, running through very detail. This was not the precision of a martinet; but anything out of place distressed him, as did a faulty rhyme or defective metre. His library was carefully arranged by subjects, and, although no catalogue was ever made, he was never at a loss where to look for any needed volume. His books were deeply beloved and tenderly handled. Beautiful bindings were a great delight, and the leaves were cut with the utmost care and neatness. Letters and bills were kept in the same orderly manner. The latter were paid as soon as rendered, and he always personally attended to those in the neighborhood.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)
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