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banisters； and a tall clock in their angle。
The study where the Dante Club met； and where I mostly saw Longfellow；
was a plain； pleasant room； with broad panelling in white painted pine；
in the centre before the fireplace stood his round table； laden with
books； papers； and proofs； in the farthest corner by the window was a
high desk which he sometimes stood at to write。 In this room Washington
held his councils and transacted his business with all comers； in the
chamber overhead he slept。 I do not think Longfellow associated the
place much with him； and I never heard him speak of Washington in
relation to it except once； when he told me with peculiar relish what he
called the true version of a pious story concerning the aide…de…camp who
blundered in upon him while he knelt in prayer。 The father of his
country rose and rebuked the young man severely； and then resumed his
devotions。 〃He rebuked him；〃 said Longfellow； lifting his brows and
making rings round the pupils of his eyes； 〃by throwing his scabbard at
his head。〃
All the front windows of Craigie House look； out over the open fields
across the Charles； which is now the Longfellow Memorial Garden。 The
poet used to be amused with the popular superstition that he was holding
this vacant ground with a view to a rise in the price of lots； while all
he wanted was to keep a feature of his beloved landscape unchanged。
Lofty elms drooped at the corners of the house； on the lawn billowed
clumps of the lilac； which formed a thick hedge along the fence。 There
was a terrace part way down this lawn； and when a white…painted
balustrade was set some fifteen years ago upon its brink； it seemed
always to have been there。 Long verandas stretched on either side of the
mansion； and behind was an old…fashioned garden with beds primly edged
with box after a design of the poet's own。 Longfellow had a ghost story
of this quaint plaisance； which he used to tell with an artful reserve of
the catastrophe。 He was coming home one winter night； and as he crossed
the garden he was startled by a white figure swaying before him。 But he
knew that the only way was to advance upon it。 He pushed boldly forward；
and was suddenly caught under the throat…by the clothes…line with a long
night…gown on it。
Perhaps it was at the end of a long night of the Dante Club that I heard
him tell this story。 The evenings were sometimes mornings before the
reluctant break…up came； but they were never half long enough for me。
I have given no idea of the high reasoning of vital things which I must
often have heard at that table； and that I have forgotten it is no proof
that I did not hear it。 The memory will not be ruled as to what it shall
bind and what it shall loose； and I should entreat mine in vain for
record of those meetings other than what I have given。 Perhaps it would
be well； in the interest of some popular conceptions of what the social
intercourse of great wits must be； for me to invent some ennobling and
elevating passages of conversation at Longfellow's； perhaps I ought to do
it for the sake of my own repute as a serious and adequate witness。 But
I am rather helpless in the matter； I must set down what I remember； and
surely if I can remember no phrase from Holmes that a reader could live
or die by； it is something to recall how； when a certain potent cheese
was passing； he leaned over to gaze at it； and asked： 〃Does it kick？
Does it kick？〃 No strain of high poetic thinking remains to me from
Lowell； but he made me laugh unforgettably with his passive adventure one
night going home late； when a man suddenly leaped from the top of a high
fence upon the sidewalk at his feet； and after giving him the worst
fright of his life； disappeared peaceably into the darkness。 To be sure；
there was one most memorable supper； when he read the 〃Bigelow Paper〃
he had finished that day； and enriched the meaning of his verse with the
beauty of his voice。 There lingers yet in my sense his very tone in
giving the last line of the passage lamenting the waste of the heroic
lives which in those dark hours of Johnson's time seemed to have been
〃Butchered to make a blind man's holiday。〃
The hush that followed upon his ceasing was of that finest quality which
spoken praise always lacks； and I suppose that I could not give a just
notion of these Dante Club evenings without imparting the effect of such
silences。 This I could not hopefully undertake to do； but I am tempted
to some effort of the kind by my remembrance of Longfellow's old friend
George Washington Greene； who often came up from his home in Rhode
Island； to be at those sessions； and who was a most interesting and
amiable fact of those delicate silences。 A full half of his earlier life
had been passed in Italy； where he and Longfellow met and loved each
other in their youth with an affection which the poet was constant to in
his age； after many vicissitudes； with the beautiful fidelity of his
nature。 Greene was like an old Italian house…priest in manner； gentle；
suave； very suave； smooth as creamy curds； cultivated in the elegancies
of literary taste； and with a certain meek abeyance。 I think I never
heard him speak； in all those evenings； except when Longfellow addressed
him； though he must have had the Dante scholarship for an occasional
criticism。 It was at more recent dinners； where I met him with the
Longfellow family alone； that he broke now and then into a quotation from
some of the modern Italian poets he knew by heart （preferably Giusti）；
and syllabled their verse with an exquisite Roman accent and a bewitching
Florentine rhythm。 Now and then at these times he brought out a faded
Italian anecdote； faintly smelling of civet； and threadbare in its
ancient texture。 He liked to speak of Goldoni and of Nota； of Niccolini
and Manzoni； of Monti and Leopardi； and if you came to America； of the
Revolution and his grandfather； the Quaker General Nathaniel Greene；
whose life he wrote （and I read） in three volumes： He worshipped
Longfellow； and their friendship continued while they lived； but towards
the last of his visits at Craigie House it had a pathos for the witness
which I should grieve to wrong。 Greene was then a quivering paralytic；
and he clung tremulously to Longfellow's arm in going out to dinner；
where even the modern Italian poets were silent upon his lips。 When we
rose from table； Longfellow lifted him out of his chair； and took him
upon his arm again for their return to the study。
He was of lighter metal than most other members of the Dante Club； and he
was not of their immediate intimacy； living away from Cambridge； as he
did； and I shared his silence in their presence with full sympathy。
I was by far the youngest of their number； and I cannot yet quite make
out why I was of it at all。 But at every moment I was as sensible of my
good fortune as of my ill desert。 They were the men whom of all men
living I most honored； and it seemed to be impossible that I at my age
should be so perfectly fulfilling the dream of my life in their company。
Often； the nights were very cold； and as I returned home from Craigie
House to the c