delineate his career.
The editor of one of the great London weeklies said to an American traveller not many years ago, A stranger can hardly have an idea of how familiar many of our working people, especially women, are with Longfellow.
Thousands can repeat some of his poems who have never read a line of Tennyson and probably never heard of Browning.
This passage I take from an admirable recent sketch by Professor Edwin A. Grosvenor of Amherst College, one of the most cosmopolitan of Americans, who spent seven years as professor of history at Robert College, Constantinople.
He goes on to tell how, in the largest private library in the Ottoman Empire, the grand vizier showed him as his favorite book a large volume of Longfellow, full of manuscript comments in Turkish on the margin, adding that he knew some of the poems by heart.
Professor Grosvenor was at one time— in 1879—travelling by steamer from Constantinople to Marseilles with a Russian lady who had been placed under his