The landlady's
daughter sent a richly bound copy of Tupper's Poems. On a blank
leaf was the following, written in a very delicate and careful
hand:-
Presented to . . . by . . .
On the eve ere her union in holy matrimony.
May sunshine ever beam o'er her!
Even the poor relative thought she must do something, and sent a
copy of "The Whole Duty of Man," bound in very attractive
variegated sheepskin, the edges nicely marbled. From the divinity-
student came the loveliest English edition of "Keble's Christian
Year." I opened it, when it came, to the FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT,
and read that angelic poem, sweeter than anything I can remember
since Xavier's "My God, I love thee."--I am not a Churchman,--I
don't believe in planting oaks in flower-pots,--but such a poem as
"The Rosebud" makes one's heart a proselyte to the culture it grows
from. Talk about it as much as you like,--one's breeding shows
itself nowhere more than in his religion. A man should be a
gentleman in his hymns and prayers; the fondness for "scenes,"
among vulgar saints, contrasts so meanly with that -
"God only and good angels look
Behind the blissful scene,"-
and that other, -
"He could not trust his melting soul
But in his Maker's sight," -
that I hope some of them will see this, and read the poem, and
profit by it.
My laughing and winking young friend undertook to procure and
arrange the flowers for the table, and did it with immense zeal.
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