'Child,' he said, 'to none of us is given what most we desire. For my part, I longed in his infancy that my son should grow up even as Humphrey, as quick to learn; with as true a taste; with as correct an ear; with a hand as skilful. But----you see, I complain not, though Benjamin loves the noisy tavern better than the quiet coffee-house where the wits resort. To him such things as verses, art, and music are foolishness. I say that I complain not; but I would to Heaven that Humphrey were my own, and that his shoulders were straight, poor lad! Thy father hath made him a Puritan: he is such as John Milton in his youth--and as beautiful in face as that stout Republican. I doubt not that we shall have from the hand of Humphrey, if he live and prosper, something fine, the nature of which, whether it is to be in painting, or in music, or in poetry, I know not. Take the verses, and take care that thou lose them not; and, child--remember--the poet is allowed to say what he pleases about a woman's eyes. Be not deceived into thinking----But no--no--there is no fear. Good-night, thou sweet and innocent saint.' I knew not then what he meant; but these are the verses, and I truly think that they are very moving and religious. For if woman be truly the most beautiful work of the Creator (which all men aver), then it behoves her all the more still to point upwards. I read them with a pleasure and surprise that filled my whole soul, and inflamed my heart with pious joy:-- Around, above, and everywhere The earth hath many a lovely thing; The zephyrs soft, the flowers fair, The babbling brook, the bubbling spring. The grey of dawn, the azure sky, The sunset glow, the evening gloom; The warbling thrush, the skylark high, The blossoming hedge, the garden's bloom. The sun in state, the moon in pride, The twinkling stars in order laid; The winds that ever race and ride, The shadows flying o'er the glade. Oh! many a lovely thing hath earth, To charm the eye and witch the soul; Yet one there is of passing worth-- For that one thing I give the whole. The crowning work, the last thing made, Creation's masterpiece to be-- Bend o'er yon stream, and, there displayed, This wondrous thing reflected see. Behold a face for heaven designed; See how those eyes thy soul betray-- Love--secret love--there sits enshrined, And upwards still doth point the way.