The poor man is really grateful;--it is a most welcome and unexpected relief. He tries to express his thanks,--his voice falters,--he chokes,--and bursts into tears. _That_ is the great effect of the evening. The sharp-sighted lady cries a little with one eye, and counts the strings of onions, and the rest of the things, with the other. The children stand ready for a spring at the apples. The female help weeps after the noisy fashion of untutored handmaids. Now this is all very well as charity, but do let the kind visitors remember they get their money's worth. If you pay a quarter for _dry crying_, done by a second-rate actor, how much ought you to pay for real hot, wet tears, out of the honest eyes of a gentleman who is not acting, but sobbing in earnest? All I meant to say, when I began, was, that this was _not_ a surprise-party where I read these few lines that follow:-- We will not speak of years to-night; For what have years to bring, But larger floods of love and light And sweeter songs to sing? We will not drown in wordy praise The kindly thoughts that rise; If friendship owns one tender phrase, He reads it in our eyes. We need not waste our schoolboy art To gild this notch of time; Forgive me, if my wayward heart Has throbbed in artless rhyme. Enough for him the silent grasp That knits us hand in hand, And he the bracelet's radiant clasp That locks our circling band. Strength to his hours of manly toil! Peace to his starlit dreams! Who loves alike the furrowed soil, The music-haunted streams! Sweet smiles to keep forever bright The sunshine on his lips, And faith, that sees the ring of light Round Nature's last eclipse! ----One of our boarders has been talking in such strong language that I am almost afraid to report it. However, as he seems to be really honest and is so very sincere in his local prejudices, I don't believe anybody will be very angry with him.