JANUARY 17 



But the air was so balmy, and he was so 

 happy sitting there, in the garden, enjoying 

 the soft glow of evening light, that go 

 into the house he would not. Presently 

 however, as he saw the sky grow grey and 

 misty, wiser counsels prevailed, and then 

 he rose and left the garden. As we slowly 

 wended to the house along the deeply 

 shadowed path between the trees, he 

 pointed to some bushes of the small leaved 

 laurel growing amongst the others. They 

 were his favourites he said : the Victor's 

 Laurel of ancient Greece, and he told of 

 how they loved the shade, and grew the 

 best underneath thick trees. 



Well is it for us that no voice whispers to 

 the heart, sometimes when we say farewell, 

 ( It is the last time, nevermore.' It was the 

 last time I ever saw the beloved poet; a 

 few months passed by, and then the world 

 was poorer by the loss of him who had 

 been given to live so long his noble poet's 

 life amongst us, ( unhasting, unresting like 

 a star ; ' a star that shines forever now, in 

 ' heaven's clear calm.' 



Outside the greenhouse door, a small 



B 



