“‘A Gift from the Sea,’” said June, looking at the title. “I wonder——”
“What?”
“I was thinking that perhaps it might be Rene who wrote this.”
“I hardly think so,” said Scott, “although she does considerable writing, I do not think she ever wrote that.”
“Why?”
“One reason is that I do not think she would ever have the patience. This work is prepared with a great deal of care. I thought perhaps you might be interested, 105 as well as to gain some valuable information from it, for there are some rare gems of thought contained in its pages.”
“I know I shall enjoy it,” said June.
“You will find, by careful perusal, that it is like a fine edifice, each stone of which is laid by a master workman. The inborn talent is the cornerstone, and each rock is carefully hewn and placed in its proper niche, making the foundation solid as well as beautiful.”
“Do you think, then,” Paul asked, “that the poet who wrote that worked hard to construct it?”
“Poets are born, not made; but careful study and patience serve to smooth the rough edges, as the edges are natural to the unhewn marble. The finest quality wears not its glassy surface until the sculptor’s hand has chiselled and polished it to his will, and while the edifice may be beautiful to look upon for a time, without the solid foundation it may be broken by the first touch of the critic’s hand. The poet who wrote that little book never did so without work, although he may have felt the inspiration of poetic zeal while he worked.”