"It is something, Brother Ben, to be able to cast such an influence as that—something that money can not buy. I am sorry if I have hurt your feelings. Heaven be praised for such men as you are, Brother Ben! I hope that I may live to see all that you see by faith. I think I may, Brother Ben. 'Men do not gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles,' but they do gather grapes of grapes and figs of figs. I hope that Ben will be the book of your life, and make up for the pamphlets. It would be a good book for men to read."
"Hoi, Ben, hoi!" said the old man, "I can see that it will."
One Sunday, after church, in summer, Uncle Ben the poet and Silence Dogood went down on Long Wharf to enjoy the breezes from the sea. Uncle Ben was glad to learn more of the literary successes of Silence Dogood.
"To fail in poetry is to succeed in prose," said the fine old man. "But much that we call prose is poetry; rhymes are only childish jingles. The greatest poetry in the world is written without rhyme. It is the magic spirit and the magic words that make true poetry. The book of Job, in my opinion, is the greatest poetry ever written. Poetry is not made, it exists; and one who is prepared to receive it catches it as it flows. Ben, you are going to succeed in prose. You are going to become a ready writer. Study Addison more and more."
"Uncle Ben, do you not think that it is the hardest thing in life for one to be told that he can not do what he most wants to do?"
"Yes, Ben, that is the hardest thing in life. It is a cruel thing to crush any one in his highest hope and expectation."
"Was Solomon a poet? Are the Proverbs poetry?"
"Yes, yes. The book of Proverbs is a thousand poems."
"Then, Uncle Ben, I may be a poet yet. That kind of little poems come to me."
"Ha! ha! ha!"