And nothing can improve her,
Unless she sees the Tuileries
And waddles round the Louvre.”
I believe it is by Hook.[2] I remember one twilight at the end of a long train journey, when Papa, muffled in a large ulster, kept on saying:
“False, fleeting, perjured Clarence,
That stabbed me in the field by Tewkesbury,”
and then Byron’s “I saw thee weep,” and when it came to
“It could not match the living rays that filled that glance of thine,”
there were tears in his eyes. Then after a pause he broke into Cowper’s hymn, “Hark my soul,” and I heard him whispering:
“Can a woman’s tender care