"Indeed I have!" was the answer; "and do you know it seems to me that, in this delightful book, Tennyson has done for friendship what Petrarch did for love."
This was too neat a mot for the literary friend to forget. That afternoon, he called upon a lady on Beacon Hill, and noticing a copy of "In Memoriam" on her table, saw his opportunity.
After the usual greetings, he took up the book. "Have you read it?" he asked.
"Yes," said the lady, "and I have enjoyed it greatly."
"So have I," said her visitor, "and do you know that it seems to me that in this charming poem Tennyson has done for friendship what Petrarch did for love."
"Indeed," rejoined the lady, adding, with a mischievous smile, "Mr. ——" (naming a well-known essayist and critic) "called this morning, and said the same thing."
Who it was that originated the apt comparison remains an unsolved mystery to this day.
A DOG AND A STRING.
The Paris Figaro reports a conversation between an optician and a customer of an inquiring mind: