The poet said solemnly:
“Lady and gentleman, this is a holy place where you can pray heartily.”
My uncle started to drone Bryant’s hymn:
“The groves were God’s first temples.”
“Did you ever read Thanatopsis, my dear?” Mr. Heine asked.
“Yes, sir!”
“It’s a noble piece. So many thousand Asiatics converted every year to the English alphabet. Wonderful!” he soliloquised.
We seated ourselves by a brook.
“Such a lesson in Nature! We endeavour to transcribe, but fail,” he sighed, looking on the trees.
Then he turned to me questioning: