en our souls, with united expression,
Shall mingle with harmony more than divine;
And the priest--be he Greek, or of any profession--
Shall bless this poor hand as it clings unto thine.

The paper was of an exquisite rose-color on which I indited this gem. I
flatter myself that genius can sometimes write beautifully. It is not
just the thing to particularize here, but if that Grand Duke _can_ read
English he must have admired the sweet morsel which that lovely songster
bore to him on the wings--well, of a canary.

I would not send my bird in a cage, because handsome cages are
expensive, and do not carry an idea of freedom with them, which our
spread eagle might have led the great Grand Duke to expect. Neither
would I trust her with a street boy whose hands might be dirty and
unsafe. No, I put on my bonnet, locked the bird with his blue ribbon in
a box covered with gilt paper, and walked straight down to the Clarendon
Tavern, and asked for one of the committee-men.

A tall, grave-looking gentleman came into the room, where I sat waiting,
and said he was Mr. Bergh, one of the committee-men, and then stood a
minute, as if he was waiting to know what I wanted.

I had heard a great deal about the gentleman's goodness to the poor dumb
beasts that are so abused and trampled on, and my heart rose right into
my mouth.

"Mr. Bergh," says I, reaching out my hand, "in the name of New England,
permit me to shake hands, and thank you for the good you are a-doing to
so many of God's own creatures."

The gentleman smiled, and reached out his hand.

"I am glad to hear," says I, "that some old bachelor has left a lot of
money to your society. It is just what I would do myself if I hadn't a
hope--that is, it may be possible that all the money I have will be
needed for a special occasion--as no free-born New England woman would
be beholden to a foreign nation for her setting out."

Here Mr. Bergh smiled. You have no idea how much younger he looked when
he did smile; the benevolence that made him a Natural History
Philanthropist just shone out from his eyes, and beamed all over his
face, till I longed to be--well, say a duck, or something of that
sort--that he might save me from oppression.

"Thank you," says he; "most men want some object in life. You ladies
have done so much for humanity that we are content to leave it in your
hands, but the poor animals have up to this time escaped compassion."

"Not compassio