distant apartment--the little bell marked C--gave one slight note; loud
enough to start a small boy up, who looked at the clock, and knew that he
was to go and call the publisher in just twenty-five minutes. "A, five
minutes; B, ten minutes; C, twenty-five minutes ";--that was the
youngster's working formula. Mr. Hopkins was treated to the full
allowance of time, as being introduced by Professor Gridley.

The young man laid open the manuscript so that the title-page, written
out very handsomely in his own hand, should win the eye of the publisher.

BLOSSOMS OF THE SOUL.
A WREATH OF VERSE; Original.

BY GIFTED HOPKINS.

"a youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown."--Gray.

"Shall I read you some of the rhymed pieces first, or some of the
blank-verse poems, sir?" Gifted asked.

"Read what you think is best,--a specimen of your first-class style of
composition."

"I will read you the very last poem I have written," he said, and he
began:

"THE TRIUMPH OF SONG.

"I met that gold-haired maiden, all too dear;
And I to her: Lo! thou art very fair,
Fairer than all the ladies in the world
That fan the sweetened air with scented fans,
And I am scorched with exceeding love,
Yea, crisped till my bones are dry as straw.
Look not away with that high-arched brow,
But turn its whiteness that I may behold,
And lift thy great eyes till they blaze on mine,
And lay thy finger on thy perfect mouth,
And let thy lucent ears of careen pearl
Drink in the murmured music of my soul,
As the lush grass drinks in the globed dew;
For I have many scrolls of sweetest rhyme
I will unroll and make thee glad to hear.

"Then she: O shaper of the marvellous phrase
That openeth woman's heart as Both a key,
I dare not hear thee--lest the bolt should slide
That locks another's heart within my own.
Go, leave me,--and she let her eyelids fall,
And the great tears rolled from her large blue eyes.

"Then I: If thou not hear me, I shall die,
Yea, in my desperate mood may lift my hand
And do myself a hurt no leach can mend;
For poets ever were of dark resolve,
And swift stern deed

"That maiden heard no more,
But spike: Alas! my heart is very weak,
And but for--Stay! And if some dreadful morn,
After great search and shouting thorough the