Thought-winding upward into sphery light,
So utterly unearthly and sublime,
That all the man of fact fled out of sense,
And visual refinement filled the space.
Oft hath he told me, nothing was so blind
As the far-seeing wisdom of the world,
And none within it knew him, save himself,
And that so scantily, that but for faith
In a redeeming knowledge yet to come,
He would lie down and let his weakness die
In self-reclaiming dust.

After his death,
I searched his papers, vainly, for a scrap
Whereon some dropped memento might record
His inner nature; but he nothing left--
Nothing of that deep life whose wondrous light
Guided him onward through the realms of sense,
And in a world of practical self-need
Sustained him with a glory unexpressed.

And thus it is that round the Poet's urn,
The sod is beaten down with pensive feet:
And thus it is that where the Merchant lies,
The grass, untrodden, groweth rank and green.

THE BLUE HANDKERCHIEF.

I had passed my last examinations, and had received my diploma
authorizing me to practise medicine, and I still lingered in the
vicinity of Edinburgh, partly because my money was nearly exhausted, and
partly from the very natural aversion I felt from quitting a place where
three very happy and useful years had been spent. After waiting many
weeks--for the communication between the opposite shores of the Atlantic
were not then so rapid as now--I received a large packet of letters from
'home,' all of them filled with congratulations on my success, and among
them were letters from my dear father and a beloved uncle, at whose
instance (he was himself a physician) my father had sent me abroad to
complete my medical education. My father's letter was even more
affectionate than usual, for he was highly gratified with my success,
and he counselled me to take advantage of the peace secured by the
battle of Waterloo to visit the continent, which for many years (with
the exception of a brief period) had been closed to all persons from
Great Britain; he enclosed me a draft on a London banker for a thousand
pounds. My uncle's letter was scarcely less affectionate; my Latin
thesis (I had sent my father and him a copy) had especially pleased him;
and after urging me to take advantage of my father's kindness, he added
that he had placed a thousand pounds at my disposition, with the same
London b