e?" as they returned to his study and stood before the large
bay window. "I love this river," he said. "Yes, I love it," he
repeated; "love it in summer or in winter." And then he was quiet for
a minute or so.

Edward asked him which of his poems were his favorites.

"Well," he said musingly, "I think 'The Chambered Nautilus' is my most
finished piece of work, and I suppose it is my favorite. But there are
also 'The Voiceless,' 'My Aviary,' written at this window, 'The Battle
of Bunker Hill,' and 'Dorothy Q,' written to the portrait of my
great-grandmother which you see on the wall there. All these I have a
liking for, and when I speak of the poems I like best there are two
others that ought to be included--'The Silent Melody' and 'The Last
Leaf.' I think these are among my best."'

"What is the history of 'The Chambered Nautilus'?" Edward asked.

"It has none," came the reply, "it wrote itself. So, too, did 'The
One-Hoss Shay.' That was one of those random conceptions that gallop
through the brain, and that you catch by the bridle. I caught it and
reined it. That is all."

Just then a maid brought in a parcel, and as Doctor Holmes opened it on
his desk he smiled over at the boy and said:

"Well, I declare, if you haven't come just at the right time. See
those little books? Aren't they wee?" and he handed the boy a set of
three little books, six inches by four in size, beautifully bound in
half levant. They were his "Autocrat" in one volume, and his
better-known poems in two volumes.

"This is a little fancy of mine," he said. "My publishers, to please
me, have gotten out this tiny wee set. And here," as he counted the
little sets, "they have sent me six sets. Are they not exquisite
little things?" and he fondled them with loving glee. "Lucky, too, for
me that they should happen to come now, for I have been wondering what
I could give you as a souvenir of your visit to me, and here it is,
sure enough! My publishers must have guessed you were here and my mind
at the same time. Now, if you would like it, you shall carry home one
of these little sets, and I'll just write a piece from one of my poems
and your name on the fly-leaf of each volume. You say you like that
little verse:

"'A few can touch the magic string.'

"Then I'll write those four lines in this volume." And he did.

"A few can touch the magic string,
And noisy Fame is proud to win them,--
Alas for those who never s