nd that this pride protects a man from deliberately stealing other
people's ideas. That is what a teaspoonful of brains will do for a
man--and admirers had often told me I had nearly a basketful--though
they were rather reserved as to the size of the basket.

However, I thought the thing out, and solved the mystery. Two years
before, I had been laid up a couple of weeks in the Sandwich Islands,
and had read and re-read Doctor Holmes's poems till my mental reservoir
was filled up with them to the brim. The dedication lay on the top, and
handy, so, by-and-by, I unconsciously stole it. Perhaps I unconsciously
stole the rest of the volume, too, for many people have told me that
my book was pretty poetical, in one way or another. Well, of course, I
wrote Doctor Holmes and told him I hadn't meant to steal, and he wrote
back and said in the kindest way that it was all right and no harm
done; and added that he believed we all unconsciously worked over ideas
gathered in reading and hearing, imagining they were original with
ourselves. He stated a truth, and did it in such a pleasant way, and
salved over my sore spot so gently and so healingly, that I was rather
glad I had committed the crime, far the sake of the letter. I afterward
called on him and told him to make perfectly free with any ideas of mine
that struck him as being good protoplasm for poetry. He could see by
that that there wasn't anything mean about me; so we got along right
from the start. I have not met Doctor Holmes many times since; and
lately he said--However, I am wandering wildly away from the one thing
which I got on my feet to do; that is, to make my compliments to you, my
fellow-teachers of the great public, and likewise to say that I am
right glad to see that Doctor Holmes is still in his prime and full of
generous life; and as age is not determined by years, but by trouble
and infirmities of mind and body, I hope it may be a very long time yet
before any one can truthfully say, "He is growing old."

THE WEATHER

ADDRESS AT THE NEW ENGLAND SOCIETY'S SEVENTY FIRST
ANNUAL DINNER, NEW YORK CITY

The next toast was: "The Oldest Inhabitant-The Weather of New England."

"Who can lose it and forget it?
Who can have it and regret it?
Be interposer 'twixt us Twain."
--Merchant of Venice.

I reverently believe that the Maker who ma