athering leeches far and wide,
He travell'd; stirring thus about his feet
The waters of the ponds where they abide.
"Once I could meet with them on every side;
But they have dwindled long by slow decay;
Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may."

"Dad, if the old man had been here, he might have made his fortune by
this time. 'Stirring thus about his feet the waters of the ponds where
they abide' may be fine employment, but the law's good enough for me,
seeing they're bound to dwindle long by slow decay. You don't happen to
have a scrap on a botanist, do you?"

"Yes," replied the schoolmaster, "and on a blind one, too:--

And he knows all shapes of flowers: the heath, the fox-glove with
its bells,
The palmy fern's green elegance, fanned in soft woodland smells;
The milkwort on the mossy turf his nice touch fingers trace,
And the eye-bright, though he sees it not, he finds it in its place."

"A blind botanist, and in the Old Country, too; well that's strange!
True, a blind man could know the lovely wallflowers and hyacinths and
violets and all these sweet-scented things by their smell. But to know
the little blue milkwort and the Euphrasia by touch, bangs me. If it was
our fine, big pitcher plant, or the ladies' slipper, or the
giant-fringed orchis, or the May apple, I could understand it; but
perhaps he knew the flowers before he got to be blind. I think I could
find my way blindfolded to some spots about Toronto where special plants
grow. I believe, Wilks, that a man couldn't name a subject you wouldn't
have a quotation for; you're wonderful!"

Wilkinson was delighted. This flattery was meat and drink to him.
Holding the arm of his admiring friend, he poured out his soul in verse,
allowing his companion, from time to time, the opportunity of
contributing a little to the poetic feast. The two virtually forgot to
notice the level, sandy road and tame scenery, the clouded sun, the
troublesome flies. For the time being, they were everything, the one to
the other. By their own spirits were they deified, or thought they were,
at the moment.

Though the schoolmaster was revelling in the appreciation of his friend,
he could not fail to perceive that he limped a little. "You have hurt
your foot, Corry, my dear fellow, and never told me."

"Oh, it's nothing," replied the light-hearted lawyer; "I trod on a stick
in that pond where I got the Brasenia and things