en was glad to learn more of the literary successes of Silence Dogood.

"To fail in poetry is to succeed in prose," said the fine old man. "But
much that we call prose is poetry; rhymes are only childish jingles. The
greatest poetry in the world is written without rhyme. It is the magic
spirit and the magic words that make true poetry. The book of Job, in my
opinion, is the greatest poetry ever written. Poetry is not made, it
exists; and one who is prepared to receive it catches it as it flows.
Ben, you are going to succeed in prose. You are going to become a ready
writer. Study Addison more and more."

"Uncle Ben, do you not think that it is the hardest thing in life for
one to be told that he can not do what he most wants to do?"

"Yes, Ben, that is the hardest thing in life. It is a cruel thing to
crush any one in his highest hope and expectation."

"Was Solomon a poet? Are the Proverbs poetry?"

"Yes, yes. The book of Proverbs is a thousand poems."

"Then, Uncle Ben, I may be a poet yet. That kind of little poems come to
me."

"Ha! ha! ha!"

A voice rang out behind them.

It was Jamie the Scotchman.

"Well, Ben, it is good to fly high. I infer that you expect to become a
proverb poet, after the manner of Solomon. The people here will all be
quoting you some day. It may be that you will be quoted in England and
France. Ha! ha! ha! What good times," he added, "you two have
together--dreaming! Well, it costs nothing to dream. There is no toll
demanded of him who travels in the clouds. Move along, young Solomon,
and let me sit down on the sea wall beside you. When you write a book of
proverb poetry I hope I'll be living to read it. One don't make a silk
purse out of a sow's ear--there's a proverb for you!--nor gather wisdom
except by experience--there's another; and some folks do not get wisdom
even from experience." He looked suspiciously toward Uncle Ben.

"Experience keeps a dear school," said Uncle Ben in a kindly way.

"And some people can learn of no other," added Silence Dogood.

"And some folks not even there," said Jamie the Scotchman.

The loons came semicircling along the sea wall, their necks aslant, and
uttering cries in a mocking tone.

"Well, I declare, it makes the loons laugh--and no wonder!" said Jamie
the Scotchman. He lighted his pipe, whose bowl was a piece of corncob,
and whiffed away in silence for a time, holding up one knee in his
clasped hands.

Silence Dogood surveyed his su