the eye fixes on some green field, where the hour flings its sunshine, and the tree its shadow, as if its fresh, pure beauty, was a thing apart from the soil and tumult of the highway.
"You see," said Mrs. Sullivan, "one who, in a brief interview, gave me more the idea of a poet than most of our modern votaries of the lute. I was so struck with any one coming up to London, filled but with historic associations, looking upon the Tower as hallowed by the memory of Lady Jane Grey, and of Westminster Abbey as (to use the American Halleck's noble expression) a 'Mecca of the mind,' with England's great and glorious names inscribed on the consecrated walls. She is as creative in her imaginary poems, as she is touching and true in her simpler ones."
A slight movement, and a few exclamations, drew off their attention to the little supper table. A gentleman had, instead of placing his fork in a sandwich, inserted it into a lady's hand. The injury was not much; but the quaintness of the excuse was what amused the bystanders.
"I beg pardon," said the offender, with the most unruffled composure of countenance; "but I mistook the hand for white bait."
