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.
As each little volume went under the poet's pen Edward said, as his
heart swelled in gratitude:
"Doctor Holmes, you are a man of the rarest sort to be so good to a
boy."
A few can touch the magic string.
And noisy fame is proud to win them, --
Alas for those who never sing.
But die with all their music in them!
Oliver Wendell Holmes
The pen stopped, the poet looked out on the Charles a moment, and then,
turning to the boy with a little moisture in his eye, he said:
"No, my boy, I am not; but it does an old man's heart good to hear you
say it.
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