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.
"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.
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." 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.

It means much to those on the down-hill side to be well thought of by the young who are coming up." As he wiped his gold pen, with its swan-quill holder, and laid it down, he said: "That's the pen with which I wrote 'Elsie Venner' and the 'Autocrat' papers.

I try to take care of it." "You say you are going from me over to see Longfellow ?" he continued, as he reached out once more for the pen.

"Well, then, would you mind if I gave you a letter for him?
I have something to send him." Sly but kindly old gentleman! The "something" he had to send Longfellow was Edward himself, although the boy did not see through the subterfuge at that time.
"And now, if you are going, I'll walk along with you if you don't mind, for I'm going down to Park Street to thank my publishers for these little books, and that lies along your way to the Cambridge car." As the two walked along Beacon Street, Doctor Holmes pointed out the residences where lived people of interest, and when they reached the Public Garden he said: "You must come over in the spring some time, and see the tulips and croci and hyacinths here.

They are so beautiful.
"Now, here is your car," he said as he hailed a coming horse-car.
"Before you go back you must come and see me and tell me all the people you have seen, will you?
I should like to hear about them.