"
An Englishman's house is his castle, and the true Briton is always fond
of the old roof-tree. Green grows the house-leek on the thatch, and
sweet is the honeysuckle at the porch, and dear are the gilly-flowers in
the front garden; but best of all is the good wife within, who keeps all
as neat as a new pin. Frenchmen may live in their coffee-houses, but an
Englishman's best life is seen at home.
"My own house, though small,
Is the best house of all."
When boys get tired of eating tarts, and maids have done with winning
hearts, and lawyers cease to take their fees, and leaves leave off to
grow on trees, then will John Ploughman cease to love his own dear home.
John likes to hear some sweet voice sing,
"'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;
A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there,
Which, wherever we rove, is not met with elsewhere.
Home! Home! sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home!"
* * * * *
XLIII.
HENRY WILSON
(BORN 1812--DIED 1875.)
FROM THE SHOEMAKER'S BENCH TO THE CHAIR OF VICE-PRESIDENT.
Henry Wilson, the Vice-president of the United States, was at my
tea-table with the strangest appetite I ever knew. The fact was, his
last sickness was on him, and his inward fever demanded everything cold.
It was tea without any tea. He was full of reminiscence, and talked over
his life from boyhood till then.
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