Excerpt from The Land of St. Castin

I prefer, however, to regard it as a boutonniere which the author has pinned lovingly, solicitously, to the lapel Of his volume, with a hope to disarm, in a degree, the hypercritical individual who is never satisfied with his ink-horn' until he has dropped a lump Of potash into it so he may color the nib of his pen with its violet ¿ame, and, as well, to win a glance Of pleased appreciation. The author is like a guest whose foot for a moment presses the inner thresh old, who, after a pleasant greeting from those who know him best, is merged into the throng which has preceded him. Happy is he, indeed, if his hostess kindly suggests: You must not hurry away, my friend we must have a talk over the Old times. SO he waits patiently, to be remembered and sought out later, for all the multiplicity Of gentle anxieties that come with the entertaining Of many guests, or, to be forgotten.

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