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The Poet at the Breakfast-Table by Oliver Wendell Holmes
page 58 of 347 (16%)
agreeable in the superficial relations of life. To compare these
advantages with the virtues and utilities would be foolish. Much of the
noblest work in life is done by ill-dressed, awkward, ungainly persons;
but that is no more reason for undervaluing good manners and what we call
high-breeding, than the fact that the best part of the sturdy labor of
the world is done by men with exceptionable hands is to be urged against
the use of Brown Windsor as a preliminary to appearance in cultivated
society.

I mean to stand up for this poor lady, whose usefulness in the world is
apparently problematical. She seems to me like a picture which has
fallen from its gilded frame and lies, face downward, on the dusty floor.
The picture never was as needful as a window or a door, but it was
pleasant to see it in its place, and it would be pleasant to see it there
again, and I, for one, should be thankful to have the Lady restored by
some turn of fortune to the position from which she has been so cruelly
cast down.

--I have asked the Landlady about the young man sitting near her, the
same who attracted my attention the other day while I was talking, as I
mentioned. He passes most of his time in a private observatory, it
appears; a watcher of the stars. That I suppose gives the peculiar look
to his lustrous eyes. The Master knows him and was pleased to tell me
something about him.

You call yourself a Poet,--he said,--and we call you so, too, and so you
are; I read your verses and like 'em. But that young man lives in a
world beyond the imagination of poets, let me tell you. The daily home
of his thought is in illimitable space, hovering between the two
eternities. In his contemplations the divisions of time run together, as
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