until late in the season. He has seen the successive ripening of one
quality after another on the boughs of his own life, and he finds it hard
to condemn himself for faults which only needed time to fall off and be
succeeded by better fruitage. I cannot help thinking that the recording
angel not only drops a tear upon many a human failing, which blots it out
forever, but that he hands many an old record-book to the imp that does
his bidding, and orders him to throw that into the fire instead of the
sinner for whom the little wretch had kindled it.

"And pitched him in after it, I hope," said Number Seven, who is in some
points as much of an optimist as any one among us, in spite of the squint
in his brain,--or in virtue of it, if you choose to have it so.

"I like Wordsworth's 'Matthew,'" said Number Five, "as well as any
picture of old age I remember."

"Can you repeat it to us?" asked one of The Teacups.

"I can recall two verses of it," said Number Five, and she recited the
two following ones. Number Five has a very sweet voice. The moment she
speaks all the faces turn toward her. I don't know what its secret is,
but it is a voice that makes friends of everybody.

"'The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs
Of one tired out with fun and madness;
The tears which came to Matthew's eyes
Were tears of light, the dew of gladness.

"'Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup
Of still and serious thought went round,