"'He says you were kind to him and that it is no use trying to "rent" you;
you only laugh at us.'

"I looked at the letter; it was very dirty, and I said:

"'I think it is unpardonable that better care should not have been taken of
a manuscript of mine.'

"He said he was sorry; but it had been in many hands. I took the letter up
casually:

"'Well, I will accept the letter back. You can thank Mr. Allen for me.'

"I gave Cliburn half a sovereign for his trouble, and said to him:

"'I am afraid you are leading a desperately wicked life.'

"'There's good and bad in every one of us,' he replied. I said something about
his being a philosopher, and he went away. That's the whole story, Frank."

"But the letter?" I questioned.

"The letter is nothing," Oscar replied; "a prose poem. I will give you a copy
of it."

Here is the letter:

"My own boy,--Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red
rose-leaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song