But let her feel as well as know,
Nor harder with her polish grow!
Unmoved by sentimental grief
That wails along some printed leaf,
But, prompt with kindly word and deed
To own the claims of all who need,
Let the grown woman's self make good
The promise of Red Riding-Hood
1877.



RESPONSE.

On the occasion of my seventieth birthday in 1877, I was the
recipient of many tokens of esteem. The publishers of the _Atlantic
Monthly_ gave a dinner in my name, and the editor of _The Literary
World_ gathered in his paper many affectionate messages from my
associates in literature and the cause of human progress. The lines
which follow were written in acknowledgment.

Beside that milestone where the level sun,
Nigh unto setting, sheds his last, low rays
On word and work irrevocably done,
Life's blending threads of good and ill outspun,
I hear, O friends! your words of cheer and praise,
Half doubtful if myself or otherwise.
Like him who, in the old Arabian joke,
A beggar slept and crowned Caliph woke.
Thanks not the less. With not unglad surprise