Lydia Maria Child, Isaac T. Hopper: a true life

[463] my friend, that it will never come. To an evergreen heart, like yours, so full of kindly sympathies, the little children will always prattle, the birds will always sing, and the flowers will always offer incense. This reward of the honest and kindly heart is one of those, which “the world can neither give nor take away.”

I should love to see your garden now. There is a peculiar satisfaction in having a very little patch all blooming into beauty. I had such an one in my humble home in Boston, some years ago. It used to make me think of Mary Howitt's very pleasant poetry:

Yes, in the poor man's garden grow
     Far more than herbs and flowers;
Kind thoughts, contentment, peace of mind,
     And joy for weary hours.

I have one enjoyment this summer, which you cannot have in your city premises. The birds! not only their sweet songs, but all their little cunning manoeuvres in courting, building their nests, and rearing their young. I watched for hours a little Phoebebird, who brought out her brood to teach them to fly. They used to stop to rest themselves on the naked branch of a dead pear-tree. There they sat so quietly, all in a row, in their sober russet suit of feathers, just as if they were Quakers at meeting. The birds are very tame here; thanks to Friend Joseph's tender heart. The Bob-o-links pick seed from