Their reverend beards that swept their bosoms wetMr. Neal, who was a member of his household, says: ‘We were at breakfast—it was rather late. “ Where on earth is your good husband?” said I to Mrs. Pierpont. “In bed making poetry,” said she. “Indeed!” “Yes, flat on his back with his eyes rolled up in his head.” Soon after he appeared looking somewhat worse for his labor. “Here,” said he, “tell me what you think of these two lines,” handing me a paper on which they were written with the beauty and clearness of copper plate. “Charming,” said I. “And what then? What are you driving at?” “Well, I was thinking of Olivet, and then I wanted a rhyme for Olivet, and these express the picture of the apostles before me, their reverend beards all dripping with the dews of night.” ’
With the chill dews of shady Olivet.
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