... Inexorable determination to have the truth, if
nature could be forced to yield it, characterized his powerful
intelligence."
The doctor would often look up when the little clock was striking
musically on his writing-table, and say, "It always reminds me
tenderly of my dead friend."
When the time came that writing was a burden, and indeed, except for
limited periods, impossible, Dr. Holmes lived more and more in his
affections. Often, as I entered his room on a dull afternoon, he would
say, "Ah, now let's sit up by the fire and talk of all our friends."
Then would begin a series of opinions, witty and tender by turns, and
interspersed with tears and smiles. On one such occasion he said:
"There are very few modern hymns which have the old ring of
saintliness in them. Sometimes when I am disinclined to listen to the
preacher at church, I turn to the hymn-book, and when one strikes my
eye, I cover the name at the bottom, and guess. It is almost
invariably Watts or Wesley; after those, there are very few which are
good for much.
"'Calm on the listening ear of night'
is a fine hymn, but even that lacks the virility of the old saints."
Our minds that day were full of one thought,--the death of Phillips
Brooks,--and when, a moment later, he said:--
"'Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood'--
there is nothing like that," it seemed quite natural that his voice
should break and the tears come as he added, without mentioning the
bishop's name, "How hard it is to think he is gone! I don't like to
feel that I must live without him.
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