This is especially true of Celia Thaxter, whose life was divorced from
worldliness, while it was instinct with the keenest enjoyment of life
and of God's world. She liked to read her poems aloud when people
asked for them; and if there was ever a genuine reputation from doing
a thing well, such a reputation was hers. From the first person who
heard her the wish began to spread, until, summer after summer, in her
parlor, listeners would gather if she would promise to read to them.
Night after night she has held her sway, with tears and smiles from
her responsive little audiences, which seemed to gain new courage and
light from what she gave them. Her unspeakably interesting nature was
always betraying itself and shining out between the lines.
Occasionally she yielded to the urgent claims brought to bear upon her
by her friend Mrs. Johnson, of the Woman's Prison, and would go to
read to the sad-eyed audience at Sherborn. Even those hearts dulled by
wrong and misery awakened at the sound of her voice. It was not
altogether this or that verse or ballad that made the tears flow, or
brought a laugh from her hearers; it was the deep sympathy which she
carried in her heart and which poured out in her voice; a hope, too,
for them, and for what they might yet become. She could not go
frequently,--she was too deeply laden with responsibilities nearer
home; but it was always a holiday when she was known to be coming, and
a season of light-heartedness to Mrs.
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