Thomas Linacre, M.D. / by James Risdon Bennett.

  • James Risdon Bennett
Date:
[1888?]
Catalogue details

Licence: Public Domain Mark

Credit: Thomas Linacre, M.D. / by James Risdon Bennett. Source: Wellcome Collection.

Provider: This material has been provided by The Royal College of Surgeons of England. The original may be consulted at The Royal College of Surgeons of England.

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    THE L IF OF THE LITTLE LADE. On the deep sea’s brim, In beauty quite excelling, White, and light, and trim, Stands iny lady’s dwelling. Stainless is the door, With patent polish glowing ; A little plot before, With pinks and sweet peas growing. And when in you go To my (airy’s dwelling, You will find a show Of beauty, past all telling ; Wealth of pretty wares, Curtains, pictures, laces, Sofas, tables, chairs, All in their proper places. But above all fair Of which my song is telling, Sits my lady there. The mistress of the dwelling. Dressed in serge dark blue, With trimming white and snowy ; All so nice and new, With nothing false and showy. / Dainty is her head, Quite the classic oval— Just the thing you read In the last new novel, But you never saw,— For Nature still is chary To reach the perfect law She modelled in my fairy. An eye whose glance doth roam O’er the azure spaces, But still is most at home ’Mid happy human faces. Cheeks of healthy red, With native freshness glowing, By the strong breeze spread From purple moorland blowing. And a look of warm Welcome to the stranger, Whom the sudden storm Hath cast on her from danger And a board well spread, Bountiful and bonnie, With milk and barley bread, Bramble jam and honey. And for wit and brains, Though not taught at college, Her dainty head contains All sorts of curious knowledge; Every nook she knows, Every burn she crosses, Where the rarest grows Of fungus, ferns, and mosses. And when flowers are few, And suns of heat are chary, She has work to do Beseems a bright-eyed fairy ; A telescope she keeps For lofty observation, Through which she finely peeps At all the starry nation. But she’s more than wise, Better far than clever, From her heart arise Thoughts of kindness ever; As the sun’s bright ray Every flower is kissing, All that comes her way Takes from her a blessing. Where a wirfoW’-weeps, She with her is wedpiog ; Where a sorrow sleeps, She doth watch it sleeping ; Where the sky is night, With one sole tint of sadness, Let her come in sight, And all is turned to gladness. And now, if ypu should fear I’m painting out a story, Ask, and you will bear The truth at Toberhvpry. In beauty Mull excels All ocean-girdled islands, And there this lady dwells, Sweet angel of the Highlands. 5+ JOHN STUART litv^CKIE. [This lay is no ideal picture, but a portrait from life of Henrietta A. Bird, daughter of t e late Rev. E. Bird, Rectpr of Wigton, Huntingdonshire, and only sister of Isabella L'. Bird (Mrs. Bishop), the well-know *\ traveller and author. The ‘‘Little Lady ” of Tobermory died there of typhoid fever on June 5, 1880, loved and honoured by all around her, w ho still cherish her memory as that of a ministering angel. He/ sister, now a widow, makes the cottage described in the lay her home.—ED. L. H.]