A wonderful thing is clover! It means honey and cream,--that is to say,
industry and contentment,--that is to say, the happy bees in perfumed
fields, and at the cottage gate "bos" the bountiful serenely chewing
satisfaction's cud, in that blessed twilight pause that like a
benediction falls between all toil and sleep.
This clover makes me dream of happy hours; of childhood's rosy cheeks;
of dimpled babes; of wholesome, loving wives; of honest men; of springs
and brooks and violets and all there is of stainless joy in peaceful
human life.
A wonderful word is "clover"! Drop the "c," and you have the happiest
of mankind. Drop the "r," and "c," and you have left the only thing that
makes a heaven of this dull and barren earth. Drop the "r," and there
remains a warm, deceitful bud that sweetens breath and keeps the peace
in countless homes whose masters frequent clubs. After all, Bottom was
right:
"Good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow."
Yours sincerely and regretfully,