IT IS STRANGE how a sentence read in childhood can persist in the memory, by reason of some sentiment or overtone of glamour. One would expect the after weight of more solid literature to crush it from existence, but ‘bright is the ring of words’ to the child new to their power, and the reverberation may last a lifetime. My father confessed he could not read a simple tale of his early childhood without a lump in his throat at the remembered crisis, when the little boy, saved by his dog, cries, ‘Caesar, my dear Caesar, if it had not been for you I should this day have been eaten up by wolves!’ But I throw no stones, remembering the end of The Cuckoo Clock.
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