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My mother has a little manuscript book bound in red morocco, very faded and worn, which my grandmother kept on her bureau till she died, last year; and it has in it this little clover-song and several others, with Aunt Esther's diary while she was abroad. She died abroad; died in Jerusalem, and was buried there.
"I heard you quote a little couplet of verse about it then," said I, looking away from her, that she might not see my face: "I was so near you I could not help hearing what you said." "Oh, yes," said she, "I wonder what the Clover thinks? Intimate friend of Bob-o-links' "I do not know but that old clover-song is the real reason I love clover so. My mother taught it to me when I was a little child.
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