DOI article:
Harland, Henry: Flower o' the Clove
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.25498#0086
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Flower o’ the Clove
“ How can you tell such dreadful fibs ? ” she reproached him.
“ The cliffs are prismatic. White, indeed ! when they gleam
with every transparent tint from rose to violet, as if the light that
falls on them had passed through rubies and amethysts, and all
sorts of precious stones. That is an optical effect due doubtless to
reflection or refraction or something—no ? ”
“ I should say it was almost certainly due to something,” he
acquiesced.
“And now,” she continued, “will you obligingly turn your
attention to the birds? Tweet-weet-willow-will-weet. I don’t
know what it means, but they repeat it so often and so earnestly,
I’m sure it must be true.”
“It’s relatively true,” said he. “It means that it’s a fine
morning, and their digestion’s good, and their affairs are prosper-
ing—nothing more than that. They’re material-minded little
beasts, you know.”
“ All truth is relative,” said she, “ and one’s relatively a material-
minded little beast oneself. Is the greensward beyond there (rela-
tively) spangled with buttercups and daisies ? Is the park leafy,
and shadowy, and mysterious, and (relatively) delightful ? Is the
may in bloom ? Voyons done ! you’ll never be denying that the
may’s in bloom. And is the air like an elixir ? I vow, it goes to
one’s head like some ethereal elixir ? And yet you have the
effrontery to tell me that you’re pining for the flesh-pots of Great
College Street, Westminster, S.W.”
“ Oh, did I tell you that ? Ah, well, it must have been with
intent to deceive, for nothing could be farther from the truth.”
“ The relative truth ? Then you’re not homesick ?”
“ Not consciously.”
“ Neither am I,” said she.
“ Why should you be ? ” said he.
“ This
Flower o’ the Clove
“ How can you tell such dreadful fibs ? ” she reproached him.
“ The cliffs are prismatic. White, indeed ! when they gleam
with every transparent tint from rose to violet, as if the light that
falls on them had passed through rubies and amethysts, and all
sorts of precious stones. That is an optical effect due doubtless to
reflection or refraction or something—no ? ”
“ I should say it was almost certainly due to something,” he
acquiesced.
“And now,” she continued, “will you obligingly turn your
attention to the birds? Tweet-weet-willow-will-weet. I don’t
know what it means, but they repeat it so often and so earnestly,
I’m sure it must be true.”
“It’s relatively true,” said he. “It means that it’s a fine
morning, and their digestion’s good, and their affairs are prosper-
ing—nothing more than that. They’re material-minded little
beasts, you know.”
“ All truth is relative,” said she, “ and one’s relatively a material-
minded little beast oneself. Is the greensward beyond there (rela-
tively) spangled with buttercups and daisies ? Is the park leafy,
and shadowy, and mysterious, and (relatively) delightful ? Is the
may in bloom ? Voyons done ! you’ll never be denying that the
may’s in bloom. And is the air like an elixir ? I vow, it goes to
one’s head like some ethereal elixir ? And yet you have the
effrontery to tell me that you’re pining for the flesh-pots of Great
College Street, Westminster, S.W.”
“ Oh, did I tell you that ? Ah, well, it must have been with
intent to deceive, for nothing could be farther from the truth.”
“ The relative truth ? Then you’re not homesick ?”
“ Not consciously.”
“ Neither am I,” said she.
“ Why should you be ? ” said he.
“ This