Grace makes itself equally at home in the palace and the cottage. No condition necessitates its absence, no position precludes its flourishing. One may compare it in its power to live and blossom in all places to the beautiful blue-bell of Scotland, of which the poetess sings::
'No rock is too high, no vale too low,
For its fragile and tremulous form to grow:
It crowns the mountain
With azure bells,
And decks the fountain
In forest dells.
It wreathes the ruin with clusters grey,
Bowing and smiling the livelong day.'