Is dead before it be born.

{53}

{52}

THE CARRIER (To J. K.)

A poor little messenger clad in gray,

Sent as a go-between—they say.

Took a betrayal under its wing

And guarded and cherished the slimy thing.

We speak of Glory, and Trust, and Men,

But that is all forgotten when

We send this softly feathered bird

With messages best left unheard.

Oh! What a mockery ’cross the sky

The dove is sent to act as spy.

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{54}

THE SCHOOL OF LIFE (To M)

Lives are classes—we are pupils with excellent teachers. Experience should tutor us, but we so often shirk school. School can be made happy and we delight in making a higher grade—but through not heeding Experience’s teaching we often are left back in the old class, and sometimes, sad to relate, are put several grades lower.

But, happily, there is always the opportunity of skipping many grades upward. It’s a poor rule that doesn’t work both ways.

The Mind is the Grade we 

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