goodness' sake, my dear friends, cheer upl—
"Now Ye Postman is all right as far as he goes. But it
strikes his humble friend, The Critic, that there is a third
class of verse writers. Those who haul out the skelton of
some old joke from the closet of the ages, and try to dress it
up in new clothes. I say 'try' because they usually give it
such a misfit that the skelton i.s left half bare, and the effect
is far from pleasing. Such writers seem to think that any
thing that has no sense is a joke; while the readers think
that anybody who has no sense is a fool.
"Why not let the dead rest in peace? Perhaps the edi
tor's of school and small college magazines can be partly
excused on the plea that it is all they can get. But when
they quote nothing but nonsense in their exchange depart
ment, their leg of reason is surely lame."
"But 'tis enough. The battle is fought, the victory
gained. And now for the spoils of war."
Here is a translation from the German of Gustave Falke,
in the Amherst Lit. A very pleasing description of the
breaking of day.
The stream, forever fleeting,
Rests not the whole night long,
The earliest bird-voice greeeting
That wakens into song.
A little bark is crawling
Across the harbor-bar.
A gold-red glory falling
On every mast and spar.
But now a breeze, up-springing,
Stretches all canvas tight,
And the craft goes swiftly winging
Peradventure.; A Lancelet
A A 4
TA GESANBRUCH