Don't Think Of What's Past!" Said She.

You Could Sometimes See Her Twelfth Year In Her Cheeks, Or Her Ninth Sparkling From Her Eyes; And Even Her Fifth Would Flit Over The Curves Of Her Mouth Now And Then.

It Was That Period In The Vernal Quarter When We May Suppose The Dryads To Be Waking For The Season. The Vegetable World Begins To Move And Swell And The Saps To Rise, Till In The Completest Silence Of Lone Gardens And Trackless Plantations, Where Everything Seems Helpless And Still After The Bond And Slavery Of Frost, There Are Bustlings, Strainings, United Thrusts, And Pulls-all-together, In Comparison With Which The Powerful Tugs Of Cranes And Pulleys In A Noisy City Are But Pigmy Efforts.

By Experience", Says Roger Ascham, "we Find Out A Short Way By A Long Wandering." Not Seldom That Long Wandering Unfits Us For Further Travel, And Of What Use Is Our Experience To Us Then?

We Colour And Mould According To The Wants Within Us Whatever Our Eyes Bring In.

Of Course Poets Have Morals And Manners Of Their Own, And Custom Is No Argument With Them.