Why Then We Should Drop Into Poetry.

It Was The Beginning Of A Day In June; The Deep Blue Sky Unsullied By A Cloud, And Teeming With Brilliant Light. The Streets Were, As Yet, Nearly Free From Passengers, The Houses And Shops Were Closed, And The Healthy Air Of Morning Fell Like Breath From Angels, On The Sleeping Town.

I Was So Humiliated, Hurt, Spurned, Offended, Angry, Sorry--i Cannot Hit Upon The Right Name For The Smart--god Knows What Its Name Was--that Tears Started To My Eyes.

I Only Know That It Was, And Ceased To Be; And That I Have Written, And There I Leave It.

I Looked At The Stars, And Considered How Awful It Would Be For A Man To Turn His Face Up To Them As He Froze To Death, And See No Help Or Pity In All The Glittering Multitude.

"we Thought That, Perhaps," Said I, Hesitating, "it Is Right To Begin With The Obligations Of Home, Sir; And That, Perhaps, While Those Are Overlooked And Neglected, No Other Duties Can Possibly Be Substituted For Them."