Oh, I Can't Describe My

It Seemed As Though He Gave Way All At Once; He Was So Languid That He Could Not Control His Thoughts; They Would Wander To Her; They Would Bring Back The Scene,- Not Of His Repulse And Rejection The Day Before But The Looks, The Actions Of The Day Before That. He Went Along The Crowded Streets Mechanically, Winding In And Out Among The People, But Never Seeing Them, -almost Sick With Longing For That One Half-hour-that One Brief Space Of Time When She Clung To Him, And Her Heart Beat Against His-to Come Once Again.

But Suppose It Was Truth Double Strong, It Were No Truth To Me If I Couldna Take It In. I Daresay There's Truth In Yon Latin Book On Your Shelves; But It's Gibberish And No Truth To Me, Unless I Know The Meaning O' The Words.

The Question Always Is, Has Everything Been Done To Make The Sufferings Of These Exceptions As Small As Possible? Or, In The Triumph Of The Crowded Procession, Have The Helpless Been Trampled On, Instead Of Being Gently Lifted Aside Out Of The Roadway Of The Conqueror, Whom They Have No Power To Accompany On His March?

On Some Such Night As This She Remembered Promising To Herself To Live As Brave And Noble A Life As Any Heroine She Ever Read Or Heard Of In Romance, A Life Sans Peur Et Sans Reproche; It Had Seemed To Her Then That She Had Only To Will, And Such A Life Would Be Accomplished. And Now She Had Learnt That Not Only To Will, But Also To Pray, Was A Necessary Condition In The Truly Heroic. Trusting To Herself, She Had Fallen.

Really It Is Very Wholesome Exercise, This Trying To Make One's Words Represent One's Thoughts, Instead Of Merely Looking To Their Effect On Others.