JULY 367 



who goes out to his work along the road every little 

 incident seems to be full both of the poetry and pathos of 

 life. In a tiny volume lately published of remarkable 

 verse by A. E., ' Earth Breath and other Poems,' the poem 

 called * Morning ' expresses in part my feeling : 



We had the sense of twilight round us ; 



The orange dawn lights fluttered by ; 

 And thrilling through the spell that bound us 



We heard the world's awakening cry. 



We felt the dim appeal of sorrow 



Boiled outward from its quiet breath, 

 To waken to the burdened morrow, 



The toil for life, the tears for death. 



And out of all old pain and longing 



The truer love woke with the light. 

 We saw the evil shadows thronging, 



And went as warriors to the fight. 



The last line is to me an especially true note. 

 Indifference, blindness, despondency, all these I hate ; but 

 to meet life with courage, both for oneself and others, that 

 must be the real aim. But courage is rather strength 

 than happiness. 



Professor Blackie said somewhere, ' There is nothing 

 fills me with more sorrow occasionally than to see how 

 foolishly some people throw away their lives. It is a 

 noble thing to live ; at least, a splendid chance of playing 

 a significant game a game which we may never have 

 the chance to play again, and which is surely worth while 

 to try to play skilfully ; to bestow at least as much pains 

 upon it as many a one does on billiards or lawn tennis. 

 But these pains are certainly not always given, and so the 

 game of life is lost, and the grand chance of forming a 

 manly character is gone, for no man can play a game well 

 who leaves his moves to chance, and so instead of fruitful 



