But, When The Goddess' Work Is Done,the

But Still When The Mists Of Doubt Prevail, And We Lie Becalmed By The Shores Of Age, We Hear From The Misty Troubled Shore The Voce Of Children Gone Before. Drawing The Soul To Its Anchorage.

For The Glory Born Of Goodness Never Dies, And Its Flag Is Not Half-masted In The Skies.

If, Of All Words Of Tongue And Pen, The Saddest Are, It Might Have Been,' More Sad Are These We Daily See: 'it Is, But Hadn't Ought To Be!'

Crude At First [the Short Story] Received A Literary Polish In The Press, But Its Dominant Quality Remained. It Was Concise And Condense, Yet Suggestive. It Was Delightfully Extravagant - Or A Miracle Of Understatement

One Big Vice In A Man Is Apt To Keep Out A Great Many Smaller Ones.