rest you'll find.
Leave your intellect behind.

Night will come, (for come it will,
'Spite the fluting on the hill,)
And we'll pitch a cozy camp
Where it isn't quite so damp.
While you dry your hair and laze
By the campfire's violet blaze,
I will rob a balsam tree
To construct a house for thee.
What so dear as to be wooed
In a sylvan solitude?

What so sweet as Pagan vows
Whispered in a house of boughs?
Pagan love's without alloy.
Pagan kisses never cloy.
Arms that cling in Pagan fashion
Never tire. A Pagan passion
Is the only kind I know
That outlives a winter's snow.
Daphne, Daphne, let us fly!
You're a Pagan--so am I.

_So the fluting on the hill_
_Passed and died, and all was still._
_So the Pagan Pickings died,_
_And I laid the pipe aside._

THE LAUNDRY OF LIFE

(_An Adventure in Sentiment._)

Life is a laundry in which we
Are ironed out, or soon or late.
Who has not known the irony
Of fate?

We enter it when we are born,
Our colors bright. Full soon they fade.
We leave it "done up," old and worn,
And frayed;

Frayed round the edges, worn and thin--
Life is a rough old linen slinger.
Who has not lost a button in
Life's wringer?

With other linen we are tubbed,
With other linen often tangled;
In open court we then are scrubbed,
And mangled.

Some take a gloss of happiness
The hardest wear can not diminish;
Others, alas! get a "domes-
Tic finish."

WISDOM IN A CAPSULE

"_If she be not so to me._
_What care I how fair she be?_"
--THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION.

Here we have in this truism
Mr. James's pragmatism.
Test your troubles day by day
With it, and they fly away.
Is the weather boiling hot,
Hot enough to boil a pot--
If it be not so to me,
What care I how hot it be?

Take a pudding made of bread;
Much against it has been said;
But it does not lack defense--
Many say it is immense.
Be it damned or be it blessed,
Let us make the acid test--
If it be not so to me,
What care I how good it be?

So with every blooming thing
That has power to soothe or sting;
Ships or shoes or sealing