O Voices of the Long Ago that were so dear!
Fall'n Silent, now, for many a Mould'ring Year,
O whither are ye flown? Come back,
And break my heart, but bless my grieving ear.
Some happy Day my Voice will Silent fall,
And answer not when some that love it call:
Be glad for Me when this you note--and think
I've found the Voices lost, beyond the Pall.
So let me grateful drain the Magic Bowl
That medicines hurt Minds and on the Soul
The Healing of its Peace doth lay--if then
Death claim me--Welcome be his Dole!
SANNA, SWEDEN, September 15th.
Private.--If you don't know what Riggs's Disease of the Teeth is, the
dentist will tell you. I've had it--and it is more than interesting.
M.T.
EDITORIAL NOTE
Fearing that there might be some mistake, we submitted a proof of this
article to the (American) gentlemen named in it, and asked them to
correct any errors of detail that might have crept in among the facts.
They reply with some asperity that errors cannot creep in among facts
where there are no facts for them to creep in among; and that none are
discoverable in this article, but only baseless aberrations of a
disordered mind.
Pages:
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627