The furnace of his sin.

Still forward! forward! For he feels
Fierce claws that pluck his breast,
And blindly beckon as he reels
Upon his awful quest:
For there is that behind his heels
Knows neither ruth nor rest.

The fiends in hell have flung the dice;
The destinies depend
On feet that run for fearful price,
And fangs that gape to rend;
And still the footsteps of his Vice
Pursue him to the end:--
The feet of his incarnate Vice
Shall dog him to the end.



'BEHOLD! I AM NOT ONE THAT GOES TO LECTURES.'


By W. W.

Behold! I am not one that goes to Lectures or the pow-wow of
Professors.

The elementary laws never apologise: neither do I apologise.