For more refinement and social grace.

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."




Avitor.

An Aerial Retrospect.



What was it filled my youthful dreams,
In place of Greek or Latin themes,
Or beauty's wild, bewildering beams?
Avitor?

What visions and celestial scenes
I filled with aerial machines,--
Montgolfier's and Mr. Green's!
Avitor.

What fairy tales seemed things of course!
The rock that brought Sindbad across,
The Calendar's own winged-horse!