s supreme; and if I err,
They all must err who have to feel their way
As bats that fly at noon; for what are we
But creatures of the night, dragged forth by day,
Who needs must stumble, and with stammering steps
Spell out their paths in syllables of pain?

Thou wilt not hold in scorn the child who dares
Look up to Thee, the Father,--dares to ask
More than Thy wisdom answers. From Thy hand
The worlds were cast; yet every leaflet claims
From that same hand its little shining sphere
Of star-lit dew; thine image, the great sun,
Girt with his mantle of tempestuous flame,

Glares in mid-heaven; but to his noontide blaze
The slender violet lifts its lidless eye,
And from his splendor steals its fairest hue,
Its sweetest perfume from his scorching fire.

I may just as well stop here as anywhere, for there is more of the
manuscript to come, and I can only give it in instalments.

The Young Astronomer had told me I might read any portions of his
manuscript I saw fit to certain friends. I tried this last extract on
the old Master.

It's the same story we all have to tell,--said he, when I had done
reading.---We are all asking questions nowadays. I should like to hear
him read some of his verses himself, and I think some of the other
boarders would like to. I wonder if he wouldn't do it, if we asked him!
Poets read their own compositions in a singsong sort of way; but they do
seem to love 'em so, that I always enjoy it. It makes me laugh a little
inwardly to see how they dandle their poetical babies, but I don't let
them know it. We must get up a select party of the boarders to hear him
read. We'll send him a regular invitation. I will put my name at the
head of it, and you shall write it.

--That was neatly done. How I hate writing such things! But I suppose I
must do it.

VIII

The Master and I had been thinking for some time of trying to get the
Young Astronomer round to our side of the table. There are many subjects
on which both of us like to talk with him, and it would be convenient to
have him nearer to us. How to manage it was not quite so clear as it
might have been. The Scarabee wanted to sit with his back to the light,
as it was in his present position. He used his eyes so much in studying
minute objects, that he wished to spare them all fatigue, and did not
like facing a window. Neither of us cared to ask th