he calendar's date?
Do you follow a cue?

Are you a writer, or that which is worded?
Are you a shepherd, or one of the herded?
Which are you--a What or a Who?
It sounds well to call yourself "one of the flock,"
But a sheep is a sheep after all. At the block
You're nothing but mutton, or possibly stock.
Would you flavor a stew?

Are you a being and boss of your soul?
Or are you a mummy to carry a scroll?
Are you Somebody Else, or You?
When you finally pass to the heavenly wicket
Where Peter the Scrutinous stands on his picket,
Are you going to give him _a blank_ for a ticket?
Do you think it will do?

THE PRICE.

In, or under, or over the earth,
What will fill you, and what suffice?
No matter how mean, or much its worth,
It is yours if you pay the price.
Never a thing may a man attain,
But gain pays loss, or loss pays gain.

Lady of riches, riot and rout,
Fair of flesh and sated of sense,
Nothing in life you need do without
Except the trifle of innocence.
Counterfeit kisses you paid, and got
Just what you paid for--which is what?

Man of adroitness, place and power,
Trampled above and torn below;
Set in the light of your noonday hour,
Playing a part in the public show;
Fooling the mob that the mob be ruled:
You know which is the greater fooled.

Artist of pencil, or paint, or pen,
Reed, or string, or the vocal note,
Making the soul to suffer again
And the wild heart clutch the throat;
Ever your fancy has paid in fact;
You rack my soul, as yours was racked.

[Illustration: "The Trifle of Innocence"

_Page 60._]

THE BUBBLE-FLIES.

Let me read a homily
Concerning an anomaly
I view
In you.
Whatever you are striving for,
Whatever you are driving for,
'T is not alone because you crave
To be successful that you slave
To swim upon the topmost wave.
You care less what your station is,
But more what your relation is.
To be a bit above the rest!
To be upon, or of, the crest!
Ah! that is where the trouble lies
Which stirs you little bubble-flies.

(I sneer these sneers, but just the same
I keep my fingers in the game.)
See! you have eat-and-drinkables
And portables and thinkables
And yet
You fret.
For wh