ns and classes, of  poetry and pself, a victory, to ain t my friends noble art, so full of passion and y, is tory of a man ed from t of expression, and in templation t is born of te and delicate arrangement of images, royed as morbid, for as yet tmans fine enougo bring tists joy  of sanctity. In one poem s at some street corner for a friend, a ands t nobody is coming, sees ture; and in anotten on o come ser on,  a part of tacle of to all  flavour of extravagance, or of  makes one understand t emplates even  iny but as it ion t general to men. tive joy an acceptance of y of  brings, or a red of deat it takes aness of our exaltation, at death and oblivion.

    In no modern er t ten of Iris it may be Miss Edgele Rackrent, o c about tir ure, for t play ures, persons, and events, t  for t escapes from meditation, a c makes t as significant by contrast as some procession painted on an Egyptian elligence, on  in so fe Life ime to bres  ragic reality seem morbid to t are accustomed to ers y at all; just as ts,  Obscure Nigainly t t among spiritual states, one among oteps, seem morbid to tionalist and testant controversialist. t of journalists, like t of ts, is neit  risen to t state tainment of man, in oils, in tic, or imagined it above the clouds?