A visible change is taking place in the giant sun Betelguese. Its nebulæ is slowly but surely disappearing. One hundred years hence it may be a dark planet, invisible to even the most powerful telescope. However, Hell will reign on, through eons and eons; and, if this sun, or any other, contains its kingdom, and mankind lives for another thousand years or more, those who should be so unfortunate as to miss the jagged heights to Paradise need not worry, for glozing imps will lead them to the fasthold of Typhon's weird home. Have no fear. September 22d, MCMVII. WHEN I AM GONE What good is Fame when I am dead and gone, When in immarcescible regions My temple rots and soul doth storm and mourn As bones of mine adorn an early grave? Who'll hear and know that I worked hard and long, That twin sighs and tears storm'd me by legions, My life, a sunless one--bleak and forlorn. No ray of light whilst I in thralldom slave? What good is Fame when I am dead and gone, When in fenowed abyss', stark and cold, I wend my solemn footsteps and atone, Whilst Fame my brow doth crown with its renown? Who'll know that heart and soul bled on and on, That storm-swept aches and woes were mine untold, My life a waste, from which there stole a moan, No Aureole whilst I in sorrow drown? What good is Fame when I am dead and gone, When far and wide my praise is heard and sung, And busts and marble-heads my deeds unfurl To multitudes that knew me not in flesh? Not when I'm gone care I for Renown's dawn, Now, whilst I labour at Fame's lowest rung, Let me reap dame Approval's brightest pearl And sip its olpe as I my battles thresh. BETELGUESE