They declare that, after all, war is a means of moral training, that 'Carnage' may be, as the gentlest of poets wrote, 'God's daughter,' that battles may be blessings to be thankful for in the long march of time. They bring to our consciousness, once more, the fact that a Great Battle, amid all its horror, wrath, and blood, is something sacred still, an earthly shadow of that Unseen Battle which has stormed through time, between the hosts of Light and Darkness. They declare again, to the nation, that old truth, without which the nation perishes and man rots, that to die in some good cause is the noblest thing a man can do on earth. They bid us bend in hope beneath the awful hand of the GOD OF BATTLES, and do our appointed work patiently, bravely, loyally, till _He_ brings the end. They tell us that not work only, but heroic fighting, also, is a worship accepted at His seat. They bid us be thankful, as for the most sacred of all gifts, that thousands, in this loyal land of ours, have had the high grace, given from above, 'To search through all they felt and saw, The springs of life, the depths of awe, And reach _the law within the law_: 'To pass, when Life her light withdraws, Not void of righteous self-applause, Nor in a merely selfish cause-- 'In some good cause, not in their own, To perish, _wept for_, _honored_, _known_, And like a warrior overthrown.' PROVERBS. Violets and lilies-of-the-valley are seen in a vale. Family jars should be filled with honey. All are not lambs that gambol on the green. Ask the 'whys,' and be wise. THE UNDIVINE COMEDY--A POLISH DRAMA. Dedicated to Mary. PART II. 'Du Gemisch von Koth und Feuer!' 'Thou compound of clay and fire!' Why, O child! art thou not, like other children, riding gayly about on sticks for horses, playing with toys, torturing flies, or impaling butterflies on pins, that the brilliant circles of their dying pangs may amuse thy young soul? Why dost thou never romp and sport upon the grassy turf, pilfer sugarplums and sweetmeats, and wet the letters of thy picture book from A to Z with sudden tears? Infant king of flies, moths, and grasshoppers; of cowslips, daisies, and of kingcups; of tops, hoops, and kites; little friend of Punch and puppets; robber of birds' nests, and outlaw of petty mischiefs--son of the poet, tell me, why art thou so unlike a child--so like an angel? What strange meaning lies in the blue depths of thy dreamy eyes? Why do they seek the ground as if weighed down by the shadows of their drooping lashes; and why is their latent fire so gloomed by mournful memories, although they have only watched the early violets of a few springs? Why sinks thy broad head heavily down upon thy tiny hands, while thy pallid temples bend under the weight of thine infant thoughts, like snowdrops burdened with the dew of night? * * * * *