Volume 146 — January 7, 1914.

AMENDE DÉSHONORABLE. Heavily dragged the night; the Year Was passing, and the clock's slow tick Boomed its sad message to my ear And made me pretty sick. "You have been slack," I told myself, "and weak; You have done foolishly, from wilful choice; Sloth and procrastination—" Here my voice Broke in a squeak. And deep repentance welled in me As I mused darkly on my sin; Yea, Conscience stung me, like a bee That gets her barb well in. "Next year," I swore, in this compunctious mood, "I will be energetic, virtuous, kind; Unflinching I will face the awful grind Of being good." I paused, half troubled by a thought— Were my proposals too sublime? Vowed I more deeply than I ought? I glanced to see the time. It was 12.10 A.M. At once a thrill, A wave of manful resolution, sped Through all my being. "Yes," I bravely said; "Next year I will!"