[From Arthur Selwyn'S Note-Book.] [Only A Box.] Only A Box, Secure And Strong, Rough, And Wooden, And Six Feet Long, Lying Here In The Drizzling Rain, Waiting To Take The Up-Bound Train. Only Its Owner, Just Inside, Cold, And Livid, And Glassy-Eyed; Little To Him If The Train Be Late! Nothing Has He To Do But Wait. Only An Open Grave, Somewhere, Heady To Close When He Gets There; Turfs And Grasses And Flowerets Sweet, Ready To Press Him 'Neath Their Feet. Only A Band Of Friends At Home, Waiting To See The Traveller Come; Naught He Will Tell Of Distant Lands; He Cannot Even Press Their Hands. He Has No Stories Weird And Bright, He Has No Gifts For A Child'S Delight; He Did Not Come With Anything; He Had Not Even Himself To Bring. Yet They Will Softly Him Await, And He Will Move About In State; They Will Give Him, When He Appears, Love, And Pity, And Tender Tears. Only A Box, Secure And Strong, Rough And Wooden, And Six Feet Long; Angels Guide That Soulless Breast Into A Long And Peaceful Rest!