have changed all.   Never more can "we wonder what you are."   Alas ! we know. The verse might now be changed:
"Twinkle, twinkle little star, Now I know just what you are, Of the planets you're but one Reflecting glory of the sun."
And Ghosts, those dear old bug-bears of infancy, the mere mention of which caused our hair to stand on end, and delightful thrills to creep over our souls. They, too, are gonefar back to the gates of the Netherlands. "The Ghosts are laid." Nevermore will they be resurrected. Psychology and other ologies long since slipped our memories have attended to that. They are gone foreveranother lost illusion.
"Dear old ghosts of our childhood day,
Bug-bears of our youthful play,
You are goneforever lay
In church yards with your mouldering clay."
Old superstitions, you, too, are gone, relegated to the limbo of our attic. Now and then you creep out, but for a moment only. Our skeletons in the family closet are not more closely watched than you. We look at the new moon over our right shoulder with impunity. Never more do we make a wish on the first star we see at night.    liemember that little jingle
"Star bright, star light, First star I've  seen tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might Have the wish I wish tonight."
It is not only useless, we have been told, but it is silly, and were people to hear us seriously repeating that delightful little doggerel, they would look at us askance and fear for our mental balance.
And yet, was it not delicious? What if our wishes never came true? Were we the least skeptical? Noa thousand times no. Perhaps it was not the "first star" we had seen that night. Another possibly. That accounted for the breaking of the spell. Sweet consolation which never shook our belief in the potency of the wish.
But you, all are gone. Ear awray in the dim, mystic past, beyond the haunts of men. Only childrendear little totsknow the realms where you hold sway. We are no longer friends. Wheneverat long intervals we meet, we hasten bycads that we areglancing askance at you from the tail of our eye, as though we recognized you as a once beloved acquaintance, long since gone to seed. Ah, old friend, it is the way of the worldtins cold, unfeeling .world of ourswhich has aiifocratically placed conventions and fashions along
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