VIII
A Kit
Here Ingalls, sorrowing, has laid
The tools of his infernal trade—
His pen and tongue. So sharp they grew,
An such destruction from them flew,
His hand was wounded when he wrote,
And when he spoke he cut his throat.
VIII
A Kit
Here Ingalls, sorrowing, has laid
The tools of his infernal trade—
His pen and tongue. So sharp they grew,
An such destruction from them flew,
His hand was wounded when he wrote,
And when he spoke he cut his throat.