Sonnet. Oh ! woman, teacher thou of man, whom we Alternately insult or glorify With scorn as vain as is our flattery— More than thy milk receiveth man from thee, For what thou wert he evermore shall be, And with him nations. Be but pure and great And they are mighty ; fall, and their estate Lies in the dust. Fruit know we from the tree. As in thy being man’s once lay enshrined, So thine in his. In man we woman have ; And where her heart is sordid, man we find Of toil and gold and self the haggard slave. And teacher-woman, where low is thy mind, More low doth grovel man’s from birth to grave. Julia Kavanagh.