THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS

"Drowned! Drowned!"- Hamlet.

One more Unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care,—
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!

Look at her garments
Clinging like cerements;

Whilst the wave constantly

Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly,

Loving, not loathing.

Touch her not scornfully;
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly;
Not of the stains of her.
All that remains of her

Now is pure womanly.

Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny

Rash and undutiful:

Past all dishonor,

Death has left on her
Only the beautiful.

Who was her father?

Who was her mother? Had she a sister?

Had she a brother?

Or was there a dearer one
Still, and a nearer one

Yet, than all other?

Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun!

Oh! it was pitiful!

Near a whole city full,

Home she had none.

Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,

With many a light

From window and casement, From garret to basement,

She stood with amazement, Houseless by night.

Take her up tenderly,

Lift her with care;

Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!

Owning her weakness,

Her evil behavior,

And leaving, with meekness,

Her sins to her Saviour!

Thomas Hood.

LYRA INCANTATA

Within a castle haunted,
As castles were of old,
There hung a harp enchanted,
And on its rim of gold

This legend was enscrolled:
"Whatever bard would win me,
Must strike and wake within me,
By one supreme endeavor
A chord that sounds forever."

Three bards of lyre and viol,
By mandate of the king,
Were bidden to the trial

To find the magic string,
(If there were such a thing).
Then, after much essaying
Of tuning, came the playing;
And lords and ladies splendid
Watched as those bards contended.

The first-a minstrel hoary,

Who many a rhyme had spun-
Sang loud of war and glory—
Of battles fought and won;
But when his song was done,
Although the bard was lauded,
And clapping hands applauded,
Yet, spite of the laudation
The harp ceased its vibration.

The second changed the measure
And turned from fire and sword
To sing a song of pleasure—
The wine-cup and the board---
Till, at the wit, all roared.
And the high walls resounded
With merriment unbounded!
The harp-loud as the laughter
Grew hushed at that, soon after.

The third, in lover's fashion,
And with his soul on fire,
Then sang of love's pure passion—
The heart and its desire!

And, as he smote the wire,
The listeners, gathering round him,
Caught up a wreath and crowned him,
The crown-hath faded never!

The harp-resounds forever!

Theodore Tilton.

CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE

Circumstantial evidence caused a death sentence to be pronounced on a dog at a west side truck farm recently. The incident only goes to show how easy it is to convict even the innocent. The farmer owned a collie named Maje, of which he was unusually fond. For some weeks he had been missing eggs from his henhouse, but could not discover the thief. Egg shells would be found in the nests every day, and with fresh eggs bringing forty cents a dozen the farmer realized his loss and finally suspected Maje. A close watch was kept on the chicken house and one day the farmer saw the dog sneaking stealthily along toward the half-open door of the chicken house. In a few minutes it came out again.

The farmer went into the house and there found many egg shells. Evidence was indisputable, and the pet collie was ordered shot. The day following the execution every egg in the chicken house was eaten. The farmer then started another investigation. Beneath the floor of an abandoned smokehouse he discovered the home of a weasel and half a dozen young ones. A trap was set, the mother weasel was caught and killed and the young ones afterward captured. No eggs have since been missing, and the farmer grieves for the loss of his dog.

"Maje never touched an egg," said the farmer. "He was in the henhouse trying to catch that weasel, and the poor fellow died because the circumstantial evidence