essary, and support this child instead. Children are worth more than horses. As you say, it's a good deal of an experiment, but I think I'll run the risk."

He walked quickly to the door and disappeared in the hall, and then came back, kicking the door open as he returned, and holding the child in his arms.

"This is she; this is your child. She will need to be fed a bit; they did not treat her very well, I fancy. She is thin and peaked and tired looking." He drew up the loose sleeve of her jacket, and showed the bare forearm to the light. It is very thin, and under her eyes you can see how deep the lines are. This red spot on her cheek is where the chorus girls kissed her, but they will never kiss her again. She is going to grow up a sweet, fine, beautiful woman are you not? She does not look like her mother; she has her father's auburn hair and straight nose and finer-cut lips and chin. She looks very much like her father. It seems a pity—she will grow up without knowing him, or who he is or was, if he should die. She will never speak with him, or see him, or take his hand. She may pass him some day on the street and she will not know him, and he will not know her "

--

The child in his arms stirred, shivered slightly, and awoke.. The two men watched her breathlessly, with silent intentness. She raised her head and stared around the unfamiliar room doubtfully, then turned to where her father stood, looking at him. a moment; and passed him by; and then looking up into Van Bibber's face, recognized him, and gave a gentle, sleepy smile, and with a sigh of content and confidence, drew her arm up closer around his neck, and let her head fall back upon his breast.

The father sprang to his feet with a quick, jealous gasp of pain. "Give her to me! She is mine; give her to me!"

Van Bibber closed the door gently behind him, and went jumping down the winding stairs of the Berkeley, three steps at a time.

And an hour later, when the English servant came to his master's door, he found him still awake and sitting in the dark by the open window, holding something in his arms and looking out over the sleeping city. "James, you can make up a place for me here on the lounge. Miss Caruthers, my daughter, will sleep in my room to-night."

-Richard Harding Davis.

VIRGINIA

Ye good men of the Commons, with loving hearts and true,
Who stand by the bold Tribunes that still have stood by you,
Come, make a circle round me, and mark my tale with care,
A tale of what Rome once hath borne, of what Rome yet may
bear.

This is no Grecian fable, of fountains running wine,

Of maids with snaky tresses, or sailors turned to swine;
Here, in this very Forum, under the noonday sun,

In sight of all the people, the bloody deed was done.
Old men still creep among us who saw that fearful day,
Just seventy years and seven ago, when the wicked Ten bare

sway.

Of all the wicked Ten still the names are held accursed,
And of all the wicked Ten, Appius Claudius was the worst.
He stalked along the Forum like King Tarquin in his pride:
Twelve axes waited on him, six marching on a side;

The townsmen shrank to right and left, and eyed askance with fear

His lowering brow, his curling mouth, which always seemed to

sneer.

Nor lacks he fit attendance; for close behind his heels,

With outstretched chin and crouching pace, the client Marcus

steals.

Where'er ye shed the honey, the buzzing flies will crowd;
Where'er ye fling the carrion, the raven's croak is loud:

Where'er down Tiber garbage floats, the greedy pike you see;
And wheresoe'er such lord is found, such client still will be.

Just then, as through one cloudless chink in a black stormy sky Shines out the dewy morning star, a fair young girl came by, With her small tablets in her hand, and her satchel on her arm, Home she went bounding from the school, nor dreamed of shame or harm;

And past those dreaded axes she innocently ran,

With bright, frank brow that had not learned to blush at gaze of

man;

And up the Sacred Street she turned, and, as she danced along, She warbled gaily to herself lines of the good old song.

And Appius heard her sweet young voice, and saw her sweet young face,

And loved her with the accurséd love of his accurséd race,

And all along the Forum, and up the Sacred Street,

His vulture eye pursued the trip of those small glancing feet.

She crossed the Forum, shining with stalls in alleys gay,
And just had reached the very spot whereon I stand this day,
When up the varlet Marcus came; not such as when, erewhile,
He crouched behind his patron's heels, with the true client smile;
He came with lowering forehead, swollen features, and clenched
fist,

And strode across Virginia's path, and caught her by the wrist. Hard strove the frightened maiden, and screamed with look aghast ;

And at her scream, from right and left, the folks came running fast;

The money-changer Crispus, with his thin silver hairs,

And Hanno from the stately booth glittering with Punic wares, And the strong smith Muræna, grasping a half-forged brand, And Volero, the flesher, his cleaver in his hand.

All came in wrath and wonder; for all knew that fair child;
And, as she passed them twice a day, all kissed their hands and
smiled;

And the strong smith Muræna gave Marcus such a blow,
The caitiff reeled three paces back, and let the maiden go.
Yet glared he fiercely round him, and growled in harsh, fell tone,
"She's mine, and I will have her. I seek but for my own:
She is my slave, born in my house, and stolen away and sold,
The year of the sore sickness, ere she was twelve hours old.
I wait on Appius Claudius; I waited on his sire:

Let him who works the client wrong, beware the patron's ire!"

So spake the varlet Marcus; and dread and silence came
On all the people at the sound of the great Claudian name.
Straightway Virginius led his child a little space aside,

To where the reeking shambles stood, piled up with horn and hide.
Hard by, a flesher on a block had laid his whittle down:

Virginius caught the whittle up, and hid it in his gown.

And then his eyes grew very dim, and his throat began to swell, And in a hoarse changed voice he spake, "Farewell, sweet child! Farewell!

The house that was the happiest within the Roman walls,

The house that envied not the wealth of Capua's marble halls, Now, for the brightness of thy smile, must have eternal gloom, And for the music of thy voice, the silence of the tomb.

"The time is come. See how he points his eager hand this way! See how his eyes gloat on thy grief, like a kite's upon the prey! With all his wit, he little deems, that, spurned, betrayed, bereft, Thy father has in his despair one fearful refuge left.

He little deems that in this hand I clutch what still can save Thy gentle youth from taunts and blows, the portion of the slave; Then clasp me round the neck once more, and give me one more

kiss;

And now, mine own dear little girl, there is no way but this."

With that he lifted high the steel, and smote her in the side,
And in her blood she sank to earth, and with one sob she died.
Then for a little moment all people held their breath;
And through the crowded Forum was stillness as of death;
And in another moment brake forth from one and all
A cry as if the Volscians were coming o'er the wall.
Some with averted faces shrieking fled home amain;
Some ran to call a leech, and some ran to lift the slain;

Some felt her lips and little wrist, if life might there be found; And some tore up their garments fast, and strove to stanch the wound.

In vain they ran, and felt, and stanched; for never truer blow That good right arm had dealt in fight against a Volscian foe.

When Appius Claudius saw that deed he shuddered and sank down,

And hid his face some little space, with the corner of his gown,
Till, with white lips and bloodshot eyes, Virginius tottered nigh,
And stood before the judgment-seat, and held the knife on high.
"Oh, dwellers in the nether gloom, avengers of the slain,
By this dear blood I cry to you, do right between us twain;

And even as Appius Claudius hath dealt by me and mine,
Deal you with Appius Claudius and all the Claudian line!"
So spake the slayer of his child, and turned, and went his way;
But first he cast one haggard glance to where the body lay,
And writhed and groaned a fearful groan; and then with steadfast
feet,

Strode right across the market-place unto the Sacred Street.

Then up sprang Appius Claudius: "Stop him; alive or dead!
Ten thousand pounds of copper to the man who brings his head!"
He looked upon his clients, but none would work his will.
He looked upon his lictors, but they trembled and stood still.
And as Virginius through the press his way in silence cleft,
Ever the mighty multitude fell back to right and left,
And he hath passed in safety into his woeful home,

And there ta'en horse to tell the camp what deeds are done in
Rome.

-Lord Macaulay.

CUDDLE DOON

The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht

Wi' muckle fash an' din.

"Oh, try and sleep, ye waukrife rogues;
Your father's comin' in."

They never heed a word I speak.

I try to gie a froon;

But aye I hap them up, an' cry,

"Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon!"

Wee Jamie, wi' the curly heid-
He aye sleeps next the wa'-
Bangs up an' cries, "I want a piece "-
The rascal starts them a'.

I rin an' fetch them pieces, drinks-
They stop awee the soun'—

Then draw the blankets up, an' cry,
"Noo, weanies, cuddle doon!"