"
Every man in the court-room--
Grey-beard and thoughtless youth--
Knew, as he looked upon her,
That the prisoner spoke the truth,
Out from their pockets came kerchiefs.
Out from their eyes sprung tears,
And out from old faded wallets
Treasures hoarded for years.
The judge's face was a study--
The strangest you ever saw,
As he cleared his throat and murmured
_Something_ about the _law_.
For one so learned in such matters,
So wise in dealing with men,
He seemed, on a simple question,
Sorely puzzled just then.
But no one blamed him or wondered
When at last these words they heard,
"The sentence of this young prisoner
Is, for the present, deferred."
And no one blamed him or wondered
When he went to her and smiled,
And tenderly led from the court-room,
Himself the "guilty" child.
* * * * *
MEMORY'S PICTURES.
Among the beautiful pictures
That hang on Memory's wall,
Is one of a dim old forest,
That seemeth best of all;
Not for its gnarled oaks olden,
Dark with the mistletoe;
Not for the violets golden
That sprinkle the vale below;
Not for the milk-white lilies
That lean from the fragrant ledge,
Coquetting all day with the sunbeams,
And stealing their golden edge;
Not for the vines on the upland,
Where the bright red berries rest;
Nor the pinks, nor the pale, sweet cowslips,
It seemeth to me the best.
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