While all about him, roaring, slept, Into the street he calmly stepped. In very truth, the man who thought The people's voice from heaven had caught God's inspiration took a change Of venue—it was passing strange! Straight to his editor he went And that ingenious person sent A Negro to impersonate The fugitive. In adequate Disguise he took his vacant place And buried in his arms his face. When all was done the lawyer stopped And silence like a bombshell dropped Upon the Court: judge, jury, all Within that venerable hall (Except the deaf and dumb, indeed, And one or two whom death had freed) Awoke and tried to look as though Slumber was all they did not know. And now that tireless lawyer-man Took breath, and then again began: 'Your Honor, if you did attend To what I've urged (my learned friend Nodded concurrence) to support The motion I have made, this court May soon adjourn. With your assent I've shown abundant precedent For introducing now, though late, New evidence to exculpate My client. So, if you'll allow, I'll prove an alibi!' 'What?—how?' Stammered the judge. 'Well, yes, I can't Deny your showing, and I grant The motion. Do I understand You undertake to prove—good land!— That when the crime—you mean to show Your client wasn't there?' 'O, no, I cannot quite do that, I find: My alibi's another kind Of alibi,—I'll make it clear, Your Honor, that he isn't here.' The Darky here upreared his head, Tranquillity affrighted fled And consternation reigned instead!
REBUKE.
When Admonition's hand essays Our greed to curse, Its lifted finger oft displays Our missing purse.
J.F.B.
How well this man unfolded to our view The world's beliefs of Death and Heaven and Hell— This man whose own convictions none could tell, Nor if his maze of reason had a clew. Dogmas he wrote for daily bread, but knew The fair philosophies of doubt so well That while we listened to his words there fell Some that were strangely comforting, though true. Marking how wise we grew upon his doubt, We said: 'If so, by groping in the night, He can proclaim some certain paths of trust, How great our profit if he saw about His feet the highways leading to the light.' Now he sees all. Ah, Christ! his mouth is dust!
THE DYING STATESMAN.
It is a politician man— He draweth near his end, And friends weep round that partisan, Of every man the friend. Between the Known and the Unknown He lieth on the strand; The light upon the sea is thrown That lay upon the land. It shineth in his glazing eye,
