and without further pantomime of leave-taking, they stopped, and watched her out of sight. I was glad and grateful when she gave that word, "Thus far and no farther," for I had made up my mind that she was the last incarnation of the Pied Piper of Hamelin, and that if she would, she might leave us with not a little girl or boy to bless ourselves with for blocks around. THE WORD BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS TO-DAY, whatever may annoy, The word for me is Joy, just simple Joy: The joy of life; The joy of children and of wife; The joy of bright blue skies; The joy of rain; the glad surprise Of twinkling stars that shine at night; The joy of noon-day, and the tried True joyousness of eventide; The joy of labor, and of mirth; The joy of air, and sea, and earth The countless joys that ever flow from Him Whose vast beneficence doth dim The lustrous light of day, And lavish gifts divine upon our way. Whate'er there be of Sorrow I'll put off till To-morrow, And when To-morrow comes, why then "T will be To-day and Joy again! PAN THE FALLEN BY WILLIAM WILFRED CAMPBELL HE wandered into the market With pipes and goatish hoof; And no one stood aloof. For the children crowded round him, The wives and graybeards, too, To crack their jokes and have their mirth, And see what Pan would do. The Pan he was they knew him, Part man, but mostly beast, Who drank, and lied, and snatched what bones Men threw him from their feast; Who seemed in sin so merry, So careless in his woe, That men despised, scarce pitied him, And still would have it so. He swelled his pipes and thrilled them, And drew the silent tear; He made the gravest clack with mirth By his sardonic leer. He blew his pipes full sweetly At their amused demands, And caught the scornful, earth-flung pence That fell from careless hands. He saw the mob's derision, And took it kindly, too, And when an epithet was flung, But under all the masking I looked, and saw a wounded soul And back of the elfin music, The burlesque, clownish play, I knew a wail that the weird pipes made, A look that was far away A gaze into some far heaven Whence a soul had fallen down; But the mob saw only the grotesque beast And the antics of the clown. For scant-flung pence he paid them With mirth and elfin play, Till, tired for a time of his antics queer, They passed and went their way; Then there in the empty market He ate his scanty crust, And, tired face turned to heaven, down He laid him in the dust. And over his wild, strange features A softer light there fell, And on his worn, earth-driven heart And the moon rose over the market, |