Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames,
    Tied up in godly laces,
  Before ye gie poor Frailty names,
    Suppose a change o’ cases;
  A dear-loved lad, convenience snug,
    A treacherous inclination,—­
  But, let me whisper i’ your lug,
    Ye ’re aiblins nae temptation.

  Then gently scan your brother man,
    Still gentler sister woman;
  Though they may gang a kennin’ wrang,
    To step aside is human. 
  One point must still be greatly dark,
    The moving why they do it;
  And just as lamely can ye mark
    How far perhaps they rue it.

  Who made the heart, ’t is He alone
    Decidedly can try us;
  He knows each chord,—­its various tone,
    Each spring,—­its various bias: 
  Then at the balance let’s be mute,
    We never can adjust it;
  What’s done we partly may compute,
    But know not what’s resisted.

ROBERT BURNS.

* * * * *

STONE THE WOMAN, LET THE MAN GO FREE.

  Yes, stone the woman, let the man go free! 
  Draw back your skirts, lest they perchance may touch
  Her garment as she passes; but to him
  Put forth a willing hand to clasp with his
  That led her to destruction and disgrace. 
  Shut up from her the sacred ways of toil,
  That she no more may win an honest meal;
  But ope to him all honorable paths
  Where he may win distinction; give to him
  Fair, pressed-down measures of life’s sweetest joys. 
  Pass her, O maiden, with a pure, proud face,
  If she puts out a poor, polluted palm;
  But lay thy hand in his on bridal day,
  And swear to cling to him with wifely love
  And tender reverence.  Trust him who led
  A sister woman to a fearful fate.

  Yes, stone the woman, let the man go free! 
  Let one soul suffer for the guilt of two—­
  It is the doctrine of a hurried world,
  Too out of breath for holding balances
  Where nice distinctions and injustices
  Are calmly weighed.  But ah, how will it be
  On that strange day of fire and flame,
  When men shall wither with a mystic fear,
  And all shall stand before the one true Judge? 
  Shall sex make then a difference in sin? 
  Shall He, the Searcher of the hidden heart,
  In His eternal and divine decree
  Condemn the woman and forgive the man?

ANONYMOUS.

* * * * *

IN PRISON.

  God pity the wretched prisoners,
    In their lonely cells to-day! 
  Whatever the sins that tripped them,
    God pity them! still I say.

  Only a strip of sunshine,
    Cleft by rusty bars;
  Only a patch of azure,
    Only a cluster of stars;

  Only a barren future,
    To starve their hope upon;
  Only stinging memories
    Of a past that’s better gone;