—­John Drinkwater.

After-Days.

When the last gun has long withheld
Its thunder, and its mouth is sealed,
Strong men shall drive the furrow straight
On some remembered battle-field.

Untroubled they shall hear the loud. 
And gusty driving of the rains,
And birds with immemorial voice
Sing as of old in leafy lanes.

  The stricken, tainted soil shall be
    Again a flowery paradise—­
  Pure with the memory of the dead
    And purer for their sacrifice.

  —­Eric Chilman.

EVIDENCE

An attorney was defending a man charged by his wife with desertion.  For a time it looked as tho it were a cinch for the prosecution, but at the psychological moment the attorney called the defendant to the stand.  “Take off that bandage,” he cried, and the man did it, exposing a black eye.  “Your honor,” said the attorney, “our defense is that this man is not a deserter.  He’s a refugee.”

The London police-sergeant raised his eyes from the blotter as two policemen propelled the resisting victim before him.

“A German spy, sir!” gasped the first bobby.

“I’m an American, and can prove it,” denied the victim.

“That’s what he says, but here’s the evidence,” interrupted the second bobby, triumphantly producing a bulky hotel-register from beneath his arm, and pointing to an entry.

“V.  Gates,” written in a flowing hand, was the record that met the astonished sergeant’s gaze.

It happened in the court-room during the trial of a husky young man who was charged with assault and battery.  Throughout an especially severe cross-examination the defendant stoutly maintained that he had merely pushed the plaintiff “a little bit.”

“Well, about how hard?” queried the prosecutor.

“Oh, just a little bit,” responded the defendant.

“Now,” said the attorney, “for the benefit of the judge and the jury, you will please step down here and, with me for the subject, illustrate just how hard you mean.”

Owing to the unmerciful badgering which the witness had just been through, the prosecutor thought that the young man would perhaps overdo the matter to get back at him, and thus incriminate himself.

The defendant descended as per schedule, and approached the waiting attorney.  When he reached him the spectators were astonished to see him slap the lawyer in the face, kick him in the shins, seize him bodily, and, finally, with a supreme effort, lift him from the floor and hurl him prostrate across a table.

Turning from the bewildered prosecutor, he faced the court and explained mildly: 

“Your honor and gentlemen, about one-tenth that hard!”

An aged negro was crossing-tender at a spot where an express train made quick work of a buggy and its occupants.  Naturally he was the chief witness, and the entire case hinged upon the energy with which he had displayed his warning signal.