“Pete,” said the Judge, “Was it lost in a row? Tell me quick, And tell me how.” Pete straightened up With a hic and a sigh, Then looked the Judge Full in the eye. “O, Judge, my wife Would never go To a Sunday dance Or a movie show. “But I went, Judge, Both day and night, And came home broke And also tight. “The moon was up, My purse was down, And I was the bully Of the bootleg town. “I was crooning a lilt To corn and rye For the loop in my legs And the fight in my eye. “I met my wife; She was wearing a frown, And catechising Her Sunday gown. ‘O Pete, O Pete’ She cried aloud, ‘The Devil is falling Right out of a cloud.’ “I looked straight up And fell flat down And a Ford machine Pinned my head to the ground. “The Ford moved on, And my wife was in it; And I was sober, That very minute. “For my head was bleeding, My heart was a-flutter; And the moonshine within me Was tipping the gutter. “The Ford, it faster And faster sped Till it dipped and swerved And my wife was dead. “Two bruised men lay In a hospital ward-- One seeking vengeance, The other the Lord. “He said to me: ‘Your wife was drunk, You are crazy, And my Ford is junk.’ “I raised my knife And drove it in At the top of his head And the point of his chin. “O Judge, O Judge, If the State has a chair, Please bind me in it And roast me there.” There was a man Whose name was Pete, And he welcomed death From his head to his feet. THE WAY-SIDE WELL A fancy halts my feet at the way-side well. It is not to drink, for they say the water is brackish. It is not to tryst, for a heart at the mile’s end beckons me on. It is not to rest, for what feet could be weary when a heart at the mile’s end keeps time with their tread? It is not to muse, for the heart at the mile’s end is food for my being. I will question the well for my secret by dropping a pebble into it. Ah, it is dry. Strike lightning to the road, my feet, for hearts are like wells. You may not know they are dry ’til you question their depths. Fancies clog the way to Heaven, and saints miss their crown. JAMES WELDON JOHNSON James Weldon Johnson was born in Jacksonville, Fla. He graduated from Atlanta University with the degree of A. B., and he received the degree of A. M. from the same University in 1904. He spent three years in graduate work at Columbia University in the City of New York. The honorary degree of Litt.D. was conferred upon him by Talladega College, Talladega, Ala., in 1917, and by Howard University in 1923. For several years Mr. Johnson was principal of the colored high school at Jacksonville. He was admitted to the Florida bar in 1897, and practiced law in Jacksonville, until 1901, when he moved to New York to collaborate with his brother, J. Rosamond Johnson, in writing for the light opera stage.