They rent the garments from his back, And from his scalp the hair; And from his face in handfuls plucked The whiskers long and fair; And there, contrary to the laws, And to his wish to boot, He swallowed teeth that in his jaws In youth had taken root. At last, uniting at the task, They hauled him to the door And sent him howling home in pain; A man both lame and sore. [Illustration: THE STRANGER WHO WENT IN.] Who showed the greatest wisdom here,— The one who heard the fray And went not in, but later stood Repenting in the way? Or he, who turning from his path Went in to stay the rout, And after wished, with all his heart, That he had stayed without? The observations of a life Prove, eight times out of nine, They best can meddle with a strife Who bear official sign. But notwithstanding all the facts This lesson has laid bare; Of reaping good for noble acts We never should despair. Not here below reward we’ll know, But virtue still prevails; And valor, love, and rightful deeds, Will count upon the scales. [Illustration] THE ROD OF CORRECTION. It is not often that a poor fellow like myself can have a good laugh at the expense of a high dignitary. To-day, however, an opportunity presented itself, and happily I was in the right humor to appreciate it. Passing along a narrow street, I saw an old Irish woman unmercifully beating her boy with a rod, which, if it had not been divested of twigs and leaves, would have served as a Christmas tree for a good-sized family. This of itself was nothing to make one smile, and perhaps no person would more readily endorse such a sentiment than the boy himself. But the end was not yet.