She hurried out into the noisy street, For the silence made her afraid; To flee from thought was all she sought, She cared not whither she strayed. Still on she pressed in her wild unrest Up avenues skirting the park, Where fashion’s throng moved gayly along In Vanity Fair--when hark! A clatter of hoofs down the stony street, The snort of a frightened horse That was running wild, and a laughing child At play in its very course. With one swift glance Meg saw it all. “_His_ child--my God! _his_ child!” She cried aloud, as she rushed through the crowd Like one grown suddenly wild. There, almost under the iron feet, Hemmed in by a passing cart, Stood the baby boy--the pride and joy Of the man who had broken her heart. Past swooning women and shouting men She fled like a flash of light; With her slender arm she gathered from harm The form of the laughing sprite. The death-shod feet of the mad horse beat Her down on the pavings gray; But the baby laughed out with a merry shout, And thought it splendid play. He pulled her gown and called to her: “Say, Dit up and do dat some more; Das jus’ ze way my papa play Wiz me on ze nursery floor.” When the frightened father reached the scene, His boy looked up and smiled From the stiffening fold of the arm, death-cold, Of Meg, who had died for his child. Oh! idle words are a woman’s curse Who loves as woman can; For put to the test, she will bare her breast And die for the sake of the man. A FABLE. Some cawing Crows, a hooting Owl, A Hawk, a Canary, an old Marsh-Fowl, One day all met together To hold a caucus and settle the fate Of a certain bird (without a mate), A bird of another feather. “My friends,” said the Owl, with a look most wise, “The Eagle is soaring too near the skies, In a way that is quite improper; Yet the world is praising her, so I’m told, And I think her actions have grown so bold That some of us ought to stop her.” “I have heard it said,” quoth Hawk with a sigh, “That young lambs died at the glance of her eye, And I wholly scorn and despise her. This and more, I am told, they say; And I think that the only proper way Is never to recognize her.” “I am quite convinced,” said Crow with a caw, “That the Eagle minds no moral law; She’s a most unruly creature.” “She’s an ugly thing,” piped Canary Bird; “Some call her handsome; it’s so absurd-- She hasn’t a decent feature!”