The old man muttered at each low, Pitiful, half delirious cry, "They should die, had I the say, In hell's own torment, one and all!" And then would drag himself away, Despite each motion's agony, To where the wounded poilus lay, And cheer them with his mimicry Of barnyard noises, and his gay Old songs of what life used to be. One night the lad suddenly cried, "Mother!" And though the sister knew-- He was so young, so terrified, "You're safe--the east is light," she lied. But "No!" he sobbed, "the cock must crow Before the dawn!" They did not hear A cripple crawl across the floor, But all at once, outside the door, In the courtyard, shrill and clear, Once, twice and thrice, chanticleer crew. The blue eyes closed and the boy sighed, "I'm not afraid, now day's begun. I'll live--till--" With a smile, he died. And in that hour when he denied The god of hate, I think that One Passed through the hospital's dim yard And turning, looked on old Gaspard. AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR. FOOTNOTES: [1] COPYRIGHT BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY A BELGIAN LAWYER'S APPEAL One of the great lawyers of Belgium in behalf of the members of the bar of Brussels, Liége, Ghent, Charleroi, Mons, Louvain, and Antwerp, appeared twice before the German Court of Justice at Brussels and appealed for more just treatment of the Belgian people. In his first appeal, he protested against the illegal manner in which the Belgians were accused of crime, tried, and convicted at the pleasure of German officials. He concluded with the following eloquent words: I can understand martial law for armies in the field. It is the immediate reply to an aggression against the troops, the quick justice of the commander of the army responsible for his soldiers. But our armies are far away; we are no longer in the zone of military operations. Nothing here threatens your troops, the inhabitants are calm. The people have taken up work again. You have bidden them do it. Each one attends to his business--magistrates, judges, officials of the provinces and cities, the clergy, all are at their posts, united in one outburst of national interest and brotherhood. However, this does not mean that they have forgotten. The Belgian people lived happily in their corner of the earth, confident in their dream of independence. They saw this dream dispelled; they saw their country ruined and devastated; its ancient hospitable soil has been sown with thousands of tombs where our own sleep; the war has made tears flow which no hand can dry. No, the murdered soul of Belgium will never forget. His second appeal will be spoken by school children in Belgium, and perhaps in America, when the names of the German judges to whom he spoke are forgotten even in Germany.