Stunned by his reprieve, doubting that he was awake, Glaucus had been led by the officers of the arena into a small cell within the walls of the theater. They threw a loose robe over his form and crowded around in congratulation and wonder. There was an impatient and fretful cry without the cell; the throng gave way, and the blind girl flung herself at the feet of Glaucus. "It is I who saved thee," she sobbed, "now let me die!" "Nydia, my child!--my preserver!" "Oh, let me feel thy touch--thy breath! yes, yes, thou livest! We are not too late! That dread door methought would never yield! But thou livest! Thou livest yet!--and I--I have saved thee!" FOOTNOTE: [11] Adapted by Robt. I. Fulton from "Last Days of Pompeii." O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN![12] ON THE DEATH OF LINCOLN WALT WHITMAN O Captain, my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But, O heart, heart, heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, fallen cold and dead. O Captain, my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here, Captain, dear father! this arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck, you've fallen cold and dead. My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My Captain does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage is closed and done; From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! but I with mournful tread Walk the deck where my Captain lies, fallen cold and dead. FOOTNOTE: [12] By permission of David McKay, publisher. ON THE OTHER TRAIN A CLOCK'S STORY ANONYMOUS "There, Simmons, you blockhead! Why didn't you trot that old woman aboard her train? She'll have to wait here now until the 1.05 A.M." "You didn't tell me." "Yes, I did tell you. 'Twas only your confounded stupid carelessness." "She--" "She! You blockhead! What else could you expect of her! Probably she hasn't any wit; besides, she isn't bound on a very jolly journey--got a pass up the road to the poorhouse. I'll go and tell her, and if you forget her to-night, see if I don't make mince-meat of you!" and our worthy ticket agent shook his fist menacingly at his subordinate. "You've missed your train, marm," he remarked, coming forward to a queer-looking bundle in the corner. A trembling hand raised the faded black veil, and revealed the sweetest old face I ever saw. "Never mind," said a quivering voice.