Salvatore's dead--a gap Where he worked in the ditch-edge, shovelling mud; Slanting brow; a head mayhap Rather small, like a bullet; hot southern blood; Surly now, now riotous With the flow of his joy; and his hovel bare, As his whole life is to us-- A stone in his belly the whole of his share. Body starved, but the soul secure, Masses to save it from Purgatory, And to dwell with the Son and the Virgin pure-- Lucky Salvatore! Salvatore's glad, for see On the hearse and the coffin, purple and black, Tassels, ribbons, broidery Fit for the Priest's or the Pope's own back; Flowers costly, waxen, gay, And the mates from the ditch-edge, pair after pair; Dirging band, and the Priest to pray, And the soul of the dead one pleasuring there. Body starved, and the mind as well. Peace--let him rot in his costly glory, Cheated no more with a Heaven or Hell-- Exit Salvatore. FROM MICAH Hear this, I pray you, ye heads of the house of Jacob, and rulers of the house of Israel, that abhor judgment, and pervert all equity. They build up Zion with blood, and Jerusalem with iniquity. The heads thereof judge for reward, and the priests thereof teach for hire, and the prophets divine for money.... Therefore shall Zion for your sake be plowed as a field, and Jerusalem shall become heaps, and the mountain of the house as the high places of a forest. The Saint BY ANTONIO FOGAZZARO (Italian poet and novelist, 1842-1911. A devout Catholic, he endeavored to reform the Church from within. The present novel created a tremendous sensation in Italy, and was placed upon the "Index." In this scene "the Saint" pleads with the Pope) "May I continue, Your Holiness?" The Pope, who while Benedetto had been speaking had kept his eyes fixed on his face, now bowed his head slightly, in answer.