The hand that assails it doth ill to show haste.
The knife that would search poor humanity's tissues,
Hath healing for object, not ravage or waste.

Not coldness, but coolness, sound policy pleads for,
But, subject to that, human sympathies yearn
To aid the child-victim the woman's heart bleeds for,
For whom a man's breast with compassion must burn.

Poor child! The dark shadow that closely pursues her
Means menacing Terror; she sues for a shield,
And how shall the strong Ægis-bearer refuse her?
The bondage of caste to calm justice must yield.

We dare not be deaf to the voice of the pleader
For freedom and purity, nature and right;
Let Wisdom, high-throned as controller and leader,
Meet cruelty's steel with the shield of calm might!

* * * * *

MY MOTHER BIDS ME DYE MY HAIR.

[Auburn is said to be the present fashionable colour in hair.]

[Illustration: The Hazard of the Dye.]

My Mother bids me dye my hair
A lovely auburn hue,
She says I ought to be aware