His look pierced to my very bones;
Again he crooned this rhyme :
"The same are women! maids or crones,
In every age and clime;
Men's hearts they use as stepping-stones
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To cross the stream of Time."
I listened more attentively.
(A depot we were in;
Before the entrance gate stood he;
His voice rose o'er the din.)
When next he spoke, I moved more near;
I could at last distinctly hear
What - spoken not in clearest tones -
I had supposed was rhyme :
"This way for Needham, Windsor, Doanes!
Inivry stage, at Lyme!
Please pass right through! this stops at Stone's!
Next steamboat train at nine!"
G. C. G.