Alice laughed, shook the papers she held in her hand, and said, "I have written poetry."
"The crime is a great one," said Quincy. "But if the poetry be good it may serve to mitigate your sentence. Are those the evidences of your crime you hold in your hand, Miss Pettingill?"
"Yes," she answered, as she passed a written sheet to him; "I wrote them before my eyes failed me. Perhaps you will find it hard to read them. Which one is that?" she asked.
"It is headed, 'On the Banks of the Tallahassee,'" replied Quincy.
"Oh!" cried Alice, "I didn't write that song myself. A gentleman friend, who is now dead, was the author of it. But he couldn't write a chorus and he asked me to do it for him. The idea of the chorus is moonlight on the river."
"Shall I read it?" asked Quincy.
"Only the chorus part, if you please," replied Alice, "and be as lenient as you can, good Mr. Judge, for that was my first offence."
Quincy, in a smooth, even voice, read the following words:
The moon's bright rays,
In a silver maze,
Fall on the rushing river;
Each ray of light
Like an arrow white
Drawn from a crystal quiver.
They romp and play,
In a wond'rous way,
On tree and shrub and flower;
And fill the night
With a radiant light,
That falls like a silver shower.