'Twas overheard—and wide the story spread.
It reached John Jones, and to his wife he said,
In precious wrath,—"They slander thus our Kate;
Some foe devised this in malicious hate;
And you, perhaps, were one to make the lie."
Thus deeply stung, she made a fierce reply.
"She did it, I am sure," replied the wife,
"She did it, sure as I have breath and life."
"No—Katy didn't," said the man in rage.
"Yes, Katy did," she said. And so they wage
A war of words, like these upon my page.
The Indian Fairy spirit heard the din,
And first to patience strove them both to win,
Sent the cool breeze to fan the burning brow,
Volcanic fires to die by flakes of snow.
In war incessant, still the clamor rose,
Still Katy did, and didn't, and fierce blows.
At last the spirit took their souls away,
And in their cottage lay their lifeless clay;
Their bodies changed—and insects they became—
Green as the grass—but still their cry the same.
Hence in all trees, we hear in starry night,
The contradiction, and the wordy fight.
We hear John Jones, and his unhappy wife,
And all their brood forever in a strife:
And Katy did, and Katy didn't still
Are sounds incessant as a murmuring rill.
V.
THE IMAGE-MAKER.
DWELLER ON EARTH.