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The Re Giovanni, now unknown to fame,

So many monarchs since have borne the name,
Had a great bell hung in the market place
Beneath a roof, projecting some small space
By way of shelter from the sun and rain.

Then rode he through the streets with all his train,
And, with the blast of trumpets loud and long,
Made proclamation that whenever wrong

Was done to any man he should but ring

The great bell in the square, and he, the King,
Would cause the Syndic to decide thereon.
Such was the proclamation of King John.
How swift the happy days in Atri sped,

What wrongs were righted, need not here be said.
Suffice it that, as all things must decay,
The hempen rope at length was worn away,
Unraveled at the end, and, strand by strand,
Loosened and wasted in the ringer's hand,
Till one who noted this in passing by
Mended the rope with braids of bryony,
So that the leaves and tendrils of the vine
Hung like a votive garland at a shrine.

By chance it happened that in Atri dwelt

A Knight, with spur on heel and sword in belt,
Who loved his hounds and horses and all sports
And prodigalities of camps and courts;-

Loved, or had loved them; for at last, grown old,
His only passion was the love of gold.

He sold his horses, sold his hawks and hounds,
Rented his vineyards and his garden grounds,
Kept but one steed, his favorite steed of all,
To starve and shiver in a naked stall,
And day by day sat brooding in his chair,
Devising plans how best to hoard and spare.

At length he said: "What is the use or need
To keep at my own cost this lazy steed,
Eating his head off in my stables here,
When rents are low and provender is dear?
Let him go feed upon the public ways;
I want him only for the holidays."

So the old steed was turned into the heat
Of the long, lonely, silent, shadeless street;
And wandered in suburban lanes forlorn,
Barked at by dogs, and torn by brier and thorn.

One afternoon, as in that sultry clime

It is the custom in the summer time,

With bolted doors and window shutters closed,
The inhabitants of Atri slept or dozed;
When suddenly upon their senses fell

The loud alarum of the accusing bell!

The Syndic started from his deep repose,

Turned on his couch, and listened, and then rose

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And donned his robes, and with reluctant pace
Went panting forth into the market place,
Where the great bell upon its crossbeams swung,
Reiterating with persistent tongue,

In half-articulate jargon, the old song,

"Some one hath done a wrong, hath done a wrong!"

But ere he reached the belfry's light arcade

He saw, or thought he saw, beneath its shade,
No shape of human form of woman born,
But a poor steed dejected and forlorn,
Who with uplifted head and eager eye
Was tugging at the vines of bryony. . .
Meanwhile from street and lane a noisy crowd
Had rolled together like a summer cloud,
And told the story of the wretched beast
In five and twenty different ways at least,
With much gesticulation and appeal
To heathen gods, in their excessive zeal.
The Knight was called and questioned; in reply
Did not confess the fact, did not deny;
Treated the matter as a pleasant jest,

And set at naught the Syndic and the rest,
Maintaining, in an angry undertone,

That he should do what pleased him with his own.

And thereupon the Syndic gravely read

The proclamation of the King; then said:

"Pride goeth forth on horseback grand and gay,
But cometh back on foot, and begs its way;
Fame is the fragrance of heroic deeds,

Of flowers of chivalry and not of weeds!
These are familiar proverbs; but I fear

They never yet have reached your knightly ear.
What fair renown, what honor, what repute

Can come to you from starving this

poor brute?

"He who serves well and speaks not merits more

Than they who clamor loudest at the door.

Therefore the law decrees that as this steed

Served you in youth, henceforth you shall take heed
To comfort his old age, and to provide

Shelter in stall, and food and field beside."

The Knight withdrew abashed; the people all
Led home the steed in triumph to his stall.

The King heard and approved, and laughed in glee,
And cried aloud: "Right well it pleaseth me!
Church bells at best but ring us to the door,

But go not in to mass; my bell doth more:
It cometh into court and pleads the cause

Of creatures dumb and unknown to the laws;
And this shall make, in every Christian clime,
The Bell of Atri famous for all time."

Abruzzo (äbroot'so): a country of Italy. Re Giovan'ni: King John, in English. Syn'dic: a magistrate. - bry'ony: a common European plant.

MY THREE COMPANIONS

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

DR. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES (1809-1894), the poet and wit of Boston, was also a noted physician, professor, and prose writer. He was the author of a series of delightful books, beginning with the "Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table," and ending with "Over the Teacups."

I have lived on the shores of the great ocean, where its 5 waves broke wildest and its voice rose loudest. I have passed whole seasons on the banks of mighty and famous rivers. I have dwelt on the margin of a tranquil lake, and floated through many a long, long summer day on its clear waters.

I have learned the "various language" of Nature, of which poetry has spoken, at least I have learned some words and phrases of it. I will translate some of these as best I may into common speech.

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The Ocean says to the dweller on its shores: "You 15 are neither welcome nor unwelcome. I do not trouble myself with the living tribes that come down to my waters. I have my own people, of an older race than yours, that grow to mightier dimensions than your mastodons and elephants; more numerous than all the 20 swarms that fill the air or move over the thin crust of the earth.

"Who are you that build your gay palaces on my margin? I see your white faces as I saw the dark faces