"
"Very good" was the verdict; and then Miss Keane reluctantly gave up
her paper.
"How still it is! No rude discord
Falls on the ear;
We feel all earthly thoughts and aims
Must vanish here."
That also was pronounced "very good," and Judge Keane feared he
should have some difficulty in adjudicating the prize. Mr. George
Keane's was the next.
"I never wrote a poem, but since
You will not be refused,
I do declare I don't know how,
And beg to be excused."
"You have no chance anyway, George," said his father, laughing with
the rest. "It has not the remotest reference to the subject in
hand.--Well, Lucy."
"Mine last, please," pleaded Lucy.
So the judge took the paper from Minnie's hand and read,--
"Papa, you know I can't make verse,
And it was very bad
Of you to make us play at this,--
I tell you I'm real mad."
There was another shout at Minnie's performance, and then Lucy
timidly slipped her paper into the judge's hand, and drew back behind
Minnie. The judge read very slowly this time, and every beautiful
word was distinctly heard.
"The calm, still brightness on the hills,
The beauty on the plain,
Fill all my heart with strange sweet joy,
That is akin to pain.
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