THE WITNESSES

NATHALIA CRANE

EDITOR'S NOTE: The question as to whether Nathalta Crane, the child poet, really writes her own poetry or not, is a matter with which Vanity Fair is not concerned. Vanity Fair has, for some time, been privileged to know much regarding Miss Crane's writings, talents and methods of work. Her letters and some of her work in prose are even more remarkable than her verses. The poem The Witnesses printed on this page is one of her most recent creations in verse.

Lo and behold, God made this starry wold, The maggot and the mold—Lo and behold.

He taught the grass Contentment, blade by blade; The sanctity Of sameness in a shade.

He did ordain The odor of the fern; The cataract Achieved unto the churn.

Forth from the clay There trooped the colored ware; The vines devised A baby's swinging chair.

The oak tree gave Its gauntlets for a wheel; A ladle rose From out the mixer's meal.

Came Usage down The balustraded rifts, Her debts forgot But swollen with the gifts.

There yet remain Those verities of old To testify— The maggot and the mold.