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NON PLUS ULTRA.
crutches half buried under the fallen bricks. In the faint
light of the dawn, which was now breaking over the bay,
Wheelan saw something clutched tightly in one of Mace's
hands as he lifted him up. He looked closer. It was the
photograph of Mace's mother.
                   *      *      *
  As for Mace-well, his name was one of those not printed
on the list of the victims; and Mace was no victim. He was
but one of the many unknown in San Francisco that morning
to whom the earthquake was a benefactor.
               NON PLUS ULTRA.
                      BY GORGO.
         The dead soul walks with empty grin,
            Nor knows the horror of his mien;
         His only cognizance of sin
            Is that in others error seen.
         No mandate from the tabled stone
           Has suffered at his clammy hand;
         And yet the bird of ill has flown
           Incessant at his foul command.
         His robes are white, with leprosy,
           His conscience deadened with a draught
         From the dark well, Hypocrisy,
           Which all the Lost have quaffed.
         The murky air of night is dyed
           With memories and deeds ill done,
         But, oh, the darkness of noon-tide,
           When phantoms stalk beneath the sun!
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