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me,

“ 'Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “ tapping at my chamber door,-

Only this, and nothing more.” Ah! distinctly I remember; it was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow From

my

books surcease of sorrow,—sorrow for the lost Lenore. For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named “Lenore,”

Nameless here forever more. And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before. So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,

“ Forward the Light Brigade!

Charge for the guns!” he said.
Into the valley of death
Rode the Six Hundred.
“Foward the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismayed ?
Not though the soldier knew
Some one had blundered.

Theirs not to reason why, For sorra a bit I knew what was comin', when me missus walked into the kitchen and says, kinder scared like,—“Here's Fing Wing, Kitty, and ye have too much sinse to mind his bein' a thrifle sthrange;" an' wid that she shoots the dure. And I, misthrustin' if I was tidied up sufficient for me foine bye, wid his paper collars, looks, an—may I niver brathe another brith! but there stood a rale haythen Chineser, a grinnin' like he jist come off a tay-box! and oh! the haythen! wid divil a smitch o'whisker, and his head shaved cl'aner nor

a copper b’iler, an'a old black ni’-gown over his throusers, and wid a long tail hangin' down behint, and wid his fate Stook into the haythenist shoes you iver set eyes on, an’ wid his two eyes cocked oup like two poomp-handles on

One more unfortunato,

Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,

Gone to her death.
Take her up tenderly,

And now, says Darius, “ Hooray for some fun!
“A’n't goin' to see the celebration ?

Says brother Nate, “No! botheration !
I've got sich a toothache, my gracious, I
Feel 's if I should fly!”
Said Jotham,—“ Sho!
Guess

you

'd better go.”
But Darius said “ No; should n't wonder
If
you

'd see me, though,
Long about noon, 'f I get red
O'this thumpin', jumpin' pain in my head.”

But all the while to himself he said,-
“I'll tell

ye

what:
I'll fly a few times 'raound the lot,
To see haow it seems ;
Then, as soon as I get the hang o’the thing,
I'll astonish the nation and all creation
By flying over the celebration :
Over their heads I 'll sail like an eagle,
I'll balance myself on my wings like a sea gull,
I'll dance on the chimblys and fly upon the steeple,
I'll flop up to the windows and scare the people,
I'll light on the liberty-pole and crow,

And I'll say to the gaping fools below,“Want to see the wheels go wound !” But I exclaimed, holding the watch, “You may look at it!” “ Want to see the wheels go wound !” “I will not open the watch

66 Want to see the wheels

go

wound !”

O Lord ! oh, dear! my heart will break;
I shall go stick, stark, staring mad!
Has any on ye seen anything about the streat
Like a crying, lost-looking child ?
O Lord ! one does not feel till
He hears

The loud alarum bells,

Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror now
Their turbulency tells:

In the startled ear of night, how they scream out their affright;
Too much terrified to speak, they can only shriek, shriek

Out of tune!
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,-
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, -
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire, and a resolute endeavor

Now, now to sit or never
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh! the bells! bells! bells!
What a tale their terror tells

Of despair.
Yet the ear distinctly tells
By the twanging and the clanging
How the danger sinks and swells,

By the sinking or the swelling
In the anger of the bells of the bells! bells! bells! bells! bells! bells! bells!

OLD FRIENDS.

[ARRANGED BY SARAH NEAL HARRIS.]

To be, or not to be; that is the question:
Whether 't is nobler in the mind, to suffer
The slings of arrows of outrageous fortune;
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them ?—To die,—to sleep,
No more ;-and, by a sleep, to say we end
The heart-ache, and thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to,—'t is a consummation
Devoutly to be wishe’d. To die,—to sleep :-
To sleep! perchance to dream :-ay, there's the rub!

For, by scholly, I did n't tink I could go in a parrel pefore. But dare I vas, tight shtuck. Now I never vas ferre pig up and down, but vas pooty pig all de vay round de middle Ven I found I could n't move effery vay, I called, “Katrina! Katrina!” Ven she come and find me wit my fest pushed vay up under my armholes, she lay down an' laughed an' laughed like she would shplit herself, till I vas so mad I said, “ Vot you lay there like a ould fool, hey? And she said, “Sockery,

The raven himself is hoarse,
That croaks the fatal entrance

Of peek-a-bo, peek-a-bo,

Come from behind that chair.
Peek-a-bo, peek-a-bo.

I see you hiding there.

Oh
my
hearers ! man claims to be the superior of woman.

Is it 80? And if so, in what, and how much? Was he the first creation? He was, my hearers ; but what does that prove? It proves simply that the experience gained in making man was applied to the making of a more finer being, of whom I am the example. Man claims that Eve was the cause of his expulsion from paradise. It is true, it is too true, my sisters; but that only shows her goodness, for if Adam had plucked the apple, he would have eaten it all himself, had it been a good one.

Yath, now I rekimember. I-I-I- wath walking on the ethsplanade when I-I-I sthee a-a-feller an'--an'-a Newfoundland dog. An'—an'—he inspired me to make a—a—widdle—the dog, not the feller; he-he-he-wath a lunatic. 1–1-1-do n't mind telling you this widdle; it ith putty good. Wa-why doth a dog waggle its tail? You-you-give it up? I-I-guess most of the fellers will give that up. We-we-well, you see a dog waggles its tail because the dog is stronger than the tail. If—if it was n't so, tho', ith tail would waggle the dog. Yath, that is what I call

Too proud to beg, too honest to steal,
I know what it is to be wanting a meal ;
My tatters and rags I try to conceal,
I belong to the shabby genteel

For, bedad, when I had my good-looking pictur took, ould Pickey-bones tuck me by the shoulder and twisted me down into a chair, and then wid me face between his ugly smelling, datty hands,-och! the colour of a nager !-he gave me head a twist, and clapped a grappling-iron until the back of me, and fell a screwing and a screwing, until—may the divil secure me !-I

was in a violent thremble. But no sooner had he gone into the little room

beyant there, then I outs of me seat and 'round to look into the little box, to see if he had any murderous weapons to fire off on me in an unguarded moment; but divil a ha'p'wort' could see for an ould black

rag that hung over the front of it. And, gist as I reached 'round to grab off the old rag,

A light on Marmion's vision fell,
And fired his glazing eye;
He shook the fragment of his blade,
And shouted, -

I'm a dude! a dandy dude ! You can see by my coat I'm in fashion. See my hair, it's all there; for hair-oil I have a great passion. Neck-tie very crushed strawberry, and I feed on canarybird food; diamonds wear, bang my hair,-I'm a dashing, a dandy

young dude.

THE HERO OF THE TOWER.

Long time ago, when Austria was young,
There came a herald to Vienna's gates,
Bidding the city fling them open wide
Upon a certain day; for then the king
Would enter, with his shining retinue.

Forthwith the busy streets were pleasure-paths,
And that which seemed but now a field of toil,
Flashed into gardens blooming full of flowers.
Beauty blushed deeper, now the rising sun
Of royalty upon it was to shine;

And thus he spoke: “For fifty years or more
I have been sexton of St. Joseph's church,
And no procession in the fifty years
Has marched the streets with aucht like kingly tread,
But on the summit of St. Joseph's spire
I stood erect and waved a welcome flag.

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