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THE FIRE-FIEND.-C. D. Gardette.
A NIGHTMARE. The Author of this was challenged to produce a poem, in the manner of " The Raven," which should be accepted by the general critic as a genuine composition of Mr. Poc's, and “The Fire-Fiend" was the refuit. It was printed as “from an unpublished MS, of the late Edgar A. Poe." and the hoax proved sufficiently successful to deceive a number of critics in this country, and also in England. In the deepest dearth of Midnight, while the sad and
lowy with the tolling-
gleaming, And my dreams were dreams foreshadowed on a heart fore
doomed to Care !
As the last long lingering echo of the Midnight's mystic
awoke, And my slumberous eyelids straining as I staggered to the
Till I felt my life-stream oozing, oozing from those lambent
lips :Till the Demon seemed to name me:-then a wondrous
calni o'ercame nie, And my brow grew cold and dewy, with a death-damp
stiff and gluey, And I fell back on my pillow in apparent soul-eclipse !
Then, as in Death's seeming shadow, in the icy Pall of
Fear I lay stricken, came a hoarse and hideous murmur to my Came a murmur like the murmur of assassins in their
sleep : Muttering, “ Higher ! higher ! higher ! I am Demon of
the Fire! I am Arch-Fiend of the Fire! and each blazing roof's my
pyre, And my sweetest incense is the blood and tears my victims
“How I revel on the Prairie ! How I roar among the
Pines ! How I laugh when from the village o'er the snow the red
Hame shines, And I hear the shrieks of terror, with a Lise in every
breath! IIow I scream with lambent laughter as I hurl each crack
ling rafter Down the fell abyss of Fire, until higher ! higher ! higher ! Leap the High-Priests of my Altar in their merry Dance
"I am Monarch of the Fire! I am Vassal-King of
Death! World-en circling, with the shadow of its Doom upon my
breath! With the symbol of Hereafter flaming from my fatal face! [comma nd the Eternal Fire! Higher ! higher! higher ! Till the Belfry in the Forest quivered with the matin
stroke, And the martins, from the edges of its lichen-lidded
ledzes, Shimmered through the russet arches where the Light in
torn files marches, Like a routed army struggling through the serried ranks
Through my ivy-fretted casement filtered in a tremulous
note From the tall and stately linden where a Robin swelled his
throat :Querulous, quaker-breasted Robin, calling quaintly for his
mate1 Then I started up, unbidden, from my slumber Night
mare ridden, With the memory of that Dire Demon in my central Fire, On my eye's interior mirror like the shadow of a Fate !
Ah ! the fiendish Fire had smouldered to a white and form
less heap, And no knot of oak was flaming as it flamed upon my
sleep; But around its very centre, where the Demon Face had
shone, Forked Shadows seemed to linger, pointing as with spec
tral finger To a BIBLE, massive, golden, on a table carved and
oldenAnd I bowed, and said, “All Power is of God, of God
MARK TWAIN'S OPINION OF CHAMBERMAIDS.
AGAINST all chambermaids, of whatsoever age or eignty, and unpitying your helplessness, they make the bed just as it was originally, and gloat in secret over the pang their tyranny will cause you.
Always after that, when they find you have transposed the pillows, they undo your work, and thus defy and seek to embitter the life that God has given you.
If they cannot get the light in an inconvenient position any other way, they move the bed.
if you pul your trunk out six inches from the wall, so that the lid will stay up when you open it, they always shove that trunk back again. They do it on purpose.
If you want the spittoon in a certain spot, where it will be handy, they don't, and so they move it.
They always put your other boots into inaccessible places. They chietly enjoy depositing them as far under the bed as the wall will permit. It is because this compels you to get down in an undignified attitude and make wild sweeps for them in the dark with the boot-jack, and
They always put the match-box in some other place. They hunt up a new place for it every day, and put up a bottle, or other perishable glass thing, where the box stood before. This is to cause you to break that glass thing, groping in the dark, and get yourself into trouble.
They are forever and ever moving the furniture. When you come in, in the night, you can calculate on finding the bureau where the wardrobe was in the morning. And when you go out in the morning, if you leave the slopbucket by the door, and the rocking-chair by the window, when you come in at midnight, or thereabouts, you will fall over that rocking-chair, and you will proceed toward the window and sit down in that slop-tub. This will disgust you. They like that.
No matter where you put anything, they are not going to let it stay there. They will take it and move it the first
It is their nature. And, besides, it gives them pleasure to be mean and contrary this way.
chance they get.
charged with purloining the same, they lic about it. What do they care about a hereafter ? Absolutely nothing.
If you leave your key in the door for convenience sake, they will carry it down to the office and give it to the clerk. They do this under the vile pretence of trying to protect your property from thieves ; but actually they do it because they want to make you tramp back down-stairs after it when you come home tired, or put you to the trouble of sending a waiter for it, which waiter will expect you to pay him something. In which case I suppose the degraded creatures divide.
They keep always trying to make your bed before you get up, thus destroying your rest and inflicting agony upon you ; but after you get up, they don't come any more till next day.
They do all the mean things they can think of, and they Jo them just out of pure cussedness, and nothing else.
Chambermaids are dead to every human instinct.
I have cursed them in hehalf of outraged bacuelordom. They deserve it. If I can get a bill through the Lugislature abolishing chambermaids, I mean to do it.
AWAKET AWAKE! (1861.)- Elmer Ruare Coates. MEN of the mountain and men of the valley,
Men of the woodland, of city and plain,
And 'ranging the work for the funeral train.
The ashes of Washington nervously shake ;
Men of America ! 'Wake! Awake!!
You see the corn wave from your bower-like door; Come from the counter-your wives and your daughters
Will 'tend to the books and the lace of the store. Come from the college, thou student of pallor
What rhetoric grand will a battery make! Farmers, mechanics, and men of profession,
Away with the soldiers ! Awake! Awake!!