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“I looked no more for it, I do declare, Than the Great Bear!

As sure as Tycho Brahe is dead,

It really entered in my head No more than Berenice's hair!” Thus musing, heaven's grand inquisitor Sat gazing on the invited visitor, Till John, the serving man, came to the upper Regions, with Please your honor, come to suprer.”

“Supper! good John, to-night I shall not sup, Except on that phenomenon, --look up." “Not sup!" cried John, thinking with consternation That supping on a slur must be slur-vation, Or even to batten On ignes fatui would never fatten. His visage seemed to say, “that very odd is,”

But still his master the same tune rani on,

“I can't come down; go to the parlor, John, And say I'm supping with the heavenly bodies.”

“The heavenly bodies!" echoed John, “aliem!"

His mind still ful of fainishing alarms, “Zounds! if your honor sups with them,

In helping, somebody must make long arms." le thought his master's stomach was in danger,

But still in the same tone replied the knight,

* Go down, Jolin, go, I have no appetite; Say I'm engaged with a celestial stranger.” Quoth John, not much uu fuit in such aftsirs,

Wouldn't the stranger take a bit down stairs ?''

"No," said the master, smiling, and no wonder,
At such a blunder,
“ The stranger is not quite the thing you think;
Ile wants no meat or drink;
And one may doubt quite reasonably whether

TIe has a mouth,
Seeing his head and tail are joined together.

Belold him! there he is, Jolin, in the south."
John looked up with his portentous eyes,

Each rolling like a marble in its socket;
At last the fiery tadpole spies,
And, full of Vauxhall reminiscence, cries,

“A rare good rocket!”'

- A what? A rocket, Joha! Far from it!
What you behold, Jolin, is a comet;
One of those most eccentric things

Tnat in all ages

Have puzzled sages
And frightened kings;
With fear of change, that flaming meteor, Jolin,

Perplexes sovereigns throughout its range."
“Do he ?” cried Jolin;
“ Well, let him llare on,
I haven't got no sovereigns to change!"

Thomas Hood.


I've wandered to the village, Tom, I've sat beneath the tree,
Upon the school-house play-ground, that sheltered you and me;
But none were lost to greet me, Tom; and few were left 'to

Who played with us upon the green, some twenty years ago.

The grass is just as green. Tom; bare-footed boys at play
Were sporting, just as we did then, with spirits just as gily.
But the “master” sleeps upon the hill, which, coated o’er with

Afforded us a sliding-place, some twenty years ago.

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The old school-louse is altered now; the benches are replaced
By new ones, very like the same our penknives once detaced;
But the same old bricks are in the wall, the bell swings to and

Its music's just the same, dear Tom, 'twas twenty years ago.

The boys were playing some old game, beneath that same old

tree; I have forgot the name just now,-you've played the same On that same spot; twas played with knives, by throwing so

with me,

and so;

The loser had a task to do,-there, twenty years ago.

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The spring that bubbled 'neath the hill, close by the spreading

beech, Is very low,-'twas then so high that we could scarcely reach; And, kneeling down to get a drink, dear Tom, I started so, To see how sadly I am changed, since twenty years ago. Near by that spring, upon an elm, you know I cut your name, Your sweetheart's just beneath it, Tom, and you did mine the

same; Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark, 'twas dying sure

but slow, Just as she died, whose name you cut, some twenty years ago.

My lids have long been dry, Tom, but tears came to my eyes;
I thought of her I loved so well, those early broken ties;
I visited the old church-yard, and took some flowers to strow
Upon the graves of those we loved, some twenty years ago.
Some are in the church-yard laid, some sleep beneath the sea;
But few are left of our old class, excepting you and me:
And when our time shall come, Tom, and we are called to go,
I hope they'll lay us where we played, just twenty years ago.

Going out to fame and triumph,

Going out to love and light,
Coming in to pain and sorrow,

Coming in to gloom and night.
Going out with joy and gladness,

Coming in with woe' and sin;
Ceaseless streams of restless pilgrims

Going out and coming in.
Through the portals of the homestead,

From beneath the blooming vine,
To the trumpet tones of glory,

Where the bays and laurels twine;
From the loving home caresses

To the chill voice of the world,
Going out with gallant canvass

To the summer breeze unfurled.
Coming back all worn and weary,

Weary with the world's cold breath;
Coming to the dear old homestead,

Coming in to age and death;

Weary of all empty flattery,

Weary of all ceaseless áin,
Weary of its heartless sneering;

Coming from the bleak world in.

Going out with hopes of glory,

Coming in with sorrow dark;
Going out with sails all flying,

Coming in with mastless barque;
Restless stream of pilgrims, striving,

Wreaths of fame or love to win;
From the doorways of the homesteads
Going out and coming in.

Mollie E. Mooro


Day was breaking, When at the altar of the temple stood The holy priest of God. The incense lamp Burned with a struggling light, and a low chant Swelled through the hollow arches of the roof, Like an articulate wail; and there, alone, Wasted to ghastly thinness, Helon knelt. The cchoes of the melancholy strain Died in the distant aisles, and he rose up, Struggling with weakness, and bowed down his head Unto the sprinkled ashes, and put off His costly raiment for the leper's garb, And with the sackcloth round him, and his lip Hid in a loathsome covering, stood still, Waiting to hear his doom :

“Depart! depart, O child Of Israel, from the temple of thy God! For he has smote thee with his chastening rod,

“Wet not thy burning lip
In streams that to a human dwelling glide;
Nor rest thee where the covert fountains hide;

Nor kneel thee down to dip
The water where the pilgrim bends to drink,
By desert well, or river's grassy brink.

“And pass not thou between
The weary traveller and the cooling brecze;
And lie not down to sleep beneath the trees

Where human tracks are seen;
Nor milk the goat that browsetli on the plain;
Nor pluck the standing corn, or yellow grain.

“And now depart! and when
Thy heart is lieavy, and thine eyes are dim,
Lift up thy prayer beseechingly to him

Who, from the tribes of men,
Selected thee to feel his chastening rod;-
Depart, O leper! and forget not God.”

And he went forth alone. Not one of all
The many whom he loved, nor she whose name
Was woven in the fibres of the heart
Breaking witliin liim now, to come and speak
Comfort unto him. Yea, he went his way,-
Sick, and heart-broken, and alone,-to die!
For God had cursed the leper.

It was noon,
And Helon knelt beside a stagnant pool
In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow,
Hot with the burning leprosy, and touched
The loathsome water to his fevered lips,
Praying le miglit be so blest,--to die!
Footsteps approached, and with no strength to lee,
He drew the covering closer on his lip,
Crying, “Unclean! unclean!" and in the folds
Of the coarse sackcloth shrouding up his fice,
He feil upon the earth till they should pass.
Nearer the stranger came, and bending o'er
The leper's prostrate form, pronounced liis name,
“Hlelon!" The voice was like the master-tone
Of a rich instrument, -most strangely sweet;
And the dull pulses of disease awoke,
And for a moment beat beneath the hot
And leprous scales with a restoring thrill.
“Helon, arise!" And he forgot his curse,
And rose and stood before him.

Love and awe Mingled in the regard of Ilelon's eye,

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