"With breathless speed, like a soul in chase,
I took him up and ran;

There was no time to dig a grave
Before the day began:

In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves,
I hid the murdered man;

"And all that day I read in school,
But my thought was otherwhere;
As soon as the midday task was done,
In secret I was there;

And a mighty wind had swept the leaves,
And still the corpse was bare.

"Then down I cast me on my face,
And first began to weep,

For I knew my secret then was one
That earth refused to keep,-
Or land or sea, though he should be
Ten thousand fathoms deep.

"So wills the fierce avenging sprite,
Till blood for blood atones;
Ay, though he's buried in a cave,
And trodden down with stones,
And years have rotted off his flesh,
The world shall see his bones.

"O God! that horrid, horrid dream Besets me now, awake;

Again, again, with dizzy brain,

The human life I take;

And my red right hand grows raging hot,
Like Cranmer's at the stake.

"And still no peace for the restless clay, Will wave or mould allow;

The horrid thing pursues my soul,—

It stands before me now!"

The fearful boy looked up, and saw
Huge drops upon his brow.

That very night, while gentle sleep
The urchin eyelids kissed,

Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn,
Through the cold and heavy mist;
And Eugene Aram walked between,
With gyves upon his wrist.

Thomas Hood.

SHYLOCK TO ANTONIO.

Signor Antonio, many a time and oft
In the Rialto you have rated me
About my moneys and my usances;
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug,
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe;
You call me,-misbeliever, cut-throat, dog,
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine,
And all for use of that which is mine own.
Well, then, it now appears, you need my help;
Go to, then; you come to me, and you say,
Shylock, we would have moneys; you say so;
You that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold; moneys is your suit.
What should I say to you? Should I not say,
Hath a dog money? is it possible

A cur can lend three thousand ducats? or
Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key,
With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness,
Say this?

Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last;
You spurned me such a day; another time
You called me-dog; and for these courtesies
I'll lend you thus much moneys.

Shakspeare.

JOSH BILLINGS ON "GONGS."

Josh Billings relateth his first experience with the gong thusly: I kan never holi eradicate from my memory the sound ov the first gong I ever herd. I was settin on the frunt step of a tavurn in the sity of Bufferlow, pensively smokin. The sun was goin to bed, and the hevins fur and near was a blushin at the performance. The Ery Kanal with its golden waters was on its way to Albany, and I was perusin the line botes a floatin by, and thinking of Italy (wher I uste to live) and gondolers and gallus wimmin. Mi entire sole, was, as it were, in a swet-i wanted to klimb-i felt grate, i aktually gru. There are things in this life not tu be trifled with: there are times when a man brakes luce from hisself, when he sees spiruts, or when he kin almost tuch the mune, and feels az if he could

fil both hans with the stars of hevin, and almost swear he was a bank president,-that's what ailed me.

But the koarse of tru luv never did run smuthe, (this is Shakespeare's opinyun tu,-I and he often thunk thru one quil,)-jist az I waz duin mi best,-dummer, dummer, spat, bang, beller, crash, roar, jam, dummer, rip, whang, roar, menjus, rally, jump, I struck the centre of the sidewalk, with anuther I klared the gutter, and with anuther I struck the middle of the street, snortin like an injun pony at a band uv musick. I gazed in despair at the tavurn, and mi heart was swelled up as big as a outdore uven, my teeth were as loose as a string of bedes. I thot all the crockery in the tavurn had fell down. I thot of fenomonons. I thot of Gabril and hiz horn. I was jist on the pint of thinkin somethin else when the landlord kum to the front step uv the tavurn, holdin by a string the bottom of a brass kittle. He kawled me gentli with his hand. I went slola and slola up to him, he kammed my fearz, he said it was a gong. I saw the kussed thing. He said supper was reddy. H. G. Shaw.

OUT IN THE STREETS.

The light is shining through the window-pano;
It is a laughing group that side the glass;-
Within, all light; without, pitch-dark, and rain;
I see, but feel no pleasure as I pass,

Out in the streets.

Another casement, with the curtain drawn:
There the light throws the shadow of a form,-
A woman's, with a child,—a man's: all gone!
They with each other. I am with the storm,
Out in the streets.

There at the open window sits a man,
His day's oil over, with his pipe alight;
is wife leans o'er him, with her tale began
Hrbr day's doings. I am with the night,
Out in the streets.

All these have homes, and hope, and light, and cheer,
And those around who love them. Ah! for me,
Who have no home, but wander sadly here,
Alone with night and storm and misery,
Out in the streets.

The rain soaks through my clothing to the skin;
So let it. Curses on that cheery light!
There is no light with me, and shame, and sin;
I wander in the night and of the night,
Out in the streets.

You who betrayed me with a loving kiss,

Whose very touch could thrill me through and through— When you first sought me, did you think of this? My curse-But why waste time in cursing you, Out in the streets?

You are beyond my hatred now.

You stand

Above reproach; you know no wrong nor guile;
Foremost among the worthies of the land,
You are all good, and I a wretch all vile,
Out in the streets.

You have a daughter, young and innocent
You love her, doubtless. I was pure as she,
Before my heart to be your lackey went.
God guard her! never let her roam like me,
Out in the streets.

How the cold rain benumbs my weary limbs!
What makes the pavement heave? Ah! wet and chill,
I hear the little children singing hymns

In the village church,-how peaceful, now, and still,
Out in the streets!

But why this vision of my early days?

Why comes the church-door in the public way? Hence with this mocking sound of prayer and praise! I have no cause to praise, I dare not pray,

Out in the streets.

What change is here? The night again grows warm;
The air is fragrant as an infant's breath;
Why, where's my hunger? Left me in the storm?--
Now, God forgive my sins! this, this is death,

Out in the streets.

T. D. English.

ORATION AGAINST CATILINE.

How long, O Catiline, wilt thou abuse our patience? How long shalt thou baffle justice in thy mad career? To what extremne wilt thou carry thy audacity? Art thou nothing daunted by the nightly watch, posted to secure the Palatium? Nothing, by the city guards? Nothing, by the rally of all good citizens? Nothing, by the assembling of the Senate in this fortified place? Nothing, by the averted looks of all here present? Seest thou not that all thy plots are exposed? that thy wretched conspiracy is laid bare to every man's knowledge, here in the Senate? that we are well aware of thy proceedings of last night; of the night before ;-the place of meeting, the company convoked, the measures concerted? Alas, the times! Alas, the public morals! The Senate understands all this. The Consul sees it. Yet the traitor lives! Lives? Ay, truly, and confronts us here in council, takes part in our deliberations, and, with his measuring eye, marks out each man of us for slaughter. And we, all this while, strenuous that we are, think we have amply discharged our duty to the State, if we but shun this madman's sword and fury.

Long since, O Catiline, ought the Consul to have ordered thee to execution, and brought upon thy own head the ruin thou hast been meditating against others. There was that virtue once in Rome, that a wicked citizen was held more execrable than the deadliest foe. We have a law still, Catiline, for thee. Think not that we are powerless, because forbearing. We have a decree, though it rests among our archives like a sword in its scabbard, -a decree by which thy life would be made to pay the forfeit of thy crimes. And, should I order thee to be instantly seized and put to death, I make just doubt whether all good men would not think it done rather too late than any man too cruelly.

But, for good reasons, I will yet defer the blow long since deserved. Then will I doom thee, when no mau is found so lost, so wicked, nay, so like thyself, but shall confess that it was justly dealt. While there is one mau that dares defend thee, live! But thou shalt live so be