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“Thompson,” cries t other, “who the devil's he?” I know not,” King replies, “but want to see

What kind of animal will now appear."

After some time a little Frenchman came;
One hand displayed a rushlight's trembling flame,

The other held a thing they called culotte ;
An old striped woollen nightcap graced his head,
A tattered waistcoat o'er one shoulder spread;

Scarce lialf awake, he heaved a yawning note.:

Though tlıus untimely roused le courteous smiled, And soon addressed our wag in accents mild,

Bending his head politely to his knee, “Pray, sare, vat vant you, dat you come so late ? I beg your pardon, sare, to make you vait;

Pray tell me, sare, vat your commands vid me?”

“Sir," replied King, "I merely thought to know, As by your louse I chanced to-night to go

(But, really, I disturbed your sleep, I fear), I say, I thouglit, that you perlaps could tell, Among the folks who in this quarter dwell,

If there's a Mr. Thompson lodges here?"

The shivering Frenchman, though not pleased to find The business of this unimportant kind,

Too simple to suspect ’t was meant in jeer, Shrugged out a sigh that thus his rest was broke, Then, with unaltered courtesy, le spoke;

No, sare, no Monsieur Touson lodges hero.''

Our wag begged pardon, and toward home he sped, While the poor Frenchmi crawled again to bed.

But King resolved not thus to drop the jest; So, the next night, with more of whim than grace, Again he made a visit to the place,

To break once more the poor oli Frenchman's rest.

Thus drawling out to heighten the surprise,
While the poor Frenchman rubbed his heavy eyes,

“ Is there-a Mr. Thompson-lodges here?"

The Frenchiman faltered, with a kind of fright,“Vy, sare, I'm sure I told you, sare, last night

(And here lie labored, with a siglı sincere), No Monsieur Tonson in the varl I know, No Monsieur Tonson here, -I told you so ;

Indeed, sare, dare no Monsieur Tonson liere !"

Some more excuses tenderea, off King goes,
And the old Frenchman seught once more repose.

The rogue next night pursued liis old career. 'T was long indeed before the man came nigh, And then lie uttered, in a piteous cry,

“Sare, 'pon my soul, no Alonsieur Tonson bere !" Our sportive wight his usual visit paid, And the next night came forth a prattling maid,

Whose tongue, indeed, than any Jack went faster ; Anxious, she strove lis errand to inquire, He said 't was vain her pretty tongue to tire,

Ile should not stir till he had seen her master.

The damsel then began, in doleful state,
The Frenclıman's broken slumbers to relate,

And begged he'd call at proper time of day.
King told her she must fetch her master down,
A chaise was ready, he was leaving town,

But first had much of deep concern to say.

Thus urged, she went the snoring man to call,
And long, indeed, was she obliged to bawl,

Ere she could rouse the torpid lump of clay.
At last he wakes; he rises; and he swears :
But scarcely had he tottered down the stairs,

When King attacked him in his usual way.

The Frenchman now perceived 't was all in vain
To his tormentor mildly to complain,

And straight in rage began his crest to rear; “ Sare, vat the devil make you treat me so ? Sare, I inform you, sare, three nights ago,

Got tam-I swear, no Monsieur Tonson here!"

True as the night, King went, and heard a strife
Between the harassed Frenchman and his wife,

Which would descend to chase the fiend away.

At length, to join their forces they agree,
And straight impetuously they turn the key,

Prepared with mutual fury for the fray.
Our hero, with the firmness of a rock,
Collected to receive the mighty shock,

Uttering the old inquiry, calmly stood.
The name of Thompson raised the storm so high,
He deemed it then the safest plan to fly,

With " Well, I'll call when you 're in gentler mood."
In short, our hero, with the same intent,
Full many a night to plague the Frenchman went,

So fond of mischief was the wicked wit:
They throw out water; for the watch they call;
But King expecting, still escapes from all.

Monsieur at last was forced his house to quit.
It happened thåt our wag, about this time,
On some fair prospect sought the Eastern clime;

Six lingering years were there his tedious lot.
At length, content, amid his ripening store,
Ile treads again on Britain's happy shore,

Aud his long absence is at once forgot.
To London, with impatient hope, he flies,
And the same night, as former freaks arise,

He fain must stroll, the well-known haunt to trace. “Ah! here's the scene of frequent mirth,'' lie said; “My poor old Frenchiman, I suppose, is dead.

Egad, I'll knock, and see who holds the place." With rapid strokes he makes the inansion roar, And while he cager eyes the opening door,

Lo! who obeys the knocker's rattling peal?
Wly, e'en our iittle Frenchman, strange to say!
Ile took his old above that very day, --

Capricious turn of sportive Fortune's wheel !
Without one thought of the relentless foc,
Who, fiend-like, haunted him so long ago,

Just in his former trim he now appears ;
The waistcoat and the nightcap scemed the same;
With rushlight, as before, he creeping came,

And King's detested voice astonished hears.

As if some hideous spectre struck his sicht,


« CORPORAL Green !!' the Orderly cried ;
“ Here!" was the answer, loud and clear,

om the lips of the soldier who stood near And “Here!" was the word the next replied.

“Cyrus Drew !!!—then a silence fell,

This time no answer followed the call;

Only his rear-man lad seen him fail, Killed or wounded, he could not tell.

There they stood in the failing light,

These men of battle, with grave, dark looks,

As plain to be read as open books,
While slowly gathered the shades of night.

The fern on the hill-sides was splashed with blood,

And down in the corn where the poppies grew

Were redder stains than the poppies knew; And crimson-alyed was the river's liood.

For the foe had crossed from the other side

That day, in the face of a murderous fire

That swept them down in its terrible ire; And their life-blood went to color the tide.

“ Herbert Kline!" At the call tliere came

Two stalwart soldiers into the line,

Bearing between them this lierbert Kline, Wounded and bleeding, to answer lis name.

“Ezra Kerr !”—and a voice answered, “Here !"

“Hiram Kerr !!!-but no man replied.

They were brothers, these two; the sad winds sighed, And a shudder crept through the cornfield near.

'T was a victory; yes, but it cost us dear,-

For that company's roll, when called at night,

Of a hundred men who went into the fight,
Numbered but twenty that answered, “Here!"

N. G. Shepherd.


The following poem is a translation from the Russian. It has been translafed into Japanese, by order of the Emperor, and is hung up, embroidered with gold, in the temple of Jeddo. It has also been translated into the Chincse and Tartar languages, written on a piece of rich silk, and suspended in thu inaperial palace at Pekin.

O TIMU eternal One! whose presence bright
All space doth occupy, all motion guide;
Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight;
Thou only God! There is no God beside !
Being above all beings! Turce-in-one!
Whom none can comprehend, and none explore;
Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone;
Embracing all-supporting-ruling o'er-
Being whom we call God--and know no more!

In its sublime research, philosophy
May measure out the ocean deep- may count
The sands or the sun's rays-but God! for Thce
There is no weight nor measure ;--none can mount
Up to Thy mysteries. Reasop's brightest spark,
Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would try
To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark;
And thought is lost ere thought can soar so higli-
E'en like past moments in eternity.

Thou from primeval nothingness didst call,
First chaos, then existence ;-Lord ! on Thee
Eternity had its foundation ;-all
Sprung forth from Thee ;-of light, joy, harmony,
Sole origin;-all life, all beauty, Thine.
Thy word created all, and doth create ;
Tly splendor tills all space with rays divine;
Thou art, and wert, and shalt be! Glorious,
Liglit-giving, life-sustaining Potentate!

Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround;
Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath!
Thou the beginning with the end hast bound,
And beautifully mingled life and death!
As sparks mount upward from the fiery blaze,
So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from Thee,

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