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.

OUT IN THE STREETS.-T. D. ENGLISH.

The light is shining through the window-pane;
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 toil over, with his pipe alight;
His wife leans o'er him, with her tale began
Of the 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 throughWhen 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.

ORATION AGAINST CATILINE.-CICERO.

How long, O Catiline, wilt thou abuse our patience? How long shalt thou baffle justice in thy mad career? To what extreme 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 be

-

fore; 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 man is found so lost, so wicked, nay, so like thyself, but shall confess that it was justly dealt. While there is one man that dares defend thee, live! But thou shalt live so beset, so surrounded, so scrutinized, by the vigilant guards that I have placed around thee, that thou shalt not stir a foot against the Republic, without my knowledge. There shall be eyes to detect thy slightest movement, and ears to catch thy wariest whisper, of which thou shalt not dream. The darkness of night shall not cover thy treason,—the walls of privacy shall not stifle its voice. Baffled on all sides, thy most secret counsels clear as noonday, what canst thou now have in view? Proceed, plot, conspire, as thou wilt; there is nothing you can contrive, nothing you can propose, nothing you can attempt, which I shall not know, hear, and promptly understand. Thou shalt soon be made aware that I am even more active in providing for the preservation of the state, than thou in plotting its destruction.

W*

CATILINE'S DEFIANCE.-GEORGE CROLY.

Conscript Fathers:

I do not rise to waste the night in words;
Let that Plebeian talk, 'tis not my trade;

But here I stand for right,-let him show proofs,-
For Roman right, though none, it seems, dare stand
To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there!
Cling to your master, judges, Romans, slaves!
His charge is false;-I dare him to his proofs.
You have my answer. Let my actions speak!

But this I will avow, that I have scorned
And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong.
Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword,
Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back,
Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts
The gates of honor on me,-turning out
The Roman from his birthright; and for what?

To fling your offices to every slave!

Vipers, that creep where man disdains to climb,
And, having wound their loathsome track to the top
Of this huge, mouldering monument of Rome,
Hang hissing at the nobler man below.

Come, consecrated Lictors, from your thrones;

(To the Senate.)

Fling down your sceptres; take the rod and axe,
And make the murder as you make the law.

Banished from Rome! What's banished, but set free From daily contact of the things I loathe?

"Tried and convicted traitor!" Who says this?

Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head?

Banished! I thank you for't. It breaks my chain!
I held some slack allegiance till this hour;
But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my Lords!
I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes,
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs,
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up,

To leave you in your lazy dignities.

But here I stand and scoff you! here I fling
Hatred and full defiance in your face!
Your Consul's merciful;-for this, all thanks.
He dares not touch a hair of Catiline!

"Traitor!" I go; but, I return! This-tria.! Here I devote your Senate! I've had wrongs To stir a fever in the blood of age,

Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel.
This day's the birth of sorrow; this hour's work

Will breed proscriptions! Look to your hearths, my Lords!
For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gods,
Shapes hot from Tartarus; all shames and crimes;
Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn;
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup;
Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe,
Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones;
Till Anarchy comes down on you like night,
And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave.

I go; but not to leap the gulf alone.
I go; but when I come, 'twill be the burst

Of ocean in the earthquake,—rolling back

In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well!

You build my funeral-pile; but your best blood

Shall quench its flame! Back, slaves! (To the Lictors.) I will return.

HIS EYE WAS STERN AND WILD.

His eye was stern and wild,-his cheek was pale and cold as clay;

Upon his tightened lip a smile of fearful meaning lay;

He mused awhile, but not in doubt,—no trace of doubt was

there;

It was the steady, solemn pause of resolute despair.

Once more he looked upon the scroll,-once more its words

he read,

Then calmly, with unflinching hand, its folds before him spread.

I saw him bare his throat, and seize the blue, cold, gleaming

steel,

And grimly try the tempered edge he was so soon to feel.
A sickness crept upon my heart, and dizzy swam my head;
I could not stir, I could not cry,—I felt benumbed and dead;
Black icy horrors struck me dumb, and froze my senses o'er;
I closed my eyes in utter fear, and strove to think no more.
Again I looked; a fearful change across his face had passed;
He seemed to rave,-on cheek and lip a flaky foam was

cast;