THE TELEGRAMS. BRING the hearse to the station, When one shall demand it, late; For that dark consummation The traveller must not wait. Men say not by what connivance He slid from his weight of woe, Whether sickness or weak contrivance, But we know him glad to go. On and on and ever on! What next? Nor let the priest be wanting That they should confront him, dead. Bid my mother be ready: We are coming home to-night: On and on and ever on ! Stop the train at the landing, And search every carriage through; Let no one escape your handing, Be rid of the notes they scattered; The bankrupts show leaden features, Let him hasten, lest worse befall him, To look on me, ere I die: I will whisper one curse to appall him, I have shown them his proofs of guilt; Thus the living and dying daily Flash forward their wants and words, They heed not the sentence dire And only the sun's warm fire Stirs softly their happy breast. AMANDA'S INVENTORY. THIS HIS is my hat: behold its upstart plume, Soaring like pride, that even in heaven asks room! This is my cloak of scarlet splendor rare, A saucy challenge to the sunset glare. Behold my coach of state and pony-chaise, A fairy pleasure for the summer days; The steeds that fly, like lightnings in a leash, Here are my jewels; each a fortune holds; A starving artist planned the graceful moulds: These are my lovers, registered in date, George W. Dewey. BORN in Baltimore, Md., 1818. BLIND LOUISE. [Griswold's "Poets and Poetry of America." 1842.] SHE knew that she was growing blind- That soon would fall, without a star, Yet never did she make complaint, But prayed each day might bring A beauty to her waning eyes, She dreaded that eclipse which might Sad memories of a leafless world, A spectral realm of snows. She'd rather that the verdure left An evergreen to shine Within her heart, as summer leaves She had her wish: for when the sun A world of May-time flowers, We found her seated, as of old, |