round us which have been struck by three, four and even six bullets, and nowhere on this acre of ground is a wounded man! The wheels of the guns cannot move until the blockade of dead is removed. Men cannot pass
from caisson to gun without climbing over winrows of dead. Every gun and wheel is smeared with blood, every foot of grass has its horrible stain.
Historians write of the glory of war. saw murder where historians saw glory.
AN APOSTROPHE TO THE OYSTER.-J. W. GESNARD.
I sing the oyster! (Virgin theme!)
King of Molluscules! Ancient of the stream!
Thy birth was Time's,-soon as th' affrighted world,
A quivering mass, in space immense was hurled;
In darkness cradled, amidst chaos nursed
Tumultuous! Ambiguous, till burst
Thy unctuous beauty on a world where none
Could know thy merit; there, alone
Thou pined'st forlorn, mid mud and flood and slime,
Ere man came on the stage, far in the time
Cosmogonetical.
Nor yet alone,-primordial bivalve!
Say, in thy nonage, didst thou not have
Some shell-fish she, by tender tie endeared,
To share thy mud, and pull thy downy beard?
Her love to cherish, and to calm her fear
When Megalosaurus fierce came rather near;
Or when Galumpus, monarch of the main,
Loud bellowing, shook afar the watery plain!
Or Col-los-soch-e-lys, grim giant of the shore,
Lashed out his tail, and gave his morning roar
Thundiferous!
How long, bemired, inglorious, didst thou sleep?
Thy charms secreted by the envious deep,-
Unknown, untasted, and unsung!-So lies
The fairest flower 'neath Arab's desert skies;
So sleeps the gem within its rocky tomb;
So blinks the planet in its distant gloom,
Till some rare savant brings it to the view;
So, half the world, for ages, lay perdue,
Till great Colombo chanced this way to steer,
And waked our dozing hemisphere,
To fame unknown, but no less worthy, he
Who, of all men, first found and tasted thee.
How great. his faith! his courage how audacious!
To swallow thee, cold, slimy, and vivacious!
What tremor his, as when thou first didst glide
Down his œsophagus, and didst nimbly hide
Within the inner man; but when, by repetition,
He gained, at length, the rapturous fruition
Of all thy charms,-what triumph his! to find
That he, of all, had given to mankind
A new sensation!
Was't Phut, or Peleg, Shem, or great Magog,
Or lively Nimrod, or perhaps his dog?
Or did the royal lips of great Nebu-
Chadnezzar first smack over you
Ere yet, a ruminant, this stately sinner
Was sent, with cows and goats, to pick his dinner?
Or broiled, or roasted, did thy unctuous savor
Perfume the marble halls of old Belshazzar?
Did Pharaoh gulp thee, 'ere the sea gulped him?
Or Troglodyte, or Scandinavian grim?
The Romans knew, and loved thee! So assure us
Old writers; and those sons of Epicurus,
With mullets, and other ancient fishes,
Would serve thee up, the choicest of their dishes.
While Baie and Brundusium, as 'tis said,
Rivaled-in claiming the best oyster bed!
But now, nomadic, through all regions known,
From Polar sea to fierce Equator's zone;
Pagan and Christian, Turcoman and Jew,
All stew, broil, bake, and swallow you,-
You Oyster!
Each of the Four Numbers of "100 Choice Selections" contained
in this volume is page separately, and the Index is made to correspond therewith. See EXPLANATION on first page of Contents.
The entire book contains nearly
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
There are beautiful songs that we never sing,
And names that are never spoken ;
There are treasures guarded with jealous care
And kept as a sacred token.
There are faded flowers and letters dim
With tears that have rained above them,
For the fickle words and the faithless hearts
That taught us how to love them.
There are sighs that come in our joyous hours,
To chasten our dreams of gladness,
And tears that spring to our aching eyes,
In hours of thoughtless sadness.
For the blithest birds that sing in spring
Will fit with the waning summer,
And lips that we kissed in fondest love
Will smile on the first new comer.
Over the breast where lilies rest
In white hands still forever,
The roses of June will nod and blow,
Unheeding the hearts that sever.
And lips that quiver in silent grief,
All words of hope refusing,
|