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One moment I looked from the hill's gentle slope,
And o'er them the light-house looked lovely as hope,—
The time is long past, and the scene is afar,
Yet when my head rests on its pillow,
That blazed on the breast of the billow:
And death stills the heart's last emotion;
Like a star on eternity's ocean f
LOCHIEL'S Warnixg.—thomas Camprell.
Lochtel, a Highland chieftain, while on his march to join the Pretender, is met by one of the Highland seers, or prophets, who warns hiiu to return, and not mcur the certain ruin w hich awaits the unfortunxte prince aud his followers, on the field of Culloden.
Seer. Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day
Ijorhkl. Go preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer!
Seer. Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn! Say, rushed the bold pnele exuttingly forth From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the North? Lo! the death-shot of foemen oat-speeding, he rode
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad;
Hut down let him stoop, from his havoc on high!
Ah! home let him speed,—for the spoiler is mgh.
Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast
Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast?
Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven
From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of heaven.
0 crested Lochiel! the peerless in might,
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height,
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn;
Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return!
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood,
Lochiel. False wizard, avaunt! 1 have marshaled my clan,
Wfth the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale—
Lochiel. Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale! For never shall Albin a destiny meet So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat. Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore, Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe! And, leaving in battle no blot on his name, Look proudly to heaven from t he death-bed of fame!
CATCHING THE MORNING TRAIN.—Max Adelee.
I find that one of the most serious objections to living out of town lies in the difficulty experienced in catching the early morning train by which I must reach the city and my business. It is by no means a pleasant matter, under any circumstances to have one's movements regulated by a time-table, and to be obliged to rise to breakfast and to leave home at a certain hour, no matter how strong the temptation to delay may be. But sometimes the horrible punctuality of the train is productive of absolute suffering. For instance: I look at my watch when I get out of bed and find that I have apparently plenty of time, so I dress leisurely, and sit down to the morning meal in a frame of mind which is calm and serene. Just as I crack my first egg I hear the down train from Wilmington. I start in alarm; and taking out my watch, I compare it with the clock and find that it is eleven minutes slow, and that I have ordy five minutes left in which to get to the depot.
I endeavor to scoop the egg from the shell, but it burns my fingers, the skin is tough, and after struggling with it for a moment, it mashes into a hopeless mess. I drop it in disgust and seize a roll; while I scald my tongue with a quick mouthful of coffee. Then I place the roll in my mouth while my wife hands me my satchel and tells me she thinks she hears the whistle. I plunge madly around looking for my umbrella, then I kiss the family good-bye as well as I can with a mouth full of roll, and dash toward the door.
Just as I get to the gate I find that I have forgotten my duster and the bundle my wife wanted me to take up to the city to her aunt. Charging back, I snatch them up and tear down the gravel-walk in a frenzy. I do not like to run through the village: it is undignified and it attracts attention; but I walk furiously. I go faster and faster as I get away from the main street. When half the distance is accomplished, I actually do hear the whistle; there can be no doubt about it this time. I long to run, but I know that if I do I will excite that abominable speckled dog sitting by the sidewalk a little distance ahead of me. Then I really see the train coming around the curve close by the depot, and I feel that I mud make better time; and I do. The dog immediately manifests an interest in my movements. He tears after me, and is speedily joined by five or six other dogs, which frolic about my legs and bark furiously. Sundry small boys, as I go plunging past, contribute to the excitement by whistling with t heir fingers, and the men who are at work upon the new meeting-house stop to look at me and exchange jocular remarks with each other. I do feel ridiculous; but I must catch that train at all hazards.
I become desperate when I have to slacken my pace until two or three women who are standing upon the sidewalk, discussing the infamous price of butter, scatter to let me pass. I arrive within a few yards of the station with my duster flying in the wind, with my coat tails in a horizontal position, and with the speckled dog nipping my heels, just as the train begins to move. I put on extra pressure, resolving to get the train or perish, and I reach it just as the last car is going by. I seize the hand-rail; lam jerked violently around, but finally, after a desperate effort, I get upon the step with my knees, and am hauled in by the brakeman, hot, dusty and mad, with my trousers torn across the knees, my legs bruised and three ribs of my umbrella broken.
Just as I reach a comfortable seat in the car, the train stops, and then backs up on the siding, where it remains for half an hour while the engineer repairs a dislocated valve. The anger which burns in my bosom as I reflect upon what now Is proved to have been the frilly of that race is increased as I look out of the window and observe the speckled dog engaged with his companions in an altercation over a bone. A man who permits his dog to roam about the streets nipping the legs of every one who happens to go at a more rapid gait than a walk, is unQt for association with civilized beings. He ought to be placed on a desert island in mid-ocean, and be compelled to stay there.
—Out of the IIurly-Burly.
The compensations of calamity are made apparent after long intervals of time. The sure yean reveal the deep remedial force that underlies all fact.—Emkusox.
Abdel-Hassan o'er the desert journeyed with his caravan,— Many a richly laden camel, many a faithful serving-man. And before the haughty master bowed alike the man and beast;
For the powei of Abdel-Hassan was the wonder of the East. It was now the twelfth day's journey, but its closing did not bring
Abdel-Hassan and his servants to the long-expected spring. From the ancient line of travel they had wandered far away, And at evening, faint and weary, on a waste of desert lay. Fainting men and famished camels stretched them round the master's tent;
For the water-skins were empty, and the dates were nearly spent.
4ll the night, as Abdel-Hassan on the dese. i lav apart. Nothing broke the lifeless silence but the throbbing of hii heart;
All the night he heard it beating, while his sleepless, anxious eyes
Watched t he shining constellations wheeling onward through the skies.
When the glowing orbs, receding, paled before the coming day,
Abdel-Hassan called his servants and devoutly knelt to pray.
Then his words were few and solemn to the leader of his train :—
"Thirty men and eighty camels, Haroun, in thy care remain. Keep the beasts and guard the treasure till the needed aid I