ally to perish. The respect of the neighborhood, his self respect, and, more than all, the respect of Mrs. Blifkins, whom he still saw watching him from the opposite side of the way, forbade so cowardly a thing. He seized his cudgel with a firmer grasp, and was lifting his foot to take a step nearer the door, when he heard a step upon the stairs inside, and the door opened. He was relieved by seeing that it was the boy, who said,— "It's all right." "What's all right?" cried Blifkins, taking him by the collar, and dragging him across the street to where the impatient group were awaiting the denouement of the scene. "It's only mother," said he, as soon as he could speak; "you see she wears a wig, and was sitting there where you saw her, pulling out the short hairs that were growing on her head-she's as bald as a plate." "Just as I thought," said Mrs. Blifkins, " and anybody but a fool would have seen it at once. I declare I believe Blifkins is growing stupider and stupider every day. I'm thankful none of the children take after him." "True, dear," chimed in his mother-in-law; “but it couldn't be expected any different, because men are never so considerate as women. Though he hadn't ought to try your feelings so at such a time." "Oh! my feelings are not of any consequence," said Mrs. Blifkins; "I never expect any consideration for them." Blifkins with a tried spirit went into the house, the light had disappeared from the pane opposite, he heard his children say their prayers as he put them to bed, and sat down in velvet slippers and tranquil meditation, thanking his lucky stars that he had been saved from participating in what might have been a tragedy, had the fates so willed it. -Partingtonian Patchwork. THE OLD CLOCK AGAINST THE WALL. Oh! the old, old clock of the household stock, Its hands, though old, had a touch of gold, "Twas a monitor too, though its words were few, Up! up! and go, or else you know, You'll never rise soon in the morning!" A friendly voice was that old, old clock, And blessed the time with a merry chime, But a cross old voice was that tiresome clock, As it called at day-break boldly; When the dawn looked gray o'er the misty way, "Tick! tick!" it said, "quick out of bed, For five I've given warning; You'll never have health, you'll never have wealth, Still hourly the sound goes round and round, While tears are shed for bright days fled, Its heart beats on-though hearts are gone, "Tick! tick!" it said-" to the church-yard bed, Up! up! and rise, and look at the skies, THEBES.-WILLIAM WHITEHEAD. And Thebes, how fallen now! Her storied gates Resistless all! Where sweeps the Nile's swift wave, Relentless sands embattling, she awaits Her final sepulture and gathering grave:- And vaster than the sculptur'd place of kings, Her moral breathes from out a sterner wilder gloom. The city rose where wandering paths were traced,- Man in his wrath turned her to waste again; Methinks I see her serried legions march, The fierce steed prances to the trumpet's note And tossing mane and battle-breathing throat, To make the poet's theme, and history's pen provoke. And here, where ruin peers, the lover wooed And won his bride-brave men and beauteous maids And conquering crime, made her the servitor Of baseness-she became the handmaid of the boor. And now she is a lone, deserted one, The tears of Niobe are hers, for she Has lost her children-fate they could not shun, No tides of life swell through her pulseless veins, She was a city of a thousand years Ere Homer harped his wars, yet on her plain, Crumbling, the riven monument appears, To mourn that glory ne'er returns again : Her front of graven epics vainly tells How long she conquered-lonely musings bound The storied place-where deep ranks gathered, swells, Of fallen architraves, the saddening mound, And many a worshipp'd pile bestrews the silent ground. She dreams no dream of greatness now, doth mourn Yet who shall tread her grave without a sigh, Upon her fields revive great Carnac's bold array! Why hath she fallen? Men die but to yield Why hath she fallen? Who the tale shall tell? Existence was computed by her glory! Why, when her towers with crowning years were hoary, A voiceless phantom 'mid the cold and pulseless gloom? Not that her legions through her hundred gates And warning voices linger through her shades; The gods in justice turned her sweeping blades Forever and forever flows the river, Forever and forever looms the plain; Forever shall the pale stars o'er them quiver, But never shall her past return again! Hyperion dawns but light her frieze in vain, And moons peer sadly through her column'd way; The mid-day glares on what doth yet remain Thus passeth into shadow man's imperious sway! What recks it that Sesostris dared to thrall His fellow kings, and haughty Cheops raised The everlasting pyramid! the pall Of night now hangs where distant glories blazed! Are in the dust ?-The same blue bending sky DEATH OF HENRY CLAY.-REV. DR. BUTLER. Before all hearts and minds in this august assemblage, the vivid image of ONE MAN stands. To some aged eye, he may come forth, from the dim past, as he appeared in the neighboring city of his native state, a lithe and ardent youth, full of promise, of ambition, and of hope. To another, he may appear as, in a distant state, in the courts of justice, erect, high-strung, bold, wearing fresh forensic laurels on his young and open brow. Some may see him in the earlier and some in the later stages of his career on this auspicious theater of his renown; and to the former he will start out, on the background of the past, as he appeared in the neighboring chamber, tall, elate, impassioned, with flashing eye, and suasive gesture, and clarion voice, an already acknowledged “Agamemnon, King of Men;" and to others, he will again stand in this chamber "the strong staff” of the bewildered and staggering state, and "the beautiful rod," rich with the blossoms of genius, and of patriotic love and hope, the life of youth still remaining to give animation, grace, and exhaustless vigor, to the wisdom, the experience, and gravity of age. To others he may be present as he sat in the chamber of sickness, cheerful, majestic, gentle-his mind clear, his heart warm, his hope fixed on heaven, peacefully preparing for his last great change. To the memory of the minister of God, he appears as the penitent, humble, and peaceful Christian, who received him with the affection of a father, and joined with him in solemn sacrament and prayer with the |