SEEING THROUGH.

I can almost see to the land of light,
But there's a mist before my eyes,
The path, I know, stretches out before,
But I can't see where it lies;

For there is a valley that lies between,
And a shadow as dark as night,

That sends up its gloom from a loved one's tomb,
And a dimness is on my sight.

But there's some one stands on the golden sands,
And lifts up the nebulous bars,

Throwing back the door to the shining shore,
And there's light beyond the stars;

And the flashes bright, that fall on my sight,

Seem to scatter the night away;

And I know, I know where I shall go

At the close of some weary day.

And now and then there are forms I ken,

That seem as if once of earth,

That break through the night of this castlely sight,

From the home of the spirit birth;

And I hear, I hear, from the upper sphere,

The voices I heard of yore,

And I see, I see the dear to me,

The loved and gone before.

I can almost see through to the land of light,
But somehow something will rise,

From the depths of the soul that I cannot control,
That keeps dimming and blinding my eyes.

You may think it is fears, you may say it is tears, That dims the visual ray,

But the soul lies too deep for me to weep,

And why should I feel dismay.

But its a long, long way to the gates of day,

And no wonder I can't see through;

The eyes I have at the best are but clay

I can get no better, can you?

Yet things will appear and disappear,

So strangely sweet to me,

That a holy thrill my soul will fill,

And I think I begin to see.

Oh! the veil may drop on our mortal sight,

And shut out the light within,

And many a beautiful soul be laid
In the shadows of guilt and sin;

And much to love from the depths above
The shadows of earth may hide,

That we never shall know beneath the flow
Of the waves of life's ocean tide.

And many a brow that lies shaded now
'Neath the touches of sin and shame,
Hath its inner deep where pearls may sleep,
And gems that yet shall flame,-

Some learned divine, on the inner shrine,
Shall keep them pure and fair,-

For God sees through, though I and you
Know not what he treasures there.

And by and by the darkened sky
Will clear to these earthly eyes,

And the mists that are near will disappear
Where the shining pathway lies,

Then all ablaze the soul shall gaze

In the peerless depths of blue,

And the darkened glass from the eyes shall pass,
And we'll all, yes, all see through.

OUT. THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.

Out, John! out, John! what are you about, John?

If you don't say "Out," at once, you make the fellow doubt, John!

Say I'm out, whoever calls; and hide my hat and cane,

John;

Say you've not the least idea when I shall come again, John.

Let the people leave their bills, but tell them not to call,

John;

Say I'm courting Miss Rupee, and mean to pay them all, John.

Run, John! run, John! there's another dun, John ;

If it's Prodger, bid him call to-morrow week at one, John; If he says he saw me at the window, as he knocked, John, Make a face, and shake your head, and tell him you are shocked, John;

Take your pocket-handkerchief, and put it to your eye, John;

Say your master's not the man to bid you tell a lie, John.

Oh! John, go, John! there's Noodle's knock, I know, John; Tell him that all yesterday you sought him high and low,

John.

Tell him, just before he came, you saw me mount the hill, John;

Say-you think I'm only gone to pay his little bill, John; Then, I think, you'd better add-that if I miss to-day, John, You're sure I mean to call when next I pass his way, John.

Hie, John! fly, John! I will tell you why, John

If there is not Grimshaw at the corner, let me die, John.
He will hear of no excuse-I'm sure he'll search the house,
John,

Peeping into corners hardly fit to hold a mouse, John;

Beg he'll take a chair and wait-I know he wont refuse, John-

And I'll pop through the little door that opens on the mews, John.

NUMBER NINETY-ONE.

One of the exhibitors at the recent Texas State Fair, at Houston, gave an amusing account of his experience at the hotel, which illustrates the crowded condition of the public houses at that time.

When I got there, I just said, "Captain, I wrote to you about six weeks ago to save me a room; I hope you have done so."

"Certainly I have. Show the gentleman to ninety-one." I'm blessed if there wasn't forty others besides myself in the same apartment, and when they went to undress at night, the room looked like an arsenal, for every man had a knife and a six-shooter or two. My partner had an immense pistol, which he coolly took off and placed in bed between

us.

"Say, stranger," says I," if I had to carry a thing like that, blamed if I wouldn't put it on wheels."

"Guess if I choose to wear it, it's nobody's business," he replied.

"Well," says I, "is all of this artillery company in this room?"

The next night, after we had all turned in there came a rap at the door; the beds were all full but one, and in this there was a tall Texan, who, after the rapping had been several times repeated, got up, and in a costume but little better than the Georgia full dress opened the door and demanded: "What do you mean by kicking up such an infernal row here?"

"They told me there was a vacant bed here," said a dapper-looking fellow, with a satchel in his hand, " and I came to occupy it."

"Come in,” replied Texas, flourishing his pistol, “there ain't no vacant bed, but you can bunk with me."

"Thank you," said the new comer, at the same time evidently wishing himself out again.

I can tell you that young fellow wasn't long "changing" himself and sliding easily into bed; but he had no more than stretched himself out when his bedfellow said:

"You got any whiskey?"

"Y-e-s, sir; I was-afraid of the water, and—

"Water! if you've got any whiskey, behave like a man, produce it."

and

The young fellow got out of bed and soon handed over a small wicker flask.

"It's your whiskey-drink first," said Texas. His companion poured out about three drops and took it, when the other put the flask to his head and drained it, and then coolly turned it bottom up, to show that it was dry, and handed it back.

About half the occupants were changed every day, and I could tell every new arrival the number of his room, as soon as I set eyes on him.

"Halloo, Colonel, just got in?" I would say.

"Yes, just in, and lucky enough to get a room." What's your number?" I would ask.

Ninety-one, was sure to be the reply.

I stayed there until they began to put the new arrivals in through the transom, and then I left the town.

THE MODERN CYMON.-BRYAN WALLER PROCTOR.

"THE LUNATIC, THE LOVER, AND THE POET."

You bid me tell you why I rise
At midnight from my lonely bed;
And search among the coming clouds
And talk as though I saw the dead:
You speak of madness-of the moon-
I've heard such idle jeers before:
Give me your patience, for my tale,
And you shall deem me mad no more.

I was not born of noble race:

I know a peasant was my sire;
But from my mother's breast I sucked
The milk that filled my blood with fire.

I ran as wild as doth the wolf,

About the fields, for many years;
But in my twentieth summer thought
Sprang upward in a rain of tears.

A sudden chance (if chance it were)
Flung me across a marriage train;
And there I saw a wretched girl

Forced onward, while she wept in vain.

I never saw so fair a thing:

My eyes were hot within my head:

I heard her scream-I saw her forced
(By a brother) towards a brute-and wed.

I sought the hills-I sought the woods;
My heart was bursting in my breast:
At last, tears rushed in rivers forth,
And for a time I felt at rest.

Those tears! they washed from off my eyes

The cloudy film that on them lay;

And I awoke, and saw the light,

And knew I did behold the day.

Till then, I had but been a beast,-
Had let mere savage will prevail;

Was ignorant-sullen-fierce; till love-
(You have some fable, like my tale,)
Till love flew forth and touched my heart;
Then all at once my spirit strong

Swelled upward, like a torrent damm'd
And forced its furious way along.