"A turbot," answered the sarcastic elf; "a flat, you see-so something like yourself." "D'ye think," said Lubin, “that he'll bite?" "Why," said the fishman, with a roguish grin, "his mouth is open; put your finger in and then you'll know." "Why, zur," replied the wight, "I shouldn't like to try; but there's my Tyke shall put his tail there, an' you like." "Agreed," rejoined the man, and laughed delight.

Within the turbot's teeth was placed the tail, and the fish bit with all its might. The dog no sooner felt the bite, than off he ran, the dangling turbot holding tight. The astonished man began most furiously to bawl and rail; but, after numerous escapes and dodgings, Tyke safely got to Master Lubin's lodgings. Thither the fishmonger in anger flew. Says Lubin, "Lunnon tricks on me won't do! I'ze come from York to queer such flats as you; and Tyke, my dog, is Yorkshire, too!" Then, laughing at the man, who sneaked away, he had the fish for dinner that same day.

RIENZI'S ADDRESS.-M. R. MITFORD.

Friends: I come not here to talk! Ye know too well
The story of our thraldom ;-we are slaves!
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights
A race of slaves! He sets, and his last beam
Falls on a slave!-not such as, swept along
By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads
To crimson glory and undying fame;
But base, ignoble slaves-slaves to a horde
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords,

Rich in some dozen paltry villages,

Strong in some hundred spearmen-only great

In that strange spell, a name! Each hour, dark fraud,

Or open rapine, or protected murder,

Cries out against them. But this very day,

An honest man, my neighbor--there he stands

Was struck-struck like a dog-by one who wore

The badge of Ursini! because, forsooth,

He tossed not high his ready cap in air,
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts,

At sight of that great ruffian! Be we men,

And suffer such dishonor? Men and wash not

The stain away in blood? Such shames are common.

I have known deeper wrongs. I that speak to you,

I had a brother once, a gracious boy,

Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope,

Of sweet and quiet joy; there was the look

Of heaven upon his face, which limners give
To the beloved disciple. How I loved
That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years,
Brother at once and son! He left my side,
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour,
The pretty, harmless boy was slain! I saw
The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried
For vengeance! Rouse, ye Romans! rouse, ye slaves!
Have ye brave sons? Look, in the next fierce brawl,
To see them die! Have ye fair daughters? Look
To see them live, torn from your arms, distained,
Dishonored! and if ye dare call for justice,
Be answered by the lash! Yet this is Rome,
That sat on her seven hills, and from her throne
Of beauty, ruled the world! Yet we are Romans!
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman

Was greater than a king!—and once again—
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread
Of either Brutus!-once again I swear,
The eternal city shall be free! her sons
Shall walk with princes!

THE BLACK REGIMENT.

PORT HUDSON, May 27, 1863.

GEORGE H. BOKER.

Dark as the clouds of even,
Ranked in the western heaven,
Waiting the breath that lifts
All the dread mass, and drifts
Tempest and falling brand
Over a ruined land;-
So still and orderly,
Arm to arm, knee to knee,
Waiting the great event
Stands the black regiment.

Down the long dusky line
Teeth gleam and eye-balls shine;
And the bright bayonet,
Bristling, and firmly set,
Flashed with a purpose grand,
Long ere the sharp command
Of the fierce rolling drum

Told them their time had come-
Told them what work was sent
For the black regiment.

H*

"Now," the flag-sergeant cried,
"Though death and hell betide,
Let the whole nation see
If we are fit to be free
In this land; or bound
Down, like the whining hound,—
Bound with red stripes of pain
In our cold chains again!"
Oh! what a shout there went
From the black regiment!

66

Charge!" Trump and drum awok●; Onward the bondmen broke:

Bayonet and sabre stroke

Vainly opposed their rush.

Through the wild battle's crush,
With but one thought aflush,
Driving their lords like chaff,
In the guns' mouths they laugh;
Or at the slippery brands
Leaping with open hands,
Down they tear man and horse,
Down in their awful course;
Trampling with bloody heel
Over the crashing steel,-
All their eyes forward bent,
Rushed the black regiment.

"Freedom!" their battle-cry,-
"Freedom! or leave to die!"
Ah! and they meant the word,
Not as with us 'tis heard,
Not a mere party shout:
They gave their spirits out;
Trusted the end to God,
And on the gory sod
Rolled in triumphant blood.
Glad to strike one free blow,
Whether for weal or woe;

Glad to breathe one free breath,
Though on the lips of death.
Praying-alas! in vain !----
That they might fall again,
So they could once more see
That burst to liberty!

This was what "freedom" lent
To the black regiment.

Hundreds on hundreds fell;
But they are resting well;
Scourges and shackles strong
Never shall do them wrong.

NUMBER ONE.

Oh, to the living few,

Soldiers, be just and true!
Hail them as comrades tried;
Fight with them side by side;
Never in field or tent,

Scorn the black regiment.

THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED.-C. B. SOUTHEY

Tread softly-bow the head;

In reverent silence bow;

No passing bell doth toll,
Yet an immortal soul
Is passing now.

Stranger! however great,

With lowly reverence bow;
There's one in that poor shed,
One by that paltry bed,
Greater than thou.

Beneath that beggar's roof,

Lo! Death doth keep his state;
Enter-no crowds attend;

Enter-no guards defend
This palace gate.

That pavement, damp and cold,
No smiling courtiers tread;

One silent woman stands,
Lifting with meagre hands
A dying head.

No mingling voices sound-
An infant wail alone;

A sob suppressed—again

That short, deep gasp, and then

The parting groan.

Oh, change!-Oh, wondrous change!

Burst are the prison bars

This moment there, so low,

So agonized, and now

Beyond the stars!

Oh, change-stupendous change!

There lies the soulless clod!

The sun eternal breaks

The new immortal wakes

Wakes with his God!

BOMBASTIC DESCRIPTION OF A MIDNIGHT MURDER,

'Twas night! the stars were shrouded in a veil of mist; a clouded canopy o'erhung the world; the vivid lightnings flashed and shook their fiery darts upon the earth; the deeptoned thunder rolled along the vaulted sky; the elements were in wild commotion; the storm-spirit howled in the air; the winds whistled; the hail-stones fell like leaden balls; the huge undulations of the ocean dashed upon the rockbound shore, and torrents leaped from mountain-tops; when the murderer sprang from his sleepless couch with vengeance on his brow,-murder in his heart,-and the fell instrument of destruction in his hand.

The storm increased ; the lightnings flashed with brighter glare; the thunder growled with deeper energy; the winds whistled with a wilder fury; the confusion of the hour was congenial to his soul, and the stormy passions which raged in his bosom. He clenched his weapon with a sterner grasp. A demoniac smile gathered on his lip; he grated his teeth: raised his arm; sprang with a yell of triumph upon his vic tim and relentlessly killed-a MUSQUITO!

SHORT POETICAL EXTRACTS.

Oh, man, boast not thy "lion heart!"
Tell not of proud heroic deed!
Have we not seen thy vaunted art
Fail in the deepest hour of need?

But woman's courage! 'tis more deep,

More strong, than heart of man can feel,—

To save her little ones that sleep,

She bares her bosom to the steel!

S. F. STREETER.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean-roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin-his control

Stops with the shore;-upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.