For why? Methought, last night, I wrought A murder in a dream!

"One that had never done me wrong,

A feeble man, and old;

I led him to a lonely field,—

The moon shone clear and cold;
'Now here,' said I, 'this man shall die,
And I will have his gold!'

"Two sudden blows with ragged stick,
And one with a heavy stone,
One hurried gash with a hasty knife,
And then the deed was done;
There was nothing lying at my foot
But lifeless flesh and bone.

"Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone,
That could not do me ill;

And yet I feared him all the more,
For lying there so still;

There was a manhood in his look,

66

That murder could not kill.

'And, lo! the universal air

Seemed lit with ghastly flame;
Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes
Were looking down in blame;
I took the dead man by his hand,
And called upon his name.

"O God! it made me quake to see
Such sense within the slain;
But when I touched the lifeless clay,
The blood gushed out amain;
For every clot a burning spot
Was scorching in my brain.

"My head was like an ardent coal;
My heart as solid ice;

My wretched, wretched soul, I knew,
Was at the devil's price;

A dozen times I groaned; the dead
Had never groaned but twice.

"And now, from forth the frowning sky.
From the heaven's topmost height,

I heard a voice,-the awful voice
Of the blood-avenging sprite:
"Thou guilty man! take up thy dead,
And hide it from my sight!'

"I took the dreary body up,
And cast it in a stream,-
A sluggish water, black as ink,
The depth was so extreme.
My gentle boy, remember this
Is nothing but a dream!

"Down went the corpse with hollow plunge,

And vanished in the pool;

Anon I cleansed my bloody hands,

And washed my forehead cool, And sat among the urchins young, That evening in the school.

"O heaven! to think of their white soula
And mine so black and grim!

I could not share in childish prayer,
Nor join in evening hymn;

Like a devil of the pit I seemed,

Mid holy cherubim.

"And peace went with them, one and all,
And each calm pillow spread;

But guilt was my grim chamberlain,
That lighted me to bed;

And drew my midnight curtains round,

With fingers bloody red.

“All night I lay in agony,

In anguish dark and deep,

My fevered eyes I dared not close,
But stared aghast at Sleep;

For Sin has rendered unto her
The keys of hell to keep.

"All night I lay in agony,
From weary chime to chime,
With one besetting, horrid hint,
That racked me all the time,-
A mighty yearning like the first
Fierce impulse unto crime⚫

"One stern tyrannic thought, that made
All other thoughts its slave;
Stronger and stronger every pulse
Did that temptation crave,
Still urging me to go and see
The dead man in his grave.

"Heavily I rose up, as soon
As light was in the sky,
And sought the black, accursed pool,
With a wild, misgiving eye;
And I saw the dead in the river bed,
For the faithless stream was dry.

"Merrily rose the lark, and shook
The dewdrop from its wing;

But I never marked its morning flight,
I never heard it sing;

For I was stooping once again

Under the horrid thing.

"With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, I took him up and ran;

There was no time to dig a grave

Before the day began:

In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves,

I hid the murdered man;

"And all that day I read in school,

But my thought was otherwhere;

As soon as the midday task was done,
In secret I was there;

And a mighty wind had swept the leaves,
And still the corpse was bare.

"Then down I cast me on my face,

And first began to weep,

For I knew my secret then was one
That earth refused to keep,--
Or land or sea, though he should be
Ten thousand fathoms deep.

"So wills the fierce avenging sprite,
Till blood for blood atones;
Ay, though he's buried in a cave,
And trodden down with stones,

And years have rotted off his flesh,
The world shall see his bones.

"O God! that horrid, horrid dream
Besets me now, awake;

Again, again, with dizzy brain,

The human life I take;

And my red right hand grows raging hot,
Like Cranmer's at the stake.

"And still no peace for the restless clay,
Will wave or mould allow;

The horrid thing pursues my soul,—

It stands before me now!"

The fearful boy looked up, and saw
Huge drops upon his brow.

That very night, while gentle sleep
The urchin's eyelids kissed,

Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn,
Through the cold and heavy mist;
And Eugene Aram walked between,

With gyves upon his wrist.

SHYLOCK TO ANTONIO.-SHAKSPEARE.

Signor Antonio, many a time and oft In the Rialto you have rated me About my moneys and my usances; Still have I borne it with a patient shrug, For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe; You call me--misbeliever, cut-throat, dog, And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, And all for use of that which is mine own. Well, then, it now appears, you need my help; Go to, then; you come to me, and you say, Shylock, we would have moneys; you say so, You that did void your rheum upon my beard, And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur Over your threshold; moneys is your suit. What should I say to you? Should I not say, Hath a dog money? is it possible

A cur can lend three thousand ducats? or

Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key,

With bated breath, and whispering humbleness,
Say this?

Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last;

You spurned me such a day; another time
You called me-dog; and for these courtesies
I'll lend you thus much moneys.

JOSH BILLINGS ON "GONGS."-H. G. SHAW.

Josh Billings relateth his first experience with the gong thusly: I kan never holi eradicate from my memory the sound ov the first gong I ever herd. I was settin on the frunt step ov a tavurn in the sity ov Bufferlow, pensively smokin. The sun was goin to bed, and the hevins fur and near was a blushin at the performance. The Ery Kanal with its golden waters was on its way to Albany, and I was perusin the line botes a floatin by, and thinking of Italy (wher I uste to live) and gondolers and gallus wimmin. Mi entire sole, was, as it were, in a swet-i wanted to klimb -i felt grate, I aktually gru. There are things in this life not tu be trifled with: there are times when a man brakes luce from hisself, when he sees spiruts, or when he kin almost tuch the mune, and feels az if he could fil both hans with the stars of hevin, and almost swear he was a bank president, that's what ailed me.

But the koarse ov tru luv never did run smuthe, (this is Shakspeare's opinyun tu,--I and he often thunk thru one quil,)-jist az I waz duin mi best,-dummer, dummer, spat, bang, beller, crash, roar, jam, dummer, rip, whang, roar, menjus, rally, jump, I struck the centre ov the sidewalk, with anuther I klared the gutter, and with anuther I struck the middle ov the street, snortin like an injun pony at a band uv musick. I gazed in despair at the tavurn, and mi heart was swelled up as big as a outdore uven, my teeth were as loose as a string ov bedes. I thot all the crockery in the tavurn had fell down. I thot of fenomonons. I thot of Gabril and hiz horn. I was jist on the pint ov thinkin somethin else when the landlord kum to the front step uv the