Of cawce I wose and sought the daw, Why don't the pawties compwamise? MINISTERING ANGELS.-EMILY JUDSON. Mother, has the dove that nestled, Lovingly upon thy breast, Folded up his little pinion, And in darkness gone to rest? It looks up from every flower. Maiden, has thy noble brother, On whose heart thou couldst rely, Hid thee from the cold world's sneer,- Nay, he still can guide and guard thee, Lover, is the light extinguished Of the gem, that, in thy heart Look above! 'tis burning brighter Thou wilt know she hovers near. THE MISER FITLY PUNISHED.-Osborne. In the year 1762, a miser, by the name of Foscue, in France, having amassed enormous wealth, was requested by the government to advance a sum of money as a loan. The miser demurred, pretending that he was poor. To hide his gold he dug a deep cave in his cellar, the descent to which was by a ladder. He entered this cave, one day, to gloat over his gold, when the trap-door fell and the spring-lock snapped, holding him a prisoner. Some months afterwards a search was made, and his body was found in the midst of money-bags, with a candlestick lying beside it on the floor. This poem supposes the miser to have just entered his cave, and to be soliloquizing. So, so! all safe! Come forth, my pretty sparklers, No keen-eyed agent of the government Can see you here. They wanted me, forsooth, For the state's needs. Ha, ha! my shining pets, My yellow darlings, my sweet golden circlets! Their eyes, methinks, would water. What a comfort All safely lodged under my very roof! Here's a fat bag-let me untie the mouth of it. What eloquence! What beauty! What expression! One half so charming-Ah! what sound was that? I left it at the bottom of the ladder. Ha! 'tis not there. Where then?-Ah! mercy, Heaven! "Tis in the lock outside! What's to be done? Help, help! Will no one hear? Oh! would that I I sink-I faint beneath the bare conception! (Awakes.) Darkness? Where am I?—I remember now, This is a bag of ducats -'tis no dream No dream! The trap-door fell, and here am I I've toiled, and pinched, and screwed, shutting my heart Detested traitors! since I gave you all, Ay, gave my very soul,-can ye do naught For me in this extremity?-Ho! Without there! A thousand ducats for a loaf of bread! Ten thousand ducats for a glass of water! A pile of ingots for a helping hand! Was that a laugh? Ay, 'twas a fiend that laughed Offended Heaven! have mercy! -I will give In alms all this vile rubbish, aid me thou In this most dreadful strait! I'll build a church,— A hospital!-Vain! vain! Too late, too late! Heaven knows the miser's heart too well to trust him! Heaven's cause on earth, in human hearts and homes? But must I die here-in my own trap caught? Nor man nor God will heed my shrieks! All's lost! CÆSAR PASSING THE RUBICON. A gentleman, speaking of Cæsar's benevolent disposition, and of the reluctance with which he entered into the civil war, observes, "How long did he pause upon the brink of the Rubicon?" How came he to the brink of that river? How dared he cross it? Shall a private man respect the boundaries of private property, and shall a man pay no respect to the boundaries of his country's rights? How dared he cross that river?-Oh! but he paused upon the brink. He should have perished on the brink, ere he had crossed it! Why did he pause? Why does a man's heart palpitate when he is on the point of committing an unlawful deed? Why does the very murderer, his victim sleeping before him, and his glaring eye taking the measure of the blow, strike wide of the mortal part? Because of conscience! 'Twas that made Cæsar pause upon the brink of the Rubicon !-Compassion! What compassion? The compassion of an assassin, that feels a momentary shudder, as his weapon b gins to cut! -Cæsar paused upon the brink of the Rubcion! What was the Rubicon? The boundary of Caesar's province. From what did it separate his province? From his country. Was that country a desert? No; it was cultivated and fertile, rich and populous! Its sons were men of genius, spirit, and generosity! Its daughters were lovely, susceptible, and chaste! Friendship was its inhabitant! Love was its inhabitant! Domestic affection was its inhabitant! Liberty was its inhabitant! All bounded by the stream of the Rubicon! What was Cæsar, that stood upon the brink of that stream? A traitor, bringing war and pestilence into the heart of that country! No wonder that he paused, no wonder if, his imagination wrought upon by his conscience, he had beheld blood instead of water, and heard groans instead of murmurs! No wonder if some gorgon horror had turned him into stone upon the spot! But, no! he cried, "The die is cast!" He plunged! he crossed! and Rome was free no more. "THE HEATHEN CHINEE'S" REPLY.* Which my name is Ah Sin; I don't want to call names, But I must, to begin, Say of this T. James: That I am convinced he is rather Well up in the sinfullest games. Yes, Ah Sin is my name, Which I need not deny; What it means is no shame; You will find, if you try, That its meaning is something celestial, And how is celestial for high? And about that small game I did not understand, So I made it my aim, With a smile that was bland, (Ah Sin to Truthful James.) See The Heathen Chinee," by Bret Harte, in No. 3. |