In dust sank roof and battlement;
Like webs the giant walls were rent;
Red, broad, before his startled gaze
The monarch saw his Egypt blaze.

Still swelled the plague-the flame grew pale;
Burst from the clouds the charge of hail;
With arrowy keenness, iron weight,
Down poured the ministers of fate;
Till man and cattle, crushed, congealed,
Covered with death the boundless field.
Still swelled the plague-uprose the blast,
The avenger, fit to be the last.

On ocean, river, forest, vale,

Thundered at once the mighty gale.
Before the whirlwind flew the tree,
Beneath the whirlwind roared the sea;
A thousand ships were on the wave-
Where are they? Ask that foaming grave!
Down go the hope, the pride of years,
Down go the myriad mariners;
The riches of earth's richest zone
Gone! like flash of lightning, gone!
And, lo! that first fierce triumph o'er,
Swells ocean on the shrinking shore;
Still onward, onward, dark and wide,
Engulfs the land the furious tide.
Then bowed thy spirit, stubborn king,
Thou serpent, reft of fang and sting!
Humbled before the prophet's knee,
He groaned, "Be injured Israel free!"
To heaven the sage upraised his wand;
Back rolled the deluge from the land;
Back to its caverns sank the gale;
Fled from the noon the vapors pale;
Broad burned again the joyous sun;
The hour of wrath and death was done,

A THANKSGIVING SERMON.

My friends, Thanksgiving Day comes, by statute, once a year; to the honest man it comes as frequently as the heart of gratitude will allow, which may mean every

day, or once in seven days, at least. I know that occasionally, in meeting, perhaps, a person confesses that he is a poor, miserable sinner, but you tell that person the same fact, out of doors, and he will get mad and tear round dreadfully. We are all honest, good, conscientious people, my friends, no matter what anybody says.

Now, I propose, my friends, to state a few of the things for us to be thankful for-when we are in the mood, of course; for when we are not inclined, who can make us give thanks for anything? We should be thankful that we know more than anybody else; for, are we not capable of talking and giving lectures upon every subject ever talked of? i should like to see the male or female in this audience, who didn't know a great deal more than anybody has any idea of!

We should be thankful that we are all good-looking. Aint we? Just look around this audience, and see if you can "spot" the person who is, in his own estimation, not good-looking. It would be a curious study to be sure, to find in what particular some people are goodlooking; but it's none of our personal business if a man has carroty hair, eyes like a new moon, nose like a split pear, mouth like a pair of waffle-irons, chin like a Dutch churn, neck like a gander's, and a body like a crowbar; comparatively he is good-looking; that is, there are homelier men and animals than he; so everybody is good-looking and has a right to put on airs. Let us be very thankful, my friends, that this is so; for, otherwise, some of us would be shut up in "homes for the scarecrows," which government would have to provide.

We should be thankful that we are more pious than anybody else. That we are pious is evident from the manner in which we treat poor creatures who have most unfortunately been driven to sin; from the fact that we pay our preachers occasionally, and always require them to be unexceptionable, in all respects; from the fact that we don't work on Sunday, and eat the big dinners which it has made the women-folks almost tired to death to pre

pare. Who is the person in this room that is not pious? I do not care to know him for the present.

We should give thanks that our house is, in many respects, superior to our neighbors'. True, it may not be as big, nor as fine-looking, nor, indeed, as attractive generally; but it is superior, nevertheless, as we always inform any man who wants to purchase, we should be very thankful that we can turn things so favorably for our own interests.

We should be thankful that our teachers, and editors, and doctors, and lawyers, are such superior men, as we learn they are when they come to die and have their epitaphs written.

We should be thankful, in fact, that this world was especially created for our own comfort, convenience, and use; that we have a perfect right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, no matter if these do conflict with some other person's wishes, and happiness, and rights.

I hope you will thank me for this recognition of your good qualities, your rights, your glory; and trust I shall be permitted to say of myself, when I retire,

"Here lies an honest young man."

ONLY WAITING.

A very aged Christian who was so poor as to be in an alms-house, was asked what he was doing now. He replied," Only waiting.”

Only waiting till the shadows

Are a little longer grown;
Only waiting till the glimmer

Of the day's last beam is flown;
Till the night of earth is faded

From the heart once full of day;
Till the stars of heaven are breaking
Through the twilight soft and gray.

Only waiting till the reapers

Have the last sheaf gathered home;
For the summer time is faded,

And the autumn winds have come.

Quickly, reapers, gather quickly
The last ripe hours of my heart,

For the bloom of life is withered,
And I hasten to depart.

Only waiting till the angels

Open wide the mystic gate,
At whose feet I long have lingered,
Weary, poor, and desolate.
Even now I hear the footsteps,
And their voices, far away;
If they call me, I am waiting,
Only waiting to obey.

Only waiting till the shadows
Are a little longer grown;
Only waiting till the glimmer

Of the day's last beam is flown;
Then from out the gathered darkness,
Holy, deathless stars shall rise,
By whose light my soul shall gladly
Tread its pathway to the skies.

NOTHING TO WEAR.-WLLIAM ALLEN BUTLER.
ABRIDGED FOR PUBLIC READING.

Miss Flora McFlimsey, of Madison Square,

Has made three separate journeys to Paris;

And her father assures me, each time she was there,

That she and her friend, Mrs. Harris,

Spent six consecutive weeks, without stopping,
In one continuous round of shopping;

Shopping alone, and shopping together,

At all hours of the day, and in all sorts of weather,
For all manner of things that a woman can put
On the crown of her head, or the sole of her foot,
Or wrap round her shoulders, or fit round her waist,
Or that can be sewed on, or pinned on, or laced,
Or tied on with a string, or stitched on with a bow,
In front or behind, above or below;

For bonnets, mantillas, capes, collars, and shawls;
Dresses for breakfasts, and dinners, and balls,

From ten-thousand-franc robes to twenty-sous frills;
In all quarters of Paris, and to every store,
While McFlimsey in vain stormed, scolded, and swore,
They footed the streets, and he footed the bills!

And yet, though scarce three months have passed since the

day

This merchandise went, on twelve carts, up Broadway,

This same Miss McFlimsey, of Madison Square,
The last time we met was in utter despair,
Because she had nothing whatever to wear!

I should mention just here, that out of Miss Flora's
Two hundred and fifty or sixty adorers,

I had just been selected as he who should throw all
The rest in the shade, by the gracious bestowal

On myself, after twenty or thirty rejections,

Of those fossil remains which she called her "affections,"
And that rather decayed, but well known work of art,
Which Miss Flora persisted in styling her "heart.”
So we were engaged. Our troth had been plighted,
Not by moonbeam or starbeam, by fountain or grove,
But in a front parlor, most brilliantly lighted,
Beneath the gas-fixtures, we whispered our love.
Without any romance, or raptures, or sighs,
Without any tears in Miss Flora's blue eyes,
Or blushes, or transports, or such silly actions,

It was one of the quietest business transactions.

Well, having thus wooed Miss McFlimsey and gained her, With the silks, crinolines, and hoops that contained her, I had, as I thought, a contingent remainder

At least in the property, and the best right

To appear as its escort by day and by night;

And it being the week of the Stuckup's grand ball,—
Their cards had been out a fortnight or so,
And set all the Avenue on the tiptoe,-

I considered it only my duty to call,

And ask if Miss Flora intended to go.

The fair Flora looked up, with a pitiful air,

And answered quite promptly, "Why, Harry, mon cher,
I should like above all things to go with you there,
But really and truly-I've nothing to wear."

"Nothing to wear! go just as you are;

Wear the dress you have on, and you'll be by far,
I engage, the most bright and particular star

On the Stuckup horizon--" I stopped, for her eye,
Notwithstanding this delicate onset of flattery,
Opened on me at once a most terrible battery
Of scorn and amazement. She made no reply,
But gave a slight turn to the end of her nose,
(That pure Grecian feature,) as much as to say,