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THE NIGHT BEFORE EXECUTION.

I sneered when I heard the old priest complain
That the doomed seemed voiceless and dull of brain;
For why should the felon be other than dumb
As he stands at the gate of the world to come?
Let them lock up his Reverence here in the cell.
Waiting the sound of the morning bell

That heralds his dying and tolls his knell,
And the tick-tock

Of the great jail clock

Will attract him more than the holiest prayer
That ever was mingled with dungeon air.
Will it never be morning,-will never arise
The great red sun in the cold gray skies,
Thrusting its rays in my iron-barred cell,
And lighting the city I know so well?
Is this horrible night forever to be,—
The phantom I feel, though I cannot see,—
Is that to be ever alone with me?
Will the tick-tock

Of the ceaseless clock

Beat forever through brain and heart,
Till the tortured soul from the body part?
And now in the darkness surrounding me
A hundred figures I plainly see;

And there are my mother's pitying eyes-
Why does she from her grave arise?
And there, on the crowd's extremest rim,
Gashed of throat and supple of limb-
Why, what do I want to-day with him!
To the tick-tock

Of the ceaseless clock

His body is swaying, slowly and free,
While his shadowy finger points at me.

Will it never be here,-the dawn of the day,
When the law is to carry my life away;
And the gaping crowd, with their pitiless eyes,
Stand eager to see how the doomed one dies?
Nothing to scatter the terrible gloom
That fills up the arched and grated room;
Nothing to herald the hour of doom

But the tick-tock

Of the weariless clock,

And the tread of the tired policeman's feet
As he steadily paces the echoing street.

At last the deep darkness is melting away
At the corpse-like light on the face of the day
I hear the prisoners in their cells,

I hear the chiming of morning bells,

The rattle of carts in the streets once more,
The careful tread, on the stony floor,

Of the sheriff, who comes to the grated door,
And the tick-tock

Of the great jail clock,

And the whispered words of the keepers around,
And every whisper a thunder sound.

What mocking is this in the formal demand,
In the mighty name of the law of the land,
For the body of him who is doomed to die
In the face of men, and beneath the sky?
I am safe in your thrall, but pinion me well,
I might be desperate-who can tell?--

As I march to the sound of the clanging bell,
The tick-tock

Of the great jail clock,

And the voice of the priest as he mumbles a prayer, And the voices that murmur around me there.

WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR.-CHARLES MACKAY.
Great King William spread before him

All his stores of wealth untold,—
Diamonds, emeralds, and rubies,
Heaps on heaps of minted gold.
Mournfully he gazed upon it
As it glittered in the sun,
Sighing to himself " Oh, treasure,
Held in care, by sorrow won!
Millions think me rich and happy;
But, alas! before me piled

I would give thee ten times over
For the slumbers of a child!"

Great King William from his turret
Heard the martial trumpets blow;
Saw the crimson banners floating
Of a countless host below;

Saw their weapons flash in sunlight,

As the squadrons trod the sward ;
And he sighed, “ Oh, mighty army,
Hear thy miserable lord:

At my word thy legions gather,

At my nod thy captains bend;
But, with all thy power and splendor,
I would give thee for a friend!"
Great King William stood on Windsor,
Looking, from its castled height,
O'er his wide-spread realm of England
Glittering in the morning light;
Looking on the tranquil river
And the forest waving free;
And he sighed, "Oh! land of beauty,
Fondled by the circling sea,
Mine thou art, but I would yield thee
And be happy, could I gain,
In exchange, a peasant's garden,

And a conscience free from stain!"

THE DEATH PENALTY.-VICTOR HUGO. I regret, gentlemen, that this question of the abolition of capital punishment-the most important question, perhaps, of all before this body-comes up at a time when we are little prepared for its discussion. For myself I have but few words to say on the subject, but they will proceed from convictions profound and long entertained. You have established the inviolability of the domicile ; we ask you to establish an inviolability higher and more sacred, the inviolability of human life! Gentlemen, a constitution, and above all, a constitution made by France and for France, is necessarily an important step in civilization. If it is not that, it is nothing. Consider, then, this penalty of death. What is it but the special and eternal type of barbarism? Wherever the penalty of death is most in vogue, barbarism prevails. Wherever it is rare, civilization reigns. Gentlemen, these are indisputable facts.

The modification of the penalty was a great forward step. The eighteenth century, to its honor, abolished the torture. The nineteenth century will abolish the death penalty. You may not abolish it to-day, but, doubt not, you will abolish it to-morrow; or else your successors will abolish it. You have inscribed at the head of the preamble of your constitution the words, “IN PRESENCE OF GOD;" and would you begin by depriving that God of the right which to him only belongs,—the the right of life and death?

Gentlemen, there are three things which are God's, not man's, the irrevocable, the irreparable, the indissoluble. Woe to man if he introduces them into his laws! Sooner or later they will force society to give way under their weight; they derange the equilibrium essential to the security of laws and morals; they take from human justice its proportions; and then it happens, -think of it, gentlemen,-it happens that the law revolts the conscience!

I have ascended this tribune to say but a word, a decisive word, and it is this: After the revolution of February came a great thought to the French people. The day after they had burned the throne, they sought to burn the scaffold! But this sublime idea they were prevented from carrying into execution. In the first article of this constitution you have consecrated the people's first thought; You have cast down the throne! Now consecrate its second thought, and cast down the scaffold. I vote for the entire abolition of the penalty of death.

TRUTH IN PARENTHESES.-THOMAS HOOD.

I really take it very kind,

This visit, Mrs. Skinner;

I have not seen you such an age.
(The wretch has come to dinner!)

Your daughters, too, what loves of girls!
What heads for painters' easels!

Come here, and kiss the infant, dears!
(And give it, p'rhaps, the measles!)

Your charming boys, I see, are home,
From Reverend Mr. Russel's;
'Twas very kind to bring them both.
(What boots for my new Brussels!)
What! little Clara left at home?
Well now, I call that shabby!
I should have loved to kiss her so!
(A flabby, dabby babby!)
And Mr. S., I hope he's well;

But, though he lives so handy,
He never now drops in to sup.

(The better for our brandy!)
Come, take a seat; I.long to hear
About Matilda's marriage;

You've come, of course, to spend the day.
(Thank Heaven! I hear the carriage!)
What! must you go? Next time, I hope,
You'll give me longer measure;
Nay, I shall see you down the stairs;
(With most uncommon pleasure!)
Good by! good by! Remember, all,
Next time you'll take your dinners.
(Now, David, mind I'm not at home,
In future, to the Skinners.)

COEUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER. FELICIA HEMANS.

The body of Henry the Second lay in state in the abbey-church of Fontevrault, where it was visited by Richard Cœur de Lion, who, on beholding it, was struck with horror and remorse, and bitterly reproached himself for that rebellious conduct which had been the means of bringing his father to an untimely grave.

Torches were blazing clear,

Hymns pealing deep and slow,

Where a king lay stately on his bier

In the church of Fontevrault.

Banners of battle o'er him hung,

And warriors slept beneath,

And light as noon's broad light was flung
On the settled face of death,-

On the settled face of death

A strong and ruddy glare;

Though dimmed at times by the censer's breath,

Yet it fell still brightest there;

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