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AS BEAUTIFUL POETRY is a good medium for Advertisements, and as only a few can be inserted, the following will be the Scale of Charges:

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.

Written after reading the first report of the Times' correspondent, where only 607 sabres are mentioned as having taken part in the charge. Taken from the Examiner, where it appeared under signature of A. T. It is supposed to be by ALFRED TENNYSON.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd all at once in air,
Sabring the gunners there;
Charging an army, while

All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery smoke,
With many a desperate stroke
The Russian line they broke;
Then they rode back, but not-
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them

Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell;
Those that had fought so well
Came from the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

HYMN TO THE NORTH STAR.

By W. C. BRYANT.

THE sad and solemn night

Hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires;
The glorious host of light

Walk the dark hemisphere till she retires;

All through her silent watches, gliding slow,

Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and go!

Day, too, hath many a star,

To grace his gorgeous reign, as bright as they :
Through the blue fields afar,

Unseen, they follow in his flaming way:

Many a bright lingerer, as the eve grows dim, Tells what a radiant troop arose and set with him.

And thou dost see them rise,

Star of the Pole! and thou dost see them set.
Alone, in thy cold skies,

Thou keep'st thy old unmoving station yet;
Nor join'st the dances of that glittering train,
Nor dipp'st thy virgin orb in the blue western main.

There, at morn's rosy birth,

Thou lookest meekly through the kindling air;
And eve, that round the earth

Chases the day, beholds thee watching there; There noontide finds thee, and the hour that calls The shapes of poplar flame to scale heaven's azure walls.

Alike, beneath thine eye,

The deeds of darkness and of light are done;

High towards the star-lit sky

Towns blaze-the smoke of battle blots the sun

The night-storm on a thousand hills is loud

And the strong wind of day doth mingle sea and cloud.

On thy unaltering blaze

The half-wreck'd mariner, his compass lost,

Fixes his steady gaze,

And steers, undoubting, to the friendly coast;

And they who stray in perilous wastes, by night,

Are glad when thou dost shine to guide their footsteps right.

And, therefore, bards of old,

Sages, and hermits of the solemn wood,

Did in thy beams behold

A beauteous type of that unchanging good,
That bright eternal beacon, by whose ray
The
voyager of time should shape his heedful way.

THE LADY GERALDINE.

From the Lady Geraldine's Courtship, a poem by Mrs. ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

In that ancient hall of Wycomble, throng'd the numerous guests invited,

And the lovely London ladies trod the floors with gliding feet; And their voices low with fashion, not with feeling, softly freighted

All the air about the windows, with elastic laughters sweet.

For at eve, the open windows flung their light out on the

terrace,

Which the floating orbs of curtains, did with gradual shadow

sweep;

While the swans upon the river, fed at morning by the heiress,

Trembled downward through their snowy wings, at music in their sleep.

And there evermore was music, both of instrument and singing,

Till the finches of the shrubberies grew restless in the dark; But the cedars stood up motionless, each in a moonlight

ringing,

And the deer, half in the glimmer, strewed the hollows of the park.

And though sometimes she would bind me with her silvercorded speeches,

To commix my words and laughter with the converse and the jest,

Oft I sate apart, and gazing on the river through the beeches, Heard, as pure the swans swam down it, her pure voice o'erfloat the rest.

In the morning, horn of huntsman, hoof of steed, and laugh of rider,

Spread out cheery from the courtyard, till we lost them in the hills;

While herself and other ladies, and her suitors left beside her, Went a-wandering up the gardens, through the laurels and

abeles.