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An' after every verse, you know
They played a little tune;
I started in too soon.
I fetched a lusty toue,
Was singing there alone!
But I had done my best ;
A cross my peaceful breast.
She sits right front of me;
An' never meant to be ;
The best she could, she said ;
An' kep' it, with her head ;
I had to laugh, or cough-
It e'en a'most came off!
As one might well suppose,
and meekly scratched his nose.
And laid it on the seat,
And looked completely beat.
Ile didu't even rise,
An' wiped his weepin' eyes.
For five an' thirty year;
An' prayed my duty clear;
For he is on my track;
And never more come back.
Whene'er that time shall be-
Our Fireside Hriend
DEATH OF GAUDENTIS.-HARRIET ANNIE.
The following inscription was found in the Catacombs by Mr. Perret, upon the tomb of the Architect of the Coliseum.
.“ Thus tbou keepest thy promises (0) Vespasian! thc rewarding with death him, the crown of thy glory in Rome. Do rejoice, o Gaudentis! the cruel tyrant promised conch, but ihrist gave thee all, who prepared thee sucb mausion.”—Professor ). De Launay's Lectures on the Calucumbs.
BEFORE Vespasian's regal throne
Skilfull Gaudentis stood;
"A theatre for blood.
Thine is the power to frame
Au honor to thy name.
And by the gods of Rome,
Have thy resplendent home.
Silver and golden store,
But stain the marble floor."
So rose the Amphitheatre,
Tower and arch and tier ;
Within that ring of fear.
And strong their human love,
Or temples far above.
To watch the Christians die,
With a strange light in his eye.
As on that group he gazed,
Upon his dark soul blazed!
To the dark catacomb,
Beyond the rack, the toinb?
The proud Vespasian o'er him bends,
“My priceless architect, To-day I will announce to all
Thy privilege elect,
A free made citizen of Rome."
Calmly Gaudentis rose,
Turned to the Saviour's foes ;
With Life and Death in view, The fearless architect exclaimed,
“I am a Christian too."
Only a few brief moments passed,
Aud brave Gaudentis lay
A lifeless mass of clay.
of proud Imperial Rome; But Christ withi martyrs crowned liin Kind;
Beueath Heaveu's cloudless dome.
THE ENGINEER'S STORY.
No, children, my trips are over,
The Engineer needs rest; My hand is shaky; I'm feeling
A tugging pain i' my breast; But here, as the twilight gathers,
l'll tell you a tale of the road, That'll ring in my head forever,
Till it rests beneath the sod.
We were lumbering along in the twilight
The night was dropping her shado, And the - Gladiator labored
Climbing the top of the grade; The train was heavily laden,
So I let my engine rest, Climbing the grading slowly.
Till we reached the upland's crecto
I held my watch to the lamplight
Ten minutes behind the time ! Lost in the slackened motion
Of the up grade's heavy climb;
That stretched a level track,
And pulled the lever back.
Over the rails a-gleaming,
Thirty an hour, or so,
Breathing a fiery glow;
It seemed a child alway,
My lightest touch to obey.
Holding it steady that night,
Ablaze with the Drummond light.
Where a child of three or four,
A playing around the door.
As we swept around the curve,
Struck fire through every nerve.
The reverse lever down in dismay,
Alead was the child at its play!
One instant-one, awful and only,
The world flew round in my brain, And I smote my band bard on my forehead
To keep back the terrible pain; The train I thought flying forever,
With mad irresistible roll, While the cries of the dying, the night wind
Swept into my shuddering soul.
Then I stood on the front of the engine.
How I got there I never could tell, My feet planted down on the crossbar,
Where the cow-catcher slopes to the rail,
One hand firmly locked on the coupler,
And one held out in the night,
The speed of our slackening flight.
I saw the curls of her hair,
Was lit by the deadly glare.
The groan of the anguished wheels,
In agony trembles and reels,
I shall think the old engine reared back,
I swept my hand over the track;
But I beard the surge of the train,
As racked by a deadly pain.
My fingers enmeshed in her hair,
To nestle securely there.
We men that run on the road
With tears ou them, listed to God.
As I neared the cabin again,
And slackened the speed of the train.
She always would come to the door;
Blesses me evermore.
THE NOBLE REVENGE.
The coffin was a plain one—a poor miserable pine cof fin. No Rowers on the top; no lining of white satin for the pale brow; no smooth ribbons about the coarse sbroud.