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In all its greatness. It has told itself
Their feelings were all nature, and they need
Let these elms
DICKENS IN CAMP.-BRET HARTE.
Above the pines the moon was slowly drifting,
The river sang below;
Their ininarets of snow.
The ruddy tints of health
In the fierce race for wealth;
A hoarded volume drew,
To hear the tale anew;
And then, while round them shadows gathered fister,
And as the firelight fell,
Had writ of “ Little Nell."
Perhaps 'twas boyish fancy,—for the reader
Was youngest of them all,-
A silence seemed to fall;
Listened in every spray,
Wandered and lost their way.
As by some spell divine-
From out the gusty pine.
And he who wrought that spell?-
Ye have one tale to tell!
Lost is that camp! but let its fragrant story
Blend with the breath that thrills
That fills the Kentish hills.
And on that grave where English oak and holly
And laurel wreaths intwine,
This spray of Western pine.
THE GALLEY-SLAVE.-IIENRY ABBEY.
There lived in France, in days not long now dead,
A farmer's sons, twin brothers, like in face;
For a small theft, and sentenced in disgrace
Trusting remoter days would be more blessed,
He set his will to wear the verdict out,
Who some strong habit ever drag about,
But best resolves are of such feeble thread,
They may be broken in Temptation's hands. After long toil the guiltless prisoner said:
“Why should I thus, and feel life's precious sands The narrow of my glass, the present, run, For a poor crime that I have never done?”
Such questions are like cups, and hold reply;
For when the chance swung wide the prisoner fled, And gained the country road, and hastened by
Brown furrowed fields and skipping brooklets fed By shepherd clouds, and felt ’neath sapful trees, The soft hand of the mesmerizing breeze.
Then, all that long day having eaten naught,
He at a cottage stopped, and of the wife
She gave it him; but as he quaffed the lise,
Within the cot he now beheld a man
And maiden also weeping. “Speak,” said be, And tell me of your grief; for if I can,
I will disroot the sad tear-fruited tree.” The cotter answered: “In default of rent We shall to-morrow from this roof be sent.”
Then said the galley-slave: “Whoso returns
A prisoner escaped may feel the spur
Against his wish the cotter gave consent,
And at the prison-gate received his fee, Though some made it a thing for wonderment
That one so sickly and infirm as he, When stronger would have dared not to attack, Could capture this bold youth and bring him back.
Straightway the cotter to the mayor hied
And told him all the story, and that lord
The pursed sufficient silver of reward;
Than that of conscious, meek self-sacrifice.
And holy work, made his sublimc disguise,
SPEECH BY OBADIAH PARTINGTON SWIPES.
FELLOW CITIZENS :—We have met here to investigate the ethereal contaminations of this terraqueous government of the firmament below. We may elucidate the praises of the invisible Scott, who has fought with wise and deleterious conflagration over the plains of Mexico, through Behring's straits to Hudson's bay. And let me tell you, that the names of the invincible Modoc, and the oleaginous Chinaman, shall travel down to receding generations, gloriously enrolled on the records of perpetuity and glory. Yes, they shall live on, and shine on, when the Columbian principles of Hale and Julien shall be disembogued into the unforgotten regions of ambiguous fame.
But I have been accused of going for the sub-treasury and the “back pay"bill. Now, that's a whopper! and I am prepared to come down upon that base calumniator of innocence and beauty, like a thousand of brick! I'll hurl at him the gauntlet of egotism and pomposity, through the innumerable regions of Mozambique and Santa Fé de Bogota; and rush down on him like an avalanche on the plains of De Laplata, before I'll stand the charge! The sub-treasury means to watch the money. Now I say one man is enough to watch our money.
I had rather have one man to watch my money, my life, and my country, too, than to have a thousand, because Homer, the greatest poet that ever flourished in umbrageous England, says, in beautiful ambidexter, Latin verse“He that steals my purse,
But about our eternal improvements. What, in the name of the invisible Jackson, do we want to make so many railroads and canals for? What do we want any more water for in these United States? We have got water enough. The water in canals ain't good for nothing but to float boats in, the best way you can fix it. They want to go on making railroads and canals, until our country shall equal in magnanimity the great and philosophic Pacific ocean. And now, to conclude, fellow-citizens, let me tell you
that the memory of the whig and democratic democracy of our great republican constitution, shall be hung upon a star and shine forever in odoriferous amalgamation in the terraqueous firmament on high, in one eternal bustification!
OLD CHUMS. ALICE Cary.
Is it you, Jack? Old boy, is it really you?
I shouldn't have known you but that I was told You might be expected ;-pray, how do you do?
But what, under heaven, has made you so old ? Your hair! why, you've only a little gray fuzz!
And your beard's white! but that can be beautifully dyed; And your legs aren't but just half as long as they was;
And then-stars and garters! your vest is so wide! Is this your hand? Lord, how I envied you that
In the time of our courting, -50 soft, and so small, And now it is callous inside, and so fat,
Well, you beat the very old deuce, that is all. Turn round! let me look at you! isn't it odd,
How strange in a few years a fellow's chum grows ! Your eye is shrunk up like a bean in a pod,
And what are these lines branching out from your nose ?