In short,- They eat, and they drink, and they sleep; They sigh, and they laugh, and they weep; They pray, and they play, and they PAY,- AGONY EELLS.-ALLIE WELLINGTON. It was formerly a custom in the Roman Catholic church to commence a solemn toll of bells,-called "Agony-bells,"-when any one connected with the church was supposed to be dying. Somebody's dying to-night! Alas! Solemnly, mournfully break on the air,- From yon high tower they downward float, To some soul, 'tis the last of earth, And its tenderest ties are being riven,- Is it childhood, lovely and pure, Whose spirit is cleaving this midnight air? Is it youth, in the flush of hope, With its dreams of the future radiant and fair? Or is it manhood, strong and brave, That's fallen in th' noontide strife? Or age bowed down with th' weight of years,— It Somebody's dying! may be a mother-a father-a childA sister-a brother-a maiden fair;. It may be a homeless, friendless one, A stranger, far from love's tender care! Whoe'er it be,-was the solemn call Welcomed? or greeted with startling fears? Was their mission accomplished,--their life-work done? Somebody's dying! There are other deaths,-there are other graves, And sepulchres else than on earth are found. There are friendships that languish and hopes that expire, AS "OLD GILES" SAW IT.-D. S. COHEN. Ay, lad, look on yon ocean, now, you see it's calm and still; You wouldn't think its waves could rise, An' seem to meet the peaceful skies; An' take a ship of giant size, To dash it at their will. I've lived near ocean all my life, nigh on to eighty years; O'er many a strugglin' ship, an' heap Drag earthly hopes an' fears. I've seen staunch oak to splinters struck, an' seen the drown in' fight; Their cry for help has reached my ear, When willin' help could not get near; They've vanished from my sight. There's one sight as I seed, lad, and I wish I never had; I've lived nigh on to eighty years, Thro' all my share o' woe an' tears, Meet anythin' so sad. It were a couple come down here, near 'bout the close o' Spring; Wi' babes-a sturdy chap o' three, An' girl, as many months might be ;- What comin' moments bring. They took that little cot-yon, there; you see the roof from here; It stands upon a kind o' ledge, As overlooks the ocean's edge, An' close up to it grows the sedge, Too dangerously near. They liked it 'cause they thought they'd get such healthy, bracin' air; He made a palace o' the cot, An' bought a jaunty little yacht, That fancy kind, wi' which you've got To take the weather fair. He went out sailin' in the yacht, well, e'enmost ev'ry day; Sometimes she'd go, an' sometimes bide; The boy were allus at his side, Twere plain he were his father's pride, His very heart's sun-ray. They had a set o' signal flags, o' silk, an' made by her; Like children, which they were. I guess they'd lived here 'bout three month, or maybe t might be more; "Twere long enough for folk to find How good an' true they were, an' kind; Bes' liked-an' by us poor folk, mind O' all along the shore. It were a hot an' heavy day, barely a touch o' breeze; As makes you think the world's begun To scorch, an' judge 'twould be rare fun To sail due North-an' freeze. He went out early in the yacht-I seed him put away— I stood upon the beach the while, He nodded, wi' a pleasant smile; We goin' to fish to-day." 'Bout four o'clock the storm come up-I'd felt it sure since noon An' round about the cot I stayed, For truth I felt a bit afraid; An' all the arternoon I prayed It wouldn't come so soon. An' what a storm! the billows raged—a storm, too, in the skies The sea wind blew wi' might an' main, Well, fact, e'enmost a hurricane; The thunder roared, an' flashed again The lightnin' in our eyes. Oh! lad, the terror in the cot my tongue can ne'er relate; Wi' glass in hand she scanned the shore, I tell you, lad, it grieved me sore, I couldn't hope to see 'em more, 1 couldn't doubt their fate. But soon she thought she saw the yacht, a speck upon the wave, A little more-an' she could tell; It were the signal waved, "All's well," An' on her knees she prayerful fell "O God! my dear ones save!" The storm waxed high, the billows rose like monsters in hot wrath; The air wi' heavy vapors teemed; We saw, as bright the lightnin' gleamed, The yacht, as through the waves she seemed To cut hersel' a path. As fixed we gazed, wi' beatin' hearts, the air grew bright a spell; The little yacht kep' bravely on, An' faintly then we heerd the gun, Thanked God, the fight seemed nearly won; The signal waved-"All's well." Nearer and nearer still it come, she seed her darlin' boy, She seed her husband, tall an' fair; Her heart were full wi' joy. * * * Don't mind me, lad-there, look ahead; you see yon jagged rock? They'll put a safeguard there some day, He only felt the shock. Down like a stone! I heerd the scream, the terrible death, knell;- It were the folk as stood wi' her She didn't speak and didn't stir; The signal waved, "All's well." She stood like dead-it seemed an age to those who were around, Although it may seem strange to say, I b'lieve her soul had fled its clay, An' for the moment sped away, To whisper wi' the drowned. At las' she turned; wi' tearless eye, an' face like sculptured stone, She bade 'em all to leave the room; Said she, "We can't avert God's doom, Pray leave me, frien's, alone." The storm now ceased, its fury spent, the air were still once more; The men went out wi' rope an' hook Too ol' to go, I stood to look, An' all my limbs a-tremblin' shook To see her at her door. Her babe lay sleepin' in her arms, an' stony still her face; I felt my heart within me sink I told you 'bout that ledge, I think She walked right close up to the brink; I since ha' marked the place. I started to come near her, for I feared o' somethin' ill; When to her, wi' a crazed caress, Her child I seed her closely press, A plunge-an' all were still. Well, God is good! an' let us hope that in his realms above, Her anguished mind an' grief intense, Atone in mercy her offence, An' that they're joined forever, hence, In constancy an' love. NOBLE REVENGE.-THOMAS DE QUINCEY. A young officer (in what army no matter) had so far forgotten himself, in a moment of irritation, as to strike a private soldier, full of personal dignity (as sometimes happens in all ranks), and distinguished for his courage. The inexorable laws of military discipline forbade to the injured sol |