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Laughter I 'm certain will kill me to-day;
Though temper has all gone wrcng with him
And he carried the Tub along with him;
FREDERICK W. N. BAYLEY
The Old Sexton.
NIGA to a grave that was newly made,
“I gather them in; for man and boy,
* Many are with me, yet I 'm alone;
I'm King of the Dead, and I make my throne
Come they from cottage, or come they from hall,
“I gather them in, and their final rest
Is here, down here, in the earth's dark breast I" And the sexton ceased as the funeral-train Wound mutely over that solemn plain; And I said to myself: When time is told, A mightier voice than that sexton's old, Will be heard o'er the last trump's dreadful din ; “I gather them in—I gather them inGather-gather-gather them in.”
The Private of the Butts.
Last night among his fellow-roughs,
He jested, quaffed, and swore;
Who never looked before.
He stands in Elgin's place,
And type of all her race.
Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, unta'ght,
Bewildered, and alone,
He yet can call his own.
Bring cord or axe or flame,
Shall England come to shame.
Far Kentish hop-fields round him seemed,
Like dreams, to come and go;
Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleamed,
One sheet of living snow;
In gray soft eddyings hung;
Doomed by himself so young?
Yes, honor calls!—with strength like steel
He put the vision by;
An English lad must die.
With knee to man unbent,
To his red grave he went.
Vain mightiest fleets of iron framed,
Vain those all-shattering guns,
The strong heart of her sons;
A man of mean estate,
Sir FRANCIS HASTINGS DOYLE
From the quickened womb of the primal gloom
The sun rolled black and bare,
Of the threads of my golden hair;
Arose on its airy spars,
I painted the flowers of the Eden bowers,
Aud their leaves of living green.
Of Eden's virgin queen;
Had fastened its inortal spell,
To the trembling earth I fell.
When the waves that burst o'er the world accurs'd
Their work of wrath had sped,
Came forth among the dead,
I bade their terrors cease,
God's covenant of peace!
Like a pall at rest on a senseless breast,
Night's funeral shadow slept;-
Their lonely vigils kept-
Of Heaven's redeeming plan,
Joy, joy to the outcast man !
Equal favor I show to the lofty and low,
On the just and unjust I descend;
Feel my smile, the blest smile of a friend.
As the rose in the garden of Kings;
And lo! the gay butterfly winys.
The desolate Morn, like a mourner forlorn,
Conceals all the pride of her charms,
Till I bid the bright hours chase night from her bowers,
And lead tie young day to her arms;
And sinks to her balmy repose,
In curtains of amber and rose.
From my sentinel steep, by the night-brooded deep,
I gaze with unslumbering eye,
Is blotted from out of the sky;
Though sped by the hurricane's wings,
To the haven-home safely he brings.
I waken the flowers in their dew-spangled bowers,
The birds in their chambers of green,
As they bask in my matinal sheen.
Though fitful and fleeting the while,
William Pitt PALMER
HER suffering ended with the day;
Yet lived she at its close,
In statue-like repose.
But when the sun, in all his state,
Illumed the eastern skies,