"Impossible!"—"Nay, but it's really true; I have it from good hands, and so may you." Sir, did you tell ?" relating the affair: "Yes, sir, I did; and if it's worth your care, But, by-the-by, 'twas two black crows, not three." Whip to the third the virtuoso went. 66 Sir," and so forth.-" Why, yes, the thing is fact, It was not two black crows,-'twas only one : "Where may I find him?"-" Why,-in such a place." Away he goes, and having found him out,"Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt." Then to his last informant he referred, And begged to know if true what he had heard. "Bless me! how people propagate a lie! Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one, "Did you say nothing of a crow at all?" I did throw up (and told my neighbour so), JOHN BYROM. DEATH OF LITTLE PAUL. PAUL had never risen from his little bed. He lay there, listening to the noises in the street, quite tranquilly; not caring much how time went, but watching it, and watching everything about him, with observing eyes. When the sunbeams struck into his room through the rustling blinds, and quivered on the opposite wall like golden water, he knew that evening was coming on, and that the sky was red and beautiful. As the reflection died away, and a gloom went creeping up the wall, he watched it deepen, deepen, deepen into night. Then he thought how the long streets were dotted with lamps, and how the peaceful stars were shining overhead. His fancy had a strange tendency to wander to the river, which he knew was flowing through the great city; and now he thought how black it was, and how deep it would look, reflecting the host of stars, and more than all, how steadily it rolled away to meet the sea. As it grew later in the night, and footsteps in the street became so rare that he could hear them coming, count them as they passed, and lose them in the hollow distance, he would lie and watch the many-coloured rings about the candle, and wait patiently for the day. His only trouble was, the swift and rapid river. He felt forced, sometimes, to try to stop it,-to stem it with his childish hands, or choke its way with sand; and when he saw it coming on, resistless, he cried out! But a word from Florence, who was always at his side, restored him to himself; and, leaning his poor head upon her breast, he told Floy of his dream, and smiled. When day began to dawn again, he watched for the sun; and when its cheerful light began to sparkle in the room, he pictured to himself-pictured! he saw-the high church-towers up in the morning sky; the town reviving, waking, starting into life once more; the river glistening as it rolled (but rolling fast as ever); and the country bright with dew. Familiar sounds and cries came by degrees into the street below; the servants in the house were roused and busy; faces looked in at the door, and voices asked his attendant softly how he was. Paul always answered for himself, "I am better. I am a great deal better, thank you! Tell papa so!" By little and little, he got tired of the bustle of the day, the noise of carriages and carts, and people passing and repassing; and would fall asleep, or be troubled with a restless and uneasy sense again-the child could hardly tell whether this were in his sleeping or his waking moments of that rushing river. "Why, will it never stop, Floy?" he would sometimes ask her. "It is bearing me away, I think!" But Floy could always soothe and reassure him; and it was his daily delight to make her lay her head down on his pillow and take some rest. "Now lay me down," he said; "and, Floy, come close to me and let me see you!" Sister and brother wound their arms around each other, and the golden light came streaming in, and fell upon them, locked ⚫ together. "How fast the river runs between its banks and the rushes, Floy! But it's very near the sea. I hear the waves! They always said so!" Presently he told her that the motion of the boat upon the stream was lulling him to rest. How green the banks were now, how bright the flowers growing on them, and how tall the rushes! Now the boat was out at sea, but gliding smoothly on.. And now there was a shore before him. Who stood on the bank He put his hands together, as he had been used to do at his prayers. He did not remove his arms to do it; but they saw him fold them so, behind her neck. "Mamma is like you, Floy. I know her by the face! But tell them that the print upon the stairs at school is not divine enough. The light about the head is shining on me as I go!" The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred in the room. The old, old fashion! The fashion that came in with our first garments, and will last unchanged until our race has run its course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old, old fashion,-Death! O thank God, all who see it, for that older fashion yet, of Immortality! And look upon us, angels of young children, with regards not quite estranged, when the swift river bears us to the ocean! CHARLES DICKENS. THE GRAY SWAN. "O SAILOR, tell me, tell me true, The sailor's eyes were dimmed with dew.- He said with trembling lip; What little lad?'- Another such an one as he! 'What little lad,' do you say? "And did the little lawless lad, That has made you sick, and made you sad, Be sure, he sailed with the crew,- "And he has never written line, "Hold!--if 'twas wrong, the wrong is mine; Besides, he may be in the brine; And could he write from the grave? |