ch'd in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.

ks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea,

Cast from her lap, forlorn!

thy dead lips a clearer note is born

- ever Triton blew from wreathèd horn!

While on mine ear it rings,

ugh the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:

thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll!

Leave thy low-vaulted past!

each new temple, nobler than the last

thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free,

ing thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!

They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,

Not a better man was found

By the crier on his round

Through the town.

. And he looks at all he meets
Sad and wan;

And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,
"They are gone."

The mossy marbles rest

On the lips that he has press'd
In their bloom;

And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb.

My grandmamma has said—
Poor old lady! she is dead
Long ago—

That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow.

But now his nose is thin,

And it rests upon his chin

Like a staff;

And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack
In his laugh.

I know it is a sin

For me to sit and grin

At him here,

But the old three-corner'd hat,
And the breeches, and all that,
Are so queer!

And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree
In the spring,

Let them smile, as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough

AY, tear her tattered ensign down!

Long has it waved on high,

And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;
Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst the connon's roar;-
The meteor of the ocean air

Shall sweep the clouds no more.

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor's tread,
Or know the conquered knee;—
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!

Oh, better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,

And give her to the god of storms,
The lightning and the gale!

E BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN

was a tall young oysterman lived by the riverside,

shop was just upon the bank, his boat was on the tide;

daughter of a fisherman, that was so straight and slim,

d over on the other bank, right opposite to him.

v her wave her handkerchief, as much as if to say,

wide awake, young oysterman, and all the folks away."

▪ arose the oysterman, and to himself said he, s I'll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks should see;

in the story-book, that, for to kiss his dear, swam the Hellespont, and I will swim this here."

has leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining stream,

as clambered up the bank, all in the moonight gleam;

are kisses sweet as dew, and words as soft s rain

have heard her father's step, and in he eaps again!

e the ancient fisherman: "Oh, what was iat, my daughter?"

othing but a pebble, sir, I threw into the ater."

at is that, pray tell me, love, that paddles f so fast?"

ing but a porpoise, sir, that's been a-swiming past."

the ancient fisherman: "Now bring me ✓ harpoon!

ɔ my fishin-boat, and fix the fellow soon." that pretty innocent, as falls a snow-white nb;

rooped round her pallid cheeks, like seaed on a clam.

waves was drowned;

Fate has metamorphosed them, in pity of their

woe,

now they keep an oyster shop for mermaids down below.

E AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFASTTABLE

n "The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table," Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Publishers)

N has many tools, but a lie is the handle which fits them all.

-I think, Sir, said the divinity-student,-you

intend that for one of the sayings of the n Wise Men of Boston you were speaking of ther day.

chank you, my young friend,- -was my reply,— must say something better than that, before I I pretend to fill out the number.

-The schoolmistress wanted to know how many hese sayings there were on record, and what, by whom said.

–Why, let us see,—there is that one of BenjaFranklin, "the great Bostonian," after whom lad was named. To be sure, he said a great

wise things, and I don't feel sure he didn't w this, he speaks as if it were old. But then pplied it so neatly!—

He that has once done you a kindness will be ready to do you another than he whom you self have obliged."

en there is that glorious Epicurean paradox,