We'll soon be able-whist! I do be singin' till I'm hoorse, For iver since a month or more, my Larry's on the foorce! There's not a proivate gintleman that boords in all the row Who houlds himsilf loike Larry does, or makes as foine a show;

Thim eyes av his, the way they shoine, his coat and butthons too-

He bates thim kerrige dhroivers that be on the avenue!

He shtips that proud and shtately-loike, you'd think he owned the town,

And houlds his shtick convanient to be tappin' some wan down

Aich blissed day, I watch to see him comin' up the shtrate,
For, by the greatest bit av luck, our house is on his bate.

The little b'ys is feared av him, for Larry's moighty shtrict,
And many's the little blagyard he's arristed, I expict;
The beggyars gets acrass the shtrate-you ought to see thim
fly-

And organ-groindhers scatthers whin they see him comin' by. I know that Larry's bound to roise; he'll get a sergeant's post,

And afther that a captincy widhin year at most;

And av he goes in politics he has the head to throive-
I'll be an Aldherwoman, Kate, afore I'm thirty-foive!
What's that again? Y'are jokin', surely,—Katie ! is it thrue?
Last noight, you say, he-married? and Aileen O'Donahue?
O Larry! c'u'd ye have the hairt-but let the spalpeen be:
Av he demanes himsilf to her, he's nothing more to me.

The ugly shcamp! I always said, just as I'm tellin' you,
That Larry was the biggist fool av all Iiver knew;
And many a toime I've tould mesilf-you see it now, av

coorse

He'd niver come to anny good av he got on the foorce!

Part Twentieth.

100

CHOICE SELECTIONS.

No. 20.

OUR COUNTRY.-W. J. PABODIE.

Our country! 'tis a glorious land!

With broad arms stretched from shore to shore;
The proud Pacific chafes her strand,

She hears the dark Atlantic roar;
And, nurtured on her ample breast,
How many a goodly prospect lies
In Nature's wildest grandeur drest,
Enameled with her loveliest dyes.

Rich prairies, decked with flowers of gold,
Like sunlit oceans roll afar;

Broad lakes her azure heavens behold,
Reflecting clear each trembling star;
And mighty rivers, mountain-born,

Go sweeping onward, dark and deep,
Through forests where the bounding fawn
Beneath their sheltering branches leap.
And, cradled 'mid her clustering hills,
Sweet vales in dreamlike beauty hide,
Where love the air with music fills,
And calm content and peace abide;
For plenty here her fulness pours
In rich profusion o'er the land,
And, sent to seize her generous store,
There prowls no tyrant's hireling band

7

Great God! we thank thee for this home-
This bounteous birth-land of the free;
Where wanderers from afar may come,
And breathe the air of liberty!
Still may her flowers untrampled spring,
Her harvests wave, her cities rise;
And yet, till Time shall fold his wing,
Remain earth's loveliest paradise!

VASHTI.-JULIA C. R. Dorr.

Ahasuerus reigned. Kinglier king
Never did poet praise or minstrel sing!
He had no peers. Crownèd queen,

Clasping the sceptre my small hands between,
I might have reigned, yet kept a heart as free
As this light breeze that sweeps the Persian Sea!
But, ah! I loved my king-O woeful day of days!
Whose hours I number now in sad amaze,
That day Ahasuerus smiled and said,
"Since first I wore this crown upon my head,
Thrice have the emerald clusters of the vine
Changed to translucent globes of ruby wine:
And thrice the peaches on the loaded walls
Have rounded into gold and crimson balls.
The riches of my kingdom shall be shown,
And all my glorious majesty made known!"
Then came from far and near a hurrying throng
Of skilled and cunning workmen. All day long
And far into the silent night, they wrought;
Giving form to their great master's thought-
Till Shushan grew a marvel! Never yet
Yon rolling sun on fairer scene has set:
The palace windows were ablaze with light;
And Persia's lords were there, most richly dight
In broidered silks, or costliest cloth of gold,
That kept the sunshine in each lustrous fold:
Up from the gardens floated the perfume

Of rose and myrtle, pomegranate and orange bloom;
.Softest music swept

Through the vast arches, till men smiled and wept

For very joy. Then slowly keeping time

To the gay cymbal's clearly ringing chime,