The ball to kill that fox is run

Not in a mould by mortals made; The arrow which that fox should shun Was never shaped from earthly reed.

The Indian Druids of the wood

Know where the fatal arrows grow; They spring not by the summer flood; They pierce not through the winter's snow.

Why cowers the dog, whose snuffing nose
Was never once deceived till now?
And why amidst the chilling snows
Does either hunter wipe his brow?

For once they see his fearful den;
'Tis a dark cloud that slowly moves
By night around the homes of men,
By day along the stream it loves.

Again the dog is on the track,

The hunters chase o'er dale and hill;

They may not, though they would, look back; They must go forward, forward still.

Onward they go, and never turn,

Amidst a night which knows no day;

For nevermore shall morning sun
Light them upon their endless way.

The hut is desolate; and there

The famished dog alone returns;

On the cold steps he makes his lair;
By the shut door he lays his bones.

Now the tired sportsman leans his gun
Against the ruins on its site,

And ponders on the hunting done

By the lost wanderers of the night.

And there the little country girls

Will stop to whisper, listen, and look,
And tell, while dressing their sunny curls,
Of the Black Fox of Salmon Brook.

The same writer has happily versified a pleasant superstition of the valley of the Connecticut. It is supposed that shad are led from the Gulf of Mexico to the Connecticut by a kind of Yankee bogle in the shape of a bird.

THE SHAD SPIRIT.

Now drop the bolt, and securely nail

The horseshoe over the door;

'Tis a wise precaution; and, if it should fail,

It never failed before.

Know ye the shepherd that gathers his flock
Where the gales of the equinox blow

From each unknown reef and sunken rock

In the Gulf of Mexico,

While the monsoons growl, and the trade winds bark,

And the watchdogs of the surge

Pursue through the wild waves the ravenous shark

That prowls around their charge?

To fair Connecticut's northernmost source,
O'er sand bars, rapids, and falls,

The Shad Spirit holds his onward course
With the flocks which his whistle calls.

O, how shall he know where he went before?

Will he wander around forever?

The last year's shad heads shall shine on the shore,

To light him up the river.

And well can he tell the very time

To undertake his task:

When the pork barrel's low he sits on the chine

And drums on the empty cask.

The wind is light, and the wave is white

With the fleece of the flock that's near;

Like the breath of the breeze he comes over the seas And faithfully leads them here.

And now he's passed the bolted door
Where the rusted horseshoe clings;
So carry the nets to the nearest shore,
And take what the Shad Spirit brings.

The comparatively innocent nature and simple poetic beauty of this class of superstitions have doubtless often. induced the moralist to hesitate in exposing their absurdity, and, like Burns in view of his national thistle, to

"Turn the weeding hook aside
And spare the symbol dear."

But the age has fairly outgrown them, and they are falling away by a natural process of exfoliation. The wonderland of childhood must henceforth be sought within the domains of truth. The strange facts of natural history, and the sweet mysteries of flowers and forests, and hills and waters, will profitably take the place of the fairy lore of the past, and poetry and romance still hold their accustomed seats in the circle of home, without bringing with them the evil spirits of credulity and untruth. Truth should be the first lesson of the child and the last aspiration of manhood; for it has been well said that the inquiry of truth, which is the lovemaking of it, the knowledge of truth, which is the presence of it, and the belief of truth, which is the enjoying of it, is the sovereign good of human nature.

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MAGICIANS AND WITCH FOLK.

"FASCINATION,", saith Henry Cornelius Agrippa, in the fiftieth chapter of his first book on Occult Philosophy, “is a binding which comes of the spirit of the witch through the eyes of him that is bewitched, entering to his heart; for the eye being opened and intent upon any one with a strong imagination doth dart its beams, which are the vehiculum of the spirit, into the eyes of him that is opposite to her, which tender spirit strikes his eyes, stirs up and wounds his heart, and infects his spirit. Whence Apuleius saith, 'Thy eyes, sliding down through my eyes into my inmost heart, stirreth up a most vehement burning.' And when eyes are reciprocally intent upon each other, and when rays are joined to rays, and lights to lights, then the spirit of the one is joined to that of the other; so are strong ligations made and vehement loves inflamed." Taking this definition of witchcraft, we sadly fear it is still practised to a very great extent among us. The best we can say of it is, that the business seems latterly to have fallen into younger hands; its victims do (273)

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