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“ He carries weight ! he rides a race!

'Tis for a thousand pound !”

And still, as fast as he drew near,

'Twas wonderful to view How in a trice the turnpike-men

Their gates wide open threw.

And now, as he went bowing down

His reeking head full low,
The bottles twain behind his back

Were shatter'd at a blow.

Down ran the wine into the road,

Most piteous to be seen,
Which made his horse's flanks to smoke

As they had basted been.

But still he seem'd to carry weight,

With leathern girdle braced,
For all might see the bottle necks

Still dangling at his waist.

Thus all through merry Islington

These gambols he did play, Until he came unto the Wash

Of Edmonton so gay;

And there he threw the wash about

On both sides of the way, Just like unto a trundling mop,

Or a wild goose at play.

At Edmonton his loving wife

From the balcony spied
Her tender husband, wondering much

To see how he did ride.

• Stop, stop, John Gilpin ! - Here's the house,”

They all aloud did cry; “ The dinner waits, and we are tired:

Said Gilpin — “So am I.”

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But yet his horse was not a whit

Inclined to tarry there;

For why? — his owner had a house

Full ten miles off at Ware.

So like an arrow swift he flew,

Shot by an archer strong ;
So did he fly – which brings me to

The middle of my song.

Away went Gilpin out of breath,

And sore against his will,
Till at his friend the calender's

His horse at last stood still.

The calender, amazed to see

His neighbor in such trim,
Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate

And thus accosted him :

“What news ? what news ? your tidings tell;

Tell me you must and shall — Say why bareheaded you are come,

Or why you come at all!”

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,

And loved a timely joke; And thus unto the calender

In merry guise he spoke: –

“I came because your horse would come;

And, if I well forbode,
My hat and wig will soon be here,-

They are upon the road.”

The calender, right glad to find

His friend in merry pin, Returned him not a single word,

But to the house went in;

Whence straight he came with hat and wig:

A wig that flowed behind,
A hat not much the worse for wear —

Each comely in its kind.

He held them up, and in his turn

Thus showed his ready wit

“My head is twice as big as yours,

They therefore needs must fit.

“ But let me scrape the dirt away

That hangs about your face;
And stop and eat, for well you may

Be in a hungry case

Said John “ It is my wedding-day,

And all the world would stare If wife should dine at Edmonton,

And I should dine at Ware"

So, turning to his horse, he said,

“I am in haste to dine; 'Twas for your pleasure you came here –

You shall come back for mine."

Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast,

For which he paid full dear! For while he spake, a braying ass

Did sing most loud and clear;

Whereat his horse did snort, as he

Had heard a lion roar,
And gallop'd off with all his might,

As he had done before.

Away went Gilpin, and away

Went Gilpin's hat and wig:
He lost them sooner than at first;

For why? - they were too big.

Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw

Her husband posting down
Into the country far way,

She pulled out half a crown;

And thus unto the youth she said

That drove them to the Bell, “ This shall be yours when you bring back

My husband safe and well.”

The youth did ride, and soon did meet

John coming back amain,

Whom in a trice he tried to stop

By catching at his rein;

But not performing what he meant,

And gladly would have done,
The frightened steed he frighted more,

And made him faster run.

Away went Gilpin, and away

Went post-boy at his heels,
The post-boy's horse right glad to miss

The lumbering of the wheels.

Six gentlemen upon the road

Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
With post-boy scampering in the rear,

They raised the hue and cry:

Stop thief! stop thief! a highwayman!'

Not one of them was mute;
And all and each that passed that way

Did join in the pursuit.

And now the turnpike-gates again

Flew open in short space;
The tollmen thinking as before

That Gilpin rode a race.

And so he did, and won it too,

For he got first to town;
Nor stopp'd till where he had got up

He did again get down.

Now let us sing, Long live the king!

And Gilpin, long live he;
And when he next doth ride abroad,

May I be there to see!

LIVELY MOVEMENT.

IRVING.

From “ The Fable for Critics."-Lorello What! Irving? thrice welcome, warm heart and fine brain, You bring back the happiest spirit from Spain,

And the gravest sweet humor, that ever was there
Since Cervantes met death in his gentle despair ;
Nay, don't be embarrassed, nor look so beseeching,
I shan't run directly against my own preaching,
And, having just laughed at their Raphaels and Dantes,
Go to setting you up beside matchless Cervantes;
But allow me to speak what I honestly feel,
To a true-poet heart add the fun of Dick Steele,
Throw in all of Addison, minus the chill,
With the whole of that partnership’s stock and good-will,
Mix well, and while stirring, hum o'er, as a spell,
The fine old English Gentleman, simmer it well,
Sweeten just to your own private liking, then strain
That only the finest and clearest remain,
Let it stand out of doors till a soul it receives
From the warm lazy sun loitering down through green leaves,
And you'll find a choice nature, not wholly deserving
A name either English or Yankee, – just Irving.

BONNY KILMENY.

From The Queen's Wake." - James Hogg.

They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away,
And she walked in the light of a sunless day;
The sky was a dome of crystal bright,
The fountain of vision, and fountain of light;
The emerald fields were of dazzling glow,
And the flowers of everlasting blow.
Then deep in the stream her body they laid,
That her youth and beauty never might fade;
And they smiled on heaven when they saw her lie
In the stream of life that wanders by.
And she heard a song — she heard it sung,
She kend not where; but sae sweetly it rung,
It fell on her ear like a dream of the morn-
“Oh! blest be the day Kilmeny was born !

Now shall the land of the spirits see,
Now shall it ken what a woman may be !
The sun that shines on the world sae bright,
A borrowed gleid frae the fountain of light;
And the moon that sleeks the sky sae dun,
Like a gouden bow, or a beamless sun -

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