Of creatures dumb and unknown to the laws;
And this shall make, in every Christian clime,
The Bell of Atri famous for all time."

Tales of a Wayside Inn, second day, 1872.

AMONG THE NOBLEST.

66 Yes, well

your story pleads the cause

Of those dumb mouths that have no speech,
Only a cry from each to each

In its own kind, with its own laws ;
Something that is beyond the reach
Of human power to learn or teach, -
An inarticulate moan of pain,
Like the immeasurable main
Breaking upon an unknown beach.”

Thus spake the poet with a sigh;
Then added, with impassioned cry,
As one who feels the words he speaks,
The color flushing in his cheeks,
The fervor burning in his eye :
"Among the noblest in the land,
Though he may count himself the least,
That man I honor and revere
Who without favor, without fear,
In the great city dares to stand
The friend of every friendless beast,

And tames with his unflinching hand
The brutes that wear our form and face,
The were-wolves of the human race!"

Tales of a Wayside Inn, second day, 1872.

THE FALLEN HORSE.

Mr. George Herbert's love to music was such that he went usually twice every week, on certain appointed days, to the Cathedral Church in Salisbury. When rector of Bemerton, in one of his walks to Salisbury, he saw a poor man with a poorer horse, that was fallen under his load; they were both in distress, and needed present help, which Mr. Herbert perceiving, put off his canonical coat and helped the poor man to unload, and after to load his horse. The poor man blessed him for it, and he blessed the poor man; and was so like the good Samaritan, that he gave him money to refresh both himself and his horse; and told him, "That if he loved himself, HE SHOULD BE MERCIFUL TO HIS BEAST."

Thus he left the poor man and at his coming to his musical friends at Salisbury, they began to wonder that Mr. George Herbert, who used to be so trim and clean, came into that company so soiled and discomposed; but he told them the occasion. And when one of the company told him "he had disparaged himself by so dirty an employment," his answer was: "That the thought of what he had done would prove music to him at midnight; and that the omission of it would have upbraided and made discord in his conscience, whensoever he should pass by that place; for if I be bound to pray for all that be in distress, I am sure that I am bound, so far at it is in my power, to practise what I pray for. And though I do not wish for a like occasion every day, yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pass one day of my life without comforting a sad soul, or showing mercy, and I praise God for this occasion." IZAAK WALTON'S Lives.

THE HORSE.

Hast thou given the horse strength?

Hast thou clothed his neck with his trembling mane ?
Hast thou taught him to bound like the locust?
How majestic his snorting! how terrible!

He paweth in the valley; he exulteth in his strength,
And rusheth into the midst of arms.

He laugheth at fear; he trembleth not,
And turneth not back from the sword.
Against him rattle the quiver,

The flaming spear, and the lance.

With rage and fury he devoureth the ground;
He will not believe that the trumpet soundeth.
At every blast of the trumpet, he saith, Aha!
And snuffeth the battle afar off,
The thunder of the captains, and the war-shout.
Job, chap. 39, NOYES' Translation.

To the South-wind He spake: From thee

A creature shall have birth,

To be the bearer of my arms

And my renown on earth.

Then to the perfect horse He spake :
Fortune to thee I bring;

Fortune, as long as rolls the earth,
Shall to thy forelock eling.

Without a pinion winged thou art,
And fleetest with thy load;
Bridled art thou without a rein,
And spurred without a goad.

BAYARD TAYLOR.

TO HIS HORSE.

Come, my beauty! come, my desert darling!
On my shoulder lay thy glossy head!
Fear not, though the barley-sack be empty,
Here's the half of Hassan's scanty bread.

Thou shalt have thy share of dates, my beauty! And thou know'st my water-skin is free: Drink and welcome, for the wells are distant, And my strength and safety lie in thee.

Bend thy forehead now, to take my kisses!
Lift in love thy dark and splendid eye :
Thou art glad when Hassan mounts the saddle,
Thou art proud he owns thee: so am I.

Let the Sultan bring his boasted horses,
Prancing with their diamond-studded reins;
They, my darling, shall not match thy fleetness
When they course with thee the desert plains!

5

We have seen Damascus, O my beauty!

And the splendor of the Pashas there; What's their pomp and riches? why, I would not Take them for a handful of thy hair!

BAYARD TAYLOR.

SYMPATHY FOR HORSE AND HOUND.

Yet pity for a horse o'erdriven,
And love in which my hound has part,
Can hang no weight upon my heart,
In its assumptions up to heaven:

And I am so much more than these
As thou, perchance, art more than I,
And yet I would spare them sympathy,
And I would set their pains at ease.

TENNYSON'S In Memoriam.

THE BLOOD HORSE.

Gamarra is a dainty steed,

Strong, black, and of a noble breed,
Full of fire, and full of bone,
With all his line of fathers known;
Fine his nose, his nostrils thin,

But blown abroad by the pride within!
His mane is like a river flowing,
And his eyes like embers glowing
In the darkness of the night,

And his pace as swift as light.

Look,

how 'round his straining throat Grace and shining beauty float!