Loaden with honor. And spurn me back: Say, my request's unjust, Thou art not honest; and the gods will plague thee, Like him by chance:-Yet give us our despatch: And then I'll speak a little. Cor. O mother, mother! I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, Auf. I was moved withal. Cor. Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir, Auf. I am glad, thou hast set thy mercy and thy honor [Aside [The Ladies make signs to CORIOLANUS Cor. Ay, by and by; [To VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, &c. But we will drink together; and you shall bear A better witness back than words, which we, THE HEAD OF MEMNON.-HORACE SMITH. In Egypt's centre, when the world was young, When the sun's infant eye more brightly plazed, Hewn from the rooted rock, some mightier mound So vast, so firm, that, as I gazed around. I thought them, like myself, eternal things. Then did I mark in sacerdotal state, Psammis the king, whose alabaster tomb, (Such the inscrutable decrees of fate,) Now floats athwart the sea to share my doom. O Thebes, I cried, thou wonder of the world! Where from the east a dust of cloud proceeds, Onward they march, and foremost I descried Commingled tribes-a wild magnificence. Dogs, cats, and mor.keys in their van they show, Then havoc, leaguing with infuriate zeal, The firm Memnonium mock'd their feeble power, Look'd down with indestructible disdain. Mine was a deeper aud more quick disgrace: Beneath my shade a wondering army flock'd; With force combined, they wrench'd me from my base, And earth beneath the dread concussion rock'd. Nile from his banks receded with affright, The startled Sphynx long trembled at the sound; While from each pyramid's astounded height, The loosun'd stones slid rattling to the ground. I watch'd, as in the dust supine I lay, The fall of Thebes-as I had mark'd its fameTill crumbling down, as ages roll'd away, Its site a lonely wilderness became ! The throngs that choked its hundred gates of yore, Deep was the silence now, unless some vast Or haply, in the palaces of kings, Some stray jackal sate howling on the throne: Nature o'erwhelms the relics left by time;- Beneath a mighty winding-sheet of sand. Twenty-three centuries unmoved I lay, And saw the tide of sand around me rise; Quickly it threaten'd to engulf its prey, And close in everlasting night mine eyes. Snatch'd in this crisis from my yawning grave, In London, now with face erect I gaze On Eugland's pallid sons, whose eyes upcast, But who my future destiny shall guess? Saint Paul's may lie, like Memnon's temple, ow. And Thames, like Nile, through silent ruins flow. Then haply may my travels be renew'd : Some transatlantic hand may break my rest, To some new seat of empire in the west. Mortal! since human grandeur ends in dust, And proudest piles must crumble to decay; In those blest realms-where naught shall pass away THE DUMB WAITER.-FREDERIC S. COZZENS. We have put a dumb waiter in our house. A dumb waiter is a good thing to have in the country, on account of its convenience. If you have company, everything can be sent up from the kitchen without any trouble, and, if the baby gets to be unbearable, on account of his teeth, you can dismiss the complainant by stuffing him in one of the shelves, and letting him down upon the help. To provide for contingencies, we had all our floors deafened. In consequence, you cannot hear anything that is going on in the story below; and, when you are in an upper room of the house, there might be a democratic ratification meeting in the cellar, and you would not know it. Therefore, if any one should break into the basement, it would not disturb us; but to please Mrs. Sparrowgrass, I put stout iron bars in all the lower windows. Besides, Mrs. Sparrowgrass had bought a rattle when she was in Philadelphia; such a rattle as watchmen carry there. This is to alarm our neighbor, who, upon the signal, is to come to the rescue with his revolver. He is a rash man, prone to pull trigger first, and make inquiries afterward. One evening, Mrs. S. had retired, and I was busy writing, when it struck me a glass of ice-water would be palatable. So I took the candle and a pitcher, and went down to the pump. Our pump is in the kitchen. A country pump, in the kitchen, is more convenient; but a well with buckets is certainly most picturesque. Unfortunately, our well water has not been sweet since it was cleaned out. First I had to open a bolted door that lets you into the basement-hall, and then I went to the kitchen-door, which proved to be locked. Then I remembered that our girl always carried the key to bed with her, and slept with it under her pillow. Then I retraced my steps; bolted the basement door, and went up in the dining-room. As is always the case, I found, when I could not get any water, I was thirstier than I supposed I was. Then I thought I would wake our girl up. Then I concluded not to do it. Then I thought of the well, but I gave that up on account of its flavor. Then I opened the closet doors, there was no water there; and then I thought of the dumb waiter! The novelty of the idea made me smile; I took out two of the movable shelves, stood the pitcher on the bottom of the dumb waiter, got in myself with the lamp; let myself down, until I supposed I was within a foot of the floor below, and then let go! We came down so suddenly, that I was shot out of the apparatus as if it had been a catapult; it broke the pitcher, extinguished the lamp, and landed me in the middle of the kitchen at midnight, with no fire, and the air not much above the zero point. The truth is, I had miscalculated the distance of the descent—instead of falling one foot, I had fallen five. My first impulse was, to ascend by the way I came down, but I found that impracticable. Then I tried the kitchen door, it was locked; I tried to force it open; it was made of two-inch stuff, and held its own. Then I hoisted a window, and there were the rigid iron bars. If I ever felt angry at anybody it was at myself, for putting up those bars to please Mrs. Sparrowgrass. I put them up, not to keep people in, but to keep people out. I laid my cheek against the ice-cold barriers and looked out at the sky; not a star was visible; it was as black as ink overhead. Then I thought of Baron Trenck, and the prisoner of Chillon. Then I made a noise! I shouted until I was hoarse, and ruined our preserving-kettle with the poker. That brought our dogs out in full bark, and between us we made night hideous. Then I thought I heard a voice, and listened-it was Mrs. Sparrowgrass calling to me from the top of the stair-case. I tried to make her hear me, but the infernal dogs united with howl, and growl, and bark, so as to drown my voice, which is naturally plaintive and tender. Besides, there were two bolted doors and double deafened floors between us; how could she recognize my voice, even if she did hear it? Mrs. Sparrowgrass called once or twice, and then got frightened; the next thing I heard was a sound as if the roof had fallen in, by which |