snuff; it surprises me not to see Don Squixet here, any way; he's always the first into mischief, and the last to lave it.' "Dad, thinks I to meself, if he means the ould rousther, he's the fust to lave it this time, any way. But,' says I, 'and who's Don Squixet?' I axes, wid me heart into me mouth. "Ha! that's what I call the ould cock,' says he; but the rascal is up to some mischief now, I go bail, or he'd be here,' says Father Doyle. "Well, whether to down on me two knees (savin' yer prisence) and confess all, or lave him to find it out, I didn't know; when all to once the peaytees right furnenst us begun to move, and roll the one over the other. "Oah! what's that, Kitty?' cries Father Doyle. Be the powers, there's something coming up through the yearth!' 66 Faix, 'twas meself thought I'd sink down through it; for just then up comes the head of the ould rousther himself, bad scran to him, lookin' round to make out where he was. Awe! I couldn't tell yees how I felt. I fell down on me knees, and axed his riv'rince to forgive a poor crayter the sin av it. But, by and by, when the ould scamp got up and shuck himself, and clapped his wings, and crowed, be dad, I thought his riv'rince would split laughing, as well as Biddy. And when Father Doyle could spake, says he, wiping his eyes wid his kurcher, 'Kitty,' says he, always be sure a body's dead,' says he, ‘before you inters it,' he says. 'But see now, if you kill any av 'em outright, another time,' says he, 'just bring the remains to me,' he says, and we'll have a dish of broth out of it, anyway,' says he. And wid that, he set up a-laughin' again, and walked off, shakin' his sides; and I s'pose, if he told that story once, he did the Lord knows how many times. But he niver seed me, to this day, but he allus axed when I seen Don Squixet's Ghost last." HARRY BOLINGBROKE. THE KING'S BELL. "No perfect day has ever come to me," "A perfect day for us can never be, The young king heard him, and he turned away Did man ne'er find, on earth, the happy day For which they sought? A day so free from care, so running o'er That there seemed room or wish for nothing more "It must be that such days have come to man," "Go search, find one who found them, if you can." Ah, wise gray head! "I trust that some time such a day will come To even me," The king said; but the old man's lips were dumb. "Ah, you shall see! That you, and those about you, all may know A bell shall ring out when the sun is low, "Behold, this day has been unto the king With happiness! It lacked not anything; In a high tower, ere night, the passers saw The tidings of a day without a flaw The bell hung silent in its lofty tower; Each summer brought its sunshine and its flower, But not the perfect day he hoped to see. The day of days," he said, "will come to me, The years, like leaves upon a restless stream, And in the king's dark hair began to gleam Men, passing by, looked upward to the bell, "Delay not of the happy time to tell But they grew old, and died. And silent still At last the king, oowed down with age, fell ill At dusk, one day, with dazed brain, from his room Up rotting tower-steps, in the dust and gloom, Above the city broke the bell's great voice, "Behold the king's most happy day! Rejoice!" Filled with strange awe the long night passed away. "At last the king has found his happy day, - EBEN E. REXFORD. THE TRAMP OF SHILOH. YES, bread! I want bread! You heard what I said; As if never before came a Tramp at your door Would I work? Never learned. My home it was burned; And I haven't yet found Any heart to plough lands and build homes for red hands That burned mine to the ground. No bread! you have said? Then my curse on your head On that wife at your side, on those babes in their pride, Good-by! I must learn to creep into your barn; Suck your eggs; hide away; Sneak around like a hound, leave a match in your hay, — Limp away through the gray! curse these stones! And then my old bones Yes, I limp, What, you? You battled there, too? Well, you beat us, - that's all. Bread! money! and wine! sir? Madam, I dine You'll pardon me, sir, that fight trenched me here, Deep, deeper than sword-cut that day. Yet even my heart with a stout pride will start No matter who won, it was royally done, But I go. Sir, adieu! Tu Tityre. You Have Augustus to friend, While I, yes, read and speak both Latin and Greek, Hey? Oxford. But, then, when the wild cry of men As a mother that cries for her children, and dies, I dropped all, and came for the fight. What! sit? Sit, and tell ye how we fought? - how we fell? Tell to you, who did kill? 'Neath your cursed Northern vine set me down and drink We flew home, fool, that I brought him home here to die, Had implored this right arm keep him sacred from harm, Yet I know he had pined had I left him behind And his proud soul had cried, in his valor and died, To ride at my side in the wars. How young, and how fair, and how noble, · but, there! Sir, when we last stood in the place, and he last raised his face, I saw there my dead mother's eyes. "Twas Shiloh! We stood 'neath that hill by the wood, It's a graveyard to-day, sir, you know, And he smiled like a child, even laughed, as the wild That laugh was his last! When that bloody wave passed On his brow, on his breast, what need tell the rest? Then I sprang to my horse. I sought death in my course, But disdained still my death, I came back with my breath, When a storm wracks the sea great wrecks there must be, And so pardon me, please, for I am of these, But, good-by, I will bother no more. What! wounds on your breast? Your brow tells the rest, You the brave boy that stood at my side in that wood, My brother! My own! Never king on his throne God bless you, my life; bless your brave Northern wife, JOAQUIN MILLER. JOHNNY ON SNAKES. SNAKES is mostly pisen, but some don't. My father says they used to walk on their tails, the same as us, but now they has to walk on their belly, for foolin' Eve; but they seem to like it that way best. Snakes is said to be the same as serpence, but I always thought a serpence was the biggest. The rattlesnake's skin is too short for him, and don't cover all his bones, and when he wiggles they make a noise. My sister's young man he says it's the fault of the rattlesnake's tailor, in a measure. There is one which is got stripes, and it is called the garter |