snake; but it ain't got no buckle, and ain't much worn. It might be fastened with a 'asp, like a trunk, but not the elephance.

The eel would be a snake if it wasn't so good to eat, which makes 'em fish. If you put a eel in your brother's bed it will be a snake when he gets in, and he will holler wild.

There is a kind of snake which takes its tail in its mouth and rolls. Once a little boy seen one of 'em rollen, and tho't it was some boy's hoop got away, and he run after it with a stick, to roll it home for hisself; but as soon as he hit it it let go his tale and bit him good on the nose. Some folks tell fibs, and I seen it myself. That boy is now an old man, and my father and I hope it will be a warnin' to him.

Snakes eat frogs, like some people, and them in the menagerie has a rabbit. One day a big one in the menagerie swollered his blanket, and the keeper believed some boy had stole it, so he give a other, and he swollered that un too. When the keeper he come round again, and didn't see no blanket, he begun to think thinks; but the snake look up so innocent he was ashamed, and went and got him another, but he watcht. When he seen the snake swollerin' that un, too, he went and fetched a piller, and threw it to him, and said, "Now if you are going to make up your bed inside, like that, you better take this piller, and when you're turned, I'll pass you down a bottle of hot water for your feet, and make you comfortable. What time would you like to be woke up in the mornin'?”

There is snakes as long as trees, which eats goats alive. When the goat is down, they can't breathe; but the snakes can't, either, and then it is which can hold out the longest.

ANTONY TO CLEOPATRA,

I AM dying, Egypt, dying,

Ebbs the crimson life-tide fast,
And the dark Plutonian shadows
Gather on the evening blast.

Let thine arm, O queen, support me;
Hush thy sobs, and bow thine ear,
And listen to the great heart secrets
Thou, and thou alone must hear.

Though my scarred and veteran legions
Bear their eagles high no more,
And my wrecked and shattered galleys
Strew dark Achium's fatal shore;
Though no glittering guards surround me,
Prompt to do their master's will,
I must perish like a Roman,
Die the great Triumvir still!

Let not Cæsar's servile minions
Mock the cion thus laid low;

'Twas no foeman's hand that slew him,
'Twas his own that struck the blow.
Hear, then, pillowed on thy bosom,
Ere his star grows dim and gray,
Him, who, drunk with thy caresses,
Madly flung a world away.

Should the base plebeian rabble
Dare assail my fame at Rome,
Where the noble spouse, Octavia,
Weeps within her widowed home,
Seek her, say the gods have told me,
Altar's, augurs, circling wings,
That her blood with mine commingled,
Yet shall mount the throne of kings.

-

And for thee, star-eyed Egyptian!
Glorious sorceress of the Nile,
Light the path to Stygian horrors
With the splendors of thy smile.
Give the Cæsar crowns and arches,
Let his brow the laurel twine:
I can scorn the Senate's triumphs,
Triumphing in love like thine.

I am dying, Egypt, dying;

Hark! I hear the foeman's cry;
They are coming, quick, my falchion !
Let me front them ere I die.

Ah! no more amid the battle
Shall my heart, exulting, swell;
Isis and Osiris guard thee, -
Cleopatra! Rome! Farewell!

GEN. WM. H. LYTLE.

CLEOPATRA DYING.

SINKS the sun below the desert,
Golden glows the sluggish Nile,
Purple flame crowns Sphinx and Temple,
Lights up every ancient pile

Where the old gods now are sleeping;
Isis and Osiris great,

Guard me, help me, give me courage

Like a queen to meet my fate!

"I am dying! Egypt! dying!
Let the Cæsar's army come,
I will cheat him of his glory,
Though beyond the Styx I roam.
Shall he drag this beauty with him,
While the crowd his triumph sings?
No, no, never! I will show him

What lies in the blood of kings!

Though he hold the golden sceptre,
Rule the Pharaoh's sunny land,
Where old Nilus rolls resistless
Through the sweeps of silvery sand,
He shall never say I met him
Fawning, abject, like a slave,
I will foil him, though to do it
I must cross the Stygian wave.

Oh, my hero, sleeping! sleeping!
Shall I meet you on the shore
Of Plutonian shadows? shall we,
Death passed, meet and love once more?
See, I follow in your footsteps,
Scorn the Cæsar and his might, -
For your love I will leap boldly
Into realms of gloom and night.

--

Down below the desert sinking,
Fades Apollo's brilliant car,
And from out the distant azure
Breaks the bright gloom of a star;

Venus, queen of Love and Beauty,
Welcomes me to Death's embrace;
Dying free, proud, and triumphant,
The last sovereign of my race.

Dying! dying! I am coming,
Oh, my hero, to your arms;
You will welcome me, I know it,—
Guard me from all rude alarms.
Hark! I hear the legions coming,
Hear their cries of triumph swell;
But, proud Cæsar, dead, I scorn you.
Egypt! Antony! - Farewell!'

THOS. S. COLLIER.

СНЕЕК.

I've known men rise through talent, though such are exceptions

rare;

And some by perseverance, and industry, and care;

There are men who build up fortunes by saving a dollar a week; But the best thing to make your way in the world is to travel upon your cheek.

Now here am I, in middle age, just able to keep alive
By working away the livelong day as hard as I can drive:
Tom Wentworth takes things easy, and rolls in his carriage by;
And cheek is the one sole reason why he is richer than I.

Why, Tom and I were schoolmates about thirty years ago; I was reckoned one of the smartest, while at learning he was slow;

He didn't care for study, - played hookey half the week,
But somehow always dodged the cane by the aid of consummate

cheek.

"Little boys," they used to tell me, "should always be seen, not heard;"

When company came, I hung my head, and never could say a word;

But Tom was a saucy, forward cuss, well able to take his part: So I got the name of being a fool, while every one thought him

smart.

I

grew up nervous and timid, I never could blow or boast,So people took it for granted that Tom must know the most. Of what avail is learning — arithmetic, Latin, or Greek

If you haven't the talent to show it off, for lack of the requisite cheek?

Tom and I, as it happened, in love with the same girl fell,
I never could muster the courage my heart's desire to tell.
I think she liked me a little the best; but, before I dared to

speak,

Tom pressed his suit, and won her hand by steady, persistent cheek.

And then Tom struck for the city. He met with ups and downs; But always seemed to get ahead, in spite of fortune's frowns; Like a cat, he'd always fall on his feet; was confident, bluff, and bold;

And talked with the air of a millionnaire in possession of wealth

untold.

So Tom succeeded in business, and everything he'd touch,
For people always help the man who passes as owing much, -
While I didn't have the advantage of either my brains or cash,
For want of the self-assurance and courage to make a dash.

If "modesty is a quality," as the ancient saying ran,

"Which highly adorns a woman," it oftentimes ruins a man ; And those who are shy and backward, and those who are humble and weak,

Will be elbowed aside, in the race of life, by the men who travel on cheek.

So Tom, to-day, is the millionnaire, the flourishing merchant prince;

While, as for my hopes of success in life, I've given them up long since:

But the richest blessings of Heaven are promised the poor and

meek,

And men can't crowd through the pearly gates by travelling on

their cheek.

PHILLIPS THOMPSON.