The spring that bubbled 'neath the hill, close by the spreading beech, Is very low,—'twas then so high that we could scarcely reach; Near by that spring, upon an elm, you know I cut your name, same; Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark, 'twas dying sure but slow, Just as she died, whose name you cut, some twenty years ago. My lids have long been dry, Tom, but tears came to my eyes; Some are in the church-yard laid, some sleep beneath the sea; GOING OUT AND COMING IN. Going out to fame and triumph, Coming in to pain and sorrow, Coming in to gloom and night. Going out with joy and gladness, Ceaseless streams of restless pilgrims Through the portals of the homestead, Coming back all worn and weary, Weary of all empty flattery, Going out with hopes of glory, Mollie E. Moore THE LEPER. Day was breaking, When at the altar of the temple stood The holy priest of God. The incense lamp Burned with a struggling light, and a low chant Swelled through the hollow arches of the roof, Like an articulate wail; and there, alone, Wasted to ghastly thinness, Helon knelt. The echoes of the melancholy strain Died in the distant aisles, and he rose up, Struggling with weakness, and bowed down his head Unto the sprinkled ashes, and put off His costly raiment for the leper's garb, And with the sackcloth round him, and his lip Waiting to hear his doom : "Depart! depart, O child Of Israel, from the temple of thy God! For he has smote thee with his chastening rod, From all thou lov'st, away thy feet must flee, "Depart! and come not near The busy mart, the crowded city, more; Voices that call thee in the way; and fly "Wet not thy burning lip In streams that to a human dwelling glide; The water where the pilgrim bends to drink, "And pass not thou between The weary traveller and the cooling breeze; Nor milk the goat that browseth on the plain; "And now depart! and when Thy heart is heavy, and thine eyes are dim, Selected thee to feel his chastening rod;- And he went forth alone. Not one of all Breaking within him now, to come and speak It was noon, And Helon knelt beside a stagnant pool Footsteps approached, and with no strength to flee, Crying, "Unclean! unclean!" and in the folds Love and awe Mingled in the regard of Helon's eye, As he beheld the Stranger. He was not No followers at his back, nor in his hand As if his heart was moved; and stooping down, And laid it on his brow, and said, "Be clean!" N. P. Willis. PLEADING EXTRAORDINARY. MAY IT PLEASE THE COURT,-Gentlemen of the Jury: You sit in that box as the great reservoir of Roman liberty, Spartan fame, and Grecian polytheism. You are to swing the great flail of justice and electricity over this immense community, in hydraulic majesty, and conjugal superfluity. You are the great triumphal arch on which evaporates the even scales of justice and numerical computation. You are to ascend the deep arcana of nature, and dispose of my client with equiponderating concatenation, in reference to his future velocity and reverberating momentum. Such is your sedative and stimulating character. My client is only a man of domestic eccentricity and matrimonial configuration, not permitted, as you are, gentlemen, to walk in the primeval and lowest vales of society, but he has to endure the red-hot sun of the uni verse, on the heights of nobility and feudal eminence. He has a beautiful wife of horticultural propensities, that hen-pecks the remainder of his days with soothing and bewitching verbosity, that makes the nectar of his pandemonium as cool as Tartarus. He has a family of domestic children, that gathers around the fireplace of his peaceful homicide in tumultitudinous consanguinity, and cry with screaming and rebounding pertinacity for bread, butter, and molasses. Such is the glowing and overwhelming character and defeasance of my client, who stands convicted before this court of oyer and terminer, and lex non scripta, by the persecuting pettifogger of this court, who is as much exterior to me as I am interior to the judge, and you,--gentlemen of the jury. This Borax of the law here has brought witnesses into this court, who swear that my client has stolen a firkin of butter. Now, I say every one of them swore to a lie, and the truth is concentrated within them. But if it is so, I justify the act on the ground that the butter was necessary for a public good, to tune his family into harmonious discord. But I take no other mountainous and absquatulated grounds on this trial, and move that a quash be laid upon this indictment. Now I will prove this by a learned expectoration of the principle of the law. Now butter is made of grass, and it is laid down by St. Peter Pindar, in his principle of subterraneous law, that grass is couchant and levant, which in our obicular tongue, means that grass is of a mild and free nature; consequently my client had a right to grass and butter both. To prove my second great principle, "let facts be submitted to a candid world." Now butter is grease, and Greece is a foreign country, situated in the emaciated regions of Liberia and California; consequently my client cannot be tried in this horizon, and is out of the benediction of this court. I will now bring forward the ultima tum respondentia, and cap the great climax of logic, by quoting an inconceivable principle of law, as laid down in Latin, by Pothier, Hudibras, Blackstone, Hannibal, and Sangrado. It is thus: Hæc hoc morus multicaulis, |