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You held your course without remorse,

To make him trust his modest worth,
And, last, you fixed a vacant stare,

And slew him with your noble birth.
Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere,

From yon blue heavens above us bent,
The grand old gardener and his wife

Smile at the claims of long descent.
Howe'er it be, it seems to me,

'Tis only noble to be good.
Kind hearts are more than coronets,

And simple faith than Norman blood.
I know you, Clara Vere de Vere:

You pine among your halls and towers:
The languid light of your proud eyes

Is wearied of the rolling hours.
In glowing health, with boundless wealth,

But sickening of a vagne disease,
You know so ill to deal with time,

You needs must play such pranks as these.
Clara, Clara Vere de Vere,

If time be heavy on your hands,
Are there no beggars at your gate,

Nor any poor aisout your lands?
Oh! teach the orpban-boy to read,

Or teach the orphan-girl to sew,
Pray Heaven for a human heart,

And let the foolish yeoman go.

THE SAILOR-BOY'S DREAM.-WM. DIMOND. In slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay,

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind; But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,

And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers,

And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn; While memory stood sideways half covered with flowers,

Ard restored every rose, but secreted its thorn. Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide,

And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise; Now far, far behind him the green waters glide,

And the cot of his forefathers blesses bis eyes.

The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch,

And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall; All trembling with transport he raises the latch,

And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. A father bends o'er him with looks of delight;

His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear; And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast;

Joy quickens his pulses,-hiɛ hardships seem o'er; And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest,

"O God! thou hast blest me,-1 ask for no more. Ah! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye;

Ah! what is that sound which now 'larums his ear? *Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky!

'Tis the crashing of thunder, the groan of the sphere! He springs from his hammock, he flies to the deck;

Amazement confronts him with images dire;
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck;

The masts fly in splinters; the shrouds are on fire.
Like mountains the billows tremendously swell;

In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save; Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,

And the death-angel flaps his broad wings o'er the wave. O sailor-boy, woe to thy dream of delight!

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss. Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright,

Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss? O sailor-boy! sailor-boy! never again

Shall home, love, or kindred thy wishes repay;
Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main,

Frill many a fathom, thy frame shall decay.
No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee,

Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge; But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be,

And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge! On a bed of green sea-flowers thy limbs shall be laid,

Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow; Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made,

And every part suit to thy mansion below. Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away,

And still the vast waters above thee shall rolí; Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye,

O sailor-boy! sailor-boy! peace to thy soul.


Live for thyself! let each successive morn

Rouse thee to plans of self-indulgent ease; And every hour some new caprice be born,

Till all be thrown aside that does not please; So shalt thou learn how shallow is the fount

Whose glittering waves all wholesome thirst destroy, And, heart-sick, even in youth, begin to count

Springs without hope, and summers blank of joy. Live for thy fellow-men! let all thy soul

Be given to serve and aid, to cheer and love; Make sacrifice of self, and still control

All meaner motives which the heart might move; The sting of disappointment shall be thine;

The meed of base ingratitude be won: Rare veins of gold illume the labored mine,

And toil and sadness cloud thy setting sun. Live for thy God! Thine anchor shall be cast

Where no false quicksands shift its hold away; Through the clear future, from the sunrise past,

Glows the calm light along the even way. The loss of human hopes shall vex no more

Than the quick withering of earth's common flowers, For well thou know'st, when pain and death are o'er,

Eternal spring shall glad the heavenly bowers.


I think I must have caught cold by injudiciously sleeping on the floor during the period the house was being rinsed out. I had so much room that I must have become careless in the night, and got to trifling with the draft from a door. As I am a little bald the effect was disastrous. Through the day I felt a little stiff about the shoulders, with a sensation between the eyes as if I had been trying to inhale some putty.

I observed to Maria (Mrs. Perkins's name is Maria), that I had caught a bad cold, and would probably regret it in time. But she treated the matter lightly by remarking that I had “caught my granny.” As that estimable lady has been dead thirteen years, the reference to my catching her, with such a start in her favor, was of course a joke. Not a joke to be laughed at, I don't mean, but one to carry around with you, to draw out once in a while to blow on-a sort of intellectual handkerchief.

When I went to bed that night, I apprehended trouble. Along one jaw, the left one, occasionally capered a grumbling sensation. It kept me awake an hour or so trying to determine whether that was all there was of it, or whether there was something to come after which would need my wakeful presence to contend against. Thus pondering I fell asleep, and forgot all about the trouble. I don't know how long I slept, but I fell to dreaming that I had made a match of fifty dollars a side to fight a crosscut-saw in a steam mill, and was well to work on the job, when the saw got my head between its teeth. I thought this was a favorable time to wake up, and I did so. It immediately transpired that I might better have stayed where I was, and taken my chances with the saw.

I found myself sitting straight up in bed with one hand spasmodically grasping my jaw, and the other swaying to and fro without any apparently definite purpose.

It was an awful pain. It bored like lightning through the basement of my jaw, darted across the roof of my mouth, and then ran lengthwise of the teeth. If every flying pang had been a drunken plow chased by a demon across a stump lot, I think the observer would understand my condition. I could no more get hold of the fearful agony that was cavorting around in me, than I could pick up a piece of wet soap when in a hurry.

Suddenly it stopped. It went off all at once, giving me a parting kick that fairly made me howl.

“What on earth is the matter with you,” said a voice from one corner of the room.

I looked out into the dark astonished. “Maria, is that you ?” said I.

“What there is left of me," was the curt reply, followed by a fumbling about the mantel.

Presently a light was struck and Mrs. Perkins appeared before me. She had on her short-stop clothes. Her hair stuck up in all directions. Her nose was very red, and her eyes were expanded to their fullest capacity.

" Well, I declare, Cyrus Davidson, if this hasn't been a night of it! What in the name of mercy is the matter with you? Are you gone clean crazy, or have you sat on a pin? For one whole hour you have been carorting around on that bed, groaning like a dead man, and flopping your bony arms in all directions. I was literally knocked out of bed, and here I have been doubled up in a corner, the very life frightened out of me, and wondering whether you were going to set fire to the house, or bust out my brains with a hatchet. If you have got through with your contortions I'll come to bed, and try to get a wink of sleep."

I had got through, there was no doubt of it, and felt, in the relief I experienced, that it would be a comparatively easy matter to forgive Mrs. Perkins the suspicions of her alarm; as for braining her with a hatchet, I never thought of it. We haven't got one.

I thought I was rid of the teeth ache, but a grumbling set in again next morning. It was just like the feeling of the night before, and a still voice said to me,“ Look out, Perkins."

I did. I went right away to the dentist who had pulled the teeth of our family and knew our peculiarities. There was an ureasy smell about his office. It was very suggestive of trouble, and as I snuffed it in I experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I looked at him and sickly smiled. He was never, even on a holiday, the handsomest of men, but now his appearance was very, very depressing. He looked like a corpse with a lighted candle inside of it.

I told him what was the matter with me, how that I had been up all night with a four-story pain; how my wife had been thrown out of bed by the violence of my suffering, how

He asked me if I wouldn't sit down. I sat down on what was once a hogshead but was now cut down and newlv carpeted. He held back my head, opened my mouth, and went to fishing around inside with a piece of watch spring.

And while he angled he conversed. Said he,-
“You have caught a cold.”
“ I have.”

“It seems the trouble is with one of the bicuspids," he remarked.

Of course I didn't know what a bicuspid was, but thought

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