My heart is weary, my peace is gone, What is yon house with walls so thick, O curséd prison strong and barred, And quit that ugly part of Lille. The church-door beggar whines and prays, Ah, church-door beggar! go thy ways! My heart is weary, my peace is gone, I have no money, I lie in pawn, IV. Say, shall I to yon Flemish church, Ye virgins dressed in satin hoops, And lo! as I beheld with awe 'T was five o'clock, and I could eat, Although I could not pay, my meal; I hasten back into the street Where lies my inn, the best in Lille. What see I on my table stand,— I feel a choking in my throat, I pant and stagger, faint and reel! It is it is a ten pound note, And I'm no more in pawn at Lille ! [He goes off by the diligence that evening, and is restored to the bosom of his happy family.] SHADOWS DEEP! I own I start at shadows, Listen, I will tell you why; (Life itself is but a taper, Casting shadows till we die.) Once, in Italy, at Florence, I a radiant girl adored: When she came, she saw, she conquered, LANTERN. Round my heart her glossy ringlets "Mia cara Mandolina! Are we not, indeed," I cried, "All the world to one another?" Mandolina smiled and sighed. Earth was Eden, she an angel, "Fire and fury! double shadows "False, abandoned, Mandolina! Fare thee well, for evermore! Vengeance!" shrieked I, "vengeance! vengeance!" And I thundered through the door. This event occurred next morning; Stark amaz'd, as out I tumbled, Six weeks after I'd a letter, On its road six weeks delayed With a dozen re-directions From the lost one, and it said: "Foolish, wicked, cruel Albert! Base suspicion's doubts resign; Double lights throw double shadows! Mandolina-ever thine." "Mandolina! Mandolina!" When her house I reached, I cried: "Pardon, dearest love!" she answered"I'm the Russian Consul's bride!" Thus, by Muscovite barbarian, And by Fate, my life was crossed; Wonder ye I start at shadows? Types of Mandolina lost. THE RETORT. GEORGE P. MORRIS. OLD Nick, who taught the village school, Wedded a maid of homespun habit; He was stubborn as a mule, She was playful as a rabbit. Poor Jane had scarce become a wife, Before her husband sought to make her The pink of country-polished life, And prim and formal as a Quaker. One day the tutor went abroad, And simple Jenny sadly missed him; When he returned, behind her lord She slyly stole, and fondly kissed him! The husband's anger rose !-and red "Less freedom, ma'am!"-Jane sighed and said, |