And vandals plying their infernal craft;
Or reverent toilers shuddering as they plunge
Their picks and spades into protesting graves,
In mute obedience to enactments framed
By legislators whose inhuman souls,
Fit only for annihilation, ought
To render meek apology to earth

For their existence here, and quick descend
Into oblivion in nameless graves,
And be forgot of God and all mankind.

Avarice, with sacrilegious fingers, gleans
The whitened bones of human skeletons
From out the depths of hoary sepulchers,
And barters them as merchandise for gold.
The ghastly resurrectionist, betimes,
Pilfers the jewel from the new-made grave,
And in the darkness of the midnight hour
Drags it with guilty haste to secret haunts
Where science waits to flay with whetted blade
The form scarce emptied of its quivering soul.
Oft the rude plowshare, guided in its course
By ruthless and irreverent hands, transforms
The consecrated soil 'neath which repose
The sacred ashes of the sainted dead,
Into a common acreage for crops.

Then who would not elect to have his dust
"Rocked in the cradle of the deep" for aye?
For they who slumber on old ocean's bed
Repose in undisturbed security.

The sea protects the precious dust which God
Entrusts to its eternal guardianship,

'Gainst every form of desecrative art.

The ocean's dead sleep not 'neath monuments

Whose height, and breadth, and grand dimensions all

Bear inverse ratio to departed worth

As if erected with intent to mock,

With solemn irony of greatness, forms

Which ne'er contained aught save inferior souls.

Who slumber on the bosom of the deep
Escape the woes of epitaphic art.

They rest in peace. No graven marble slab

Commemorates in execrable verse,

Framed by the poetasters weeping pen,

Virtues discovered only in the grave,

Deeds whose ascription to the modest dead
Might well suffice to bring the crimson blush
Back to their pallid cheeks, could they but rise
And read their own posthumous records o'er.
No potter's field, whose sunken graves afford
Nocturnal dens where vagrant dogs, concealed
From human view, devour ill-gotten pelf,
Haunts like a specter the expiring poor
Who, falling as they voyage o'er the main,
Commit their forms to its embrace.

The sea,

With proud contempt for human greatness, yields
No homage to distinctions based on birth,
Or wealth or station. Here one common lot
Awaits alike the master and the slave.
Pauper and prince lie side by side entombed,
And tatters rival regal robes as shrouds.
Then rest in sweet tranquillity, ye dead,
O'er whom old ocean chants its requiem,
In patient waiting till th' archangel's trump,
Resounding through the sky, shall animate
All human dust, and God shall bid both earth
And sea give up their dead.

NOT WILLIN'.

Says bould Barney Milligan,

To Biddy McSnilligan,

"Och, faith! it's mesilf wud be loikin' a kiss." Cries Biddy McSnilligan,

"Ye'd betther be still agin,

Oi'll not be endoorin' sich tratement as this."

"Arrah! Dearest Biddy,

Be aisy, be stiddy,

Indade, it's no use to be actin' loike this:
Och! Scratch a man's nose off,

An' tear all his clo'es off,

It's a bit uv a row to be gittin' a kiss." "Go way, Mr. Barney,

No more of your blarney,

Or instid uv a kiss ye'll be gittin' a kick.
Ould red-headed Barney,

Yer wastin' yer blarney,

Fur here comes the missis! Ach! Barney, be quick!"

THE DUEL SCENE FROM "THE RIVALS."

R. B. SHERIDAN.

Bob Acres is devoted to Miss Lydia Languish, and resents the attentions be stowed upon her by one Beverley.

Acting upon the advice of Sir Lucius obtains the promise of Captain "Bob" is a great coward, but fellow of such bellicose renown

O Trigger, he consents to send a challenge, and Asolute to be the bearer of the haughty curtel. the Captain agrees to represent him as a terrible that he goes by the name of “* Fighting Bob."

Enter Ser Lucius O Trigger and Acres, with pistols.

ACRES. By my valor! then, Sir Lucius, forty yards is a good distance. Odds levels and aims!-I say it is a good distance.

SIR LUCIUS. Is it for muskets or smali field-pieces? Upon my conscience, Mr. Acres, you must leave those things to me. Stay now I'll show you. (Measures paces along the stage.) There now, that is a very pretty distance,—a pretty gentleman's distance.

ACRES. Zounds! we might as well fight in a sentry-box! I tell you, Sir Lucius, the farther he is off, the cooler I shall take my aim.

SIR L. Faith! then I suppose you would aim at him best of all if he was out of sight.

ACRES. No, Sir Lucius; but I should think forty or eightand-thirty yards

SIR L. Pho! pho! nonsense! three or four feet between the mouths of your pistols is as good as a mile.

ACRES. Odds bullets, no!-by my valor! there is no merit in killing him so near. Do, my dear Sir Lucius, let me bring him down at a long shot,-a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me!

Sir L. Well, the gentleman's friend and I must settle that. But tell me now, Mr. Acres, in case of an accident, is there any little will or commission I could execute for you? ACRES. I am much obliged to you Sir Lucius, but I don't understand

SIR L. Why, you may think there's no being shot at without a little risk-and if an unlucky bullet should carry a quietus with it I say it will be no time then to be bothering you about family matters.

ACRES A quietus!

SIR L. For instance, now-if that should be the casewould you choose to be pickled and sent home?—or would

it be the same to you to lie here in the Abbey? I'm told there is very snug lying in the Abbey.

ACRES. Pickled! Snug lying in the Abbey! Odds tremors! Sir Lucius, don't talk so!

SIR L. I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were engaged in an affair of this kind before?

ACRES. No, Sir Lucius, never before.

SIR L. Ah! that's a pity!-there's nothing like being used to a thing. Pray now, how would you receive the gentleman's shot?

ACRES. Olds files! I've practised that--there, Sir Lucius there. (Puts himself in an attitude.) A side-front, hey? Odd! I'll make myself small enough; I'll stand edgeways. SIR L. Now you're quite out-for if you stand so when I take my aim [Leveling at him. Zounds! Sir Lucius - are you sure it is not cocked? SIR L. Never fear.

ACRES.

ACRES.

own head!

But-but-you don't know-it may go off of its

SIR L. Pho! be easy. Well, now, if I hit you in the body, my bullet has a double chance—for if it misses a vital part of your right side 'twill be very hard if it don't succeed on the left!

SIR L. But, there-fix yourself so (placing him)—let him see the broad-side of your full front-there-now a ball or two may pass clean through your body, and never do any harm at all.

ACRES. Clean through me!--a ball or two clean through me! SIR L. Ay, may they, and it is much the genteelest attitude into the bargain.

ACRES. Look'ee! Sir Lucius, I'd just as lieve be shot in an awkward posture as a genteel one; so, by my valor! I will stand edgeways.

SIR L. (looking at his watch.) Sure they don't mean to disappoint us -hab!-no, faith, I think I see them coming.

SIR L. Ay. Who are those yonder getting over the stile? ACRES. There are two of them indeed!-well-let them

come-hey, Sir Lucius!-we-we-we-we-wont run. SIR L. Run!

ACRES.

SIR L.

N-I say we wont run, by my valor!
What's the matter with you?

ACRES. Nothing -nothing -my dear friend--my dear Sir Lucius--but 1--1--I don't feel quite so bold, somehow, as I did. SIR L. O fy-consider your honor.

ACRES. Ay-true-my honor. Do, Sir Lucius, edge in a word or two every now and then about my honor. SIR L. Well, here they're coming.

[Looking. ACRES. Sir Lucius-if I wa'n't with you, I should almost think I was afraid. If my valor should leave me! Valor will come and go.

SIR L. Then pray keep it fast, while you have it.

ACRES. Sir Lucius-I doubt it is going-yes-my valor is certainly going!--it is sneaking off!-I feel it oozing out as it were at the palms of my hands!

SIR L. Your honor-your honor. Here they are.

ACRES. Oh, mercy!--now--that I was safe at Clod-Hall!--or could be shot before I was aware!

THE SEER AND THE DREAMERS.-ELLEN MURRAY. Written expressly for this Collection.

Seer. Say on!

What was the dream that waked thy soul?

First dreamer.

In the mid hour of night

When evil spirits ride,

And in the dreadful dark

Strange shadows moan and glide,

When only souls can see,

When sounds are mystery

Seer.- Speak out! Speak free! What was the dream? Say on!

First dreamer.

I dreamed I saw a tree,

Arising splendidly;

Thick were the giant boughs,

The top was at the sky,

The fruits hung close and close

And blessed the passer-by.

Ser. So stands a strong, wise man among his race

First dreamer.

I looked, I saw a worm,

Sinall as a smill, white thread,
So very, very small;

It moved its tiny head,

And while men waked and slept,

This way, that way it crept.