!

Feelee wellee madee,
Face no lookee sweet,
Got no kidee bootee,
Stubble hurtee feet.

She no likee workee,
She no likee hay;
She no singee songee,
Allee longee day.

Judgee wellee thirstee,
Muchee wantee dlink,
Lookee plettee girlee,
Allee samee wink.

Plettee girlee smilee,-
Teethee wellee white.
Judgee longee gazee,—
Headee feelee light.

She no likee workee,-
Likee cuttee dash.
Judgee wellee soffee,—
Muchee gottee cash.

Plettee girlee blushee,-
Singee sweetee song.
Longee lashee droopee,—
Judgee allee gone.

Judgee oldee manee,

Headee wellee white.
Judgee liftee pursee,
Feelee wellee light.

Judgee lookee backee,
Cost too muchee wink,
Wifee gone to partee,
Judgee muchee think.

Allee sadee wordee,
Bookee allee pen,
Allee wellee sadee,

Whatee mightee been,

Allee samee worsee,

Girlee lakee hay,

Richee manee lidee,

Better keep away.

186

THE WIZARD'S SPELL.*-LETITIA VIRGINIA DOUGLAS. In the dark Thuringian forest stood a castle tall and grim, In whose chambers aged and hoary, hung with arras old and dim,

Dwelt the Baron of Von Klingen,--he a master stern and cold,

In whose service many a brow-beat serf and vassal had grown old,

Bent with blows and spent with starving (so had whispered
Rumor's tongue).

On his walls ancestral ever, suits of curious armor hung;
To the Wizard's rude ancestors this whole barbaric array
Had belonged; and he delighted, like a child, in their dis-

play!

There was one, among the number in the Wizard's den, that lacked

Rust and dust, like all the others,-'twas a giant cataphract; Curious-carved the scales, the gauntlets formed to glove a monster's hands.

There, grim-towering in his closet, chief of his delights, it

stands.

All apart, within the forest with his lady young and sweet, Dwelt Von Klingen, stern and mystic, at the awful Mesmer's

feet.

In his turret, from his lady far apart, he often stayed; Locked her from his mystic sessions, though she oft admit

tance prayed.

"Could she love this savage monster?" asked Dame Rumor. Aye, and more,

Passionate love and deep devotion for her lord in heart she bore.

Beauty and the Beast were nothing, wonderful to tell, beside This Thuringian Wizard-Baron and his fair and hapless bride!

In his turret-chamber lonely, locked from all the world

away,

Sat the Wizard, working magic, at the close of autumn day. He from board had long been absent, nor he once had sought the side

Of his weeping, yearning Gretel,-of his soft, adoring bride : And she longed, with sweet optation, as she'd never longed before,

For the love the Baron gave her in the happy days of yore, When their honeymoon was newest, and her cup was run ning o'er

*By permission of the Author.

With the joy of life and loving. Gretel wept in bower, apart, With her sad eyes full of sorrow, and a load upon her heart: Often, as she paced the forest, to that turret high she turned Wistful eye and wishful bosom, where his night-lamp dimly burned.

Then she speeded up the stairway, in the gloaming, like a ghost,

Heeding not the spectral shadows in the corners, nor the hosts

Of grim steel-men,-empty armors,-to his turret-chamber locked;

Then she beat upon its portals; stood, and tremblingly she knocked.

"Dear my lord!" she cried, entreating, "let me in! for 1 have grown

Pale with pining, sad with waiting for your coming, all alone!"

"Nay," he answered Gretel sternly: "hearken to thy lord's desire

Meddle not with red-hot irons, lest your fingers touch the fire!"

Day by day the same stern answer, day by day more loud

she prayed

At the Wizard's turret portal by its terrors undismayed; Till he yielded to her praying-for he loved her-though he told

Of strange horrors she must witness with a courage strong and bold,

And tried to intimidate her; but he only tried in vain : For she beat his portals louder, and besought him once again.

In that dim, mysterious chamber, with its awful gramarye, Gretel only clasped her hands, and begged its wonders

strange to see;

Till worn out with her entreating, he consented to enact For his lady; so he cased him in his wondrous cataphract. Thence he spoke-involuntary fear began to blanch her

cheek:

"When the spell is strong upon me, ye must neither scream nor speak!

Fearful things, as I have told ye, ere you forced me with vour prayers,

Must be seen by her who listens, who the Wizard's secret shares!

When the spell is strong upon me, at the wonders you

shall see

If ye lisp a cry of horror it will bring catastrophe!

'Neath this castle, unsuspected, lies a stream, which there hath run

Since the stars were lit in heaven and first blazed the virgin sun!

Bottomless it is, and inky-for there wafts it o'er a breath From the sluggish, dank miasma of the chilly land of death! If ye speak or shriek or whisper when the evil spell is on, Up shall rise the lake-the castle shall be none, ere light of dawn!"

Grave she grew, but brave she listened to the wonders he disclosed,

As she knelt upon a divan, pale and outwardly composed. Now the formula is spoken--barred and locked the turret door;

And the Wizard's form lies writhing like a serpent on the floor.

Horrid! how the scales so burnished on the cataphract, appalled,

Rose and bristled--as the Wizard through the chamber, sinuous, crawled!

Longer stretched his form and thinner, yonder waved the forky tail!

And the serpent's eyes fixed on her, made the Wizard's lady quail.

Nearer came the human monster, till its hot breath fanned

her cheek,

And the gaping jaws seemed ready some dark prophecy to

speak.

Hush a cry. The spell is broken by the lady's piercing shriek!

One loud crash, a sullen murmur sounded through that lonely

wood,

And a coal-black tarn was dimpling where the castle lately stood!

And to-day the peasant, stopping, as he passes through that

vale,

Pale with awe, in frightened murmurs, tells the traveler the tale.

GLORIA BELLI.-WILLIAM J. BENNERS, JR.

Written expressly for this Collection.

"Tis early morn. The clash of arms
Is heard midst nature's fairest charms;
Loud peals the bugle's stirring note,
And on the breeze bright banners float;
The trumpet's call echoes afar—
An army marches on to war!

With stately step they pass us by,
Each head with pride erected high;
Each eye with daring bravery fired;
Each heart with deepest hate inspired,—
Hate to the foe they long to meet,
The enemy they must defeat.

Clear on their swords the sunlight glows
And all their glittering armor shows,.
While every waving plume with dew

Sparkles like diamonds through and through.
Still swells the thrilling music, still
The brilliant pageant passes, till
The last plume glistens in the sun,
The last sword flashes-they are gone!
"Tis night, the smoke has cleared away
That hid the battle-field all day;
And the pale moon looks coldy down
On Victory with his bloody crown,
Lighting the dreadful place where lie
The dead and those who soon must die.
White faces, stern in death, are there;
Hands clasped and stiffened in despair,
The veteran of many a fight;

The boy with hair still childish bright;
Rank's noblest sons, and those whose fame

Is all forgotten, with their name;

The sunburnt brow, the cheek of snow,
Master and servant, friend and foe-
Are heaped together, pile on pile;
The lips of some wreathed with a smile
While others frown in rage and clutch
Their swords, or on the trigger touch
As if they just had sped the ball,
And, dying, seen the foeman fall;

Some limbless, some with shattered face;
E'en those who loved them could not trace

A feature, but would pass them by
Shuddering, and with averted eye.
Here is a headless body; there,
A head with tangled bloody hair;
And plumes, balls, swords, torn banners, lie
With mangled limbs, mixed horribly.

But oh, the dying! there alone,
Without a tear, or one kind tone,