struggles, and how eagerly I stretched out my hands as the waters went over you! But a friendly spar came within your grasp, and again you were snatched from my arms. Disheartened, I left you. But at last, at the banquet, I saw you sip the sparkling wine. Then hope revived within me. You escaped war, which is my King Saul, that slew his thousands; but the wine-cup is my David that has slain his ten thousands. I was in your banquets. I mingled in your wine, and knew full well that ere long for you my weary watch was over,—that you, in your frenzy, would seek me. Ha ha! At last

I have found you!

THE MYSTERIOUS GUEST.-FOWLER BRANNOCK.

'Twas night-the clock had just struck ten,

When, with a mighty din,

The stage coach halted at the door

Of Smith's hotel in Lynn,

An inside passenger got out,

Who straight went in the inn.

His portly figure was enwrapped

In overcoat of shag;

While one hand grasped a traveling trunk,

The other held a bag;

And in the twinkle of his eye,

You recognized a wag.

"Waiter," he cried, "show me a room

I'm tired and travel-sore."

The waiter showed him to a room

Upon the second floor.

"Just stay a moment," said the man:

The waiter closed the door.

"Ye see," observed the traveler,
"Ere I can take a doze,
I'll have to ask a little help

In getting off my clothes;

For I'm a trifle crippled,

And can't pull off my hose."

"All right," replied the waiter,
Who was a generous elf;
“I pities any man," said he,
"As can't undress himself;
I'll very soon unrig you, sir,

And lay you on your shelf.”
""Tis well," resumed the traveler,
Who dropped into a chair,
"First hang my wig upon yon peg,"
And he took off his hair.

"I'm like a case of glass," said he,
"And must be touched with care."

And as he spoke, he ope'd his mouth
As though it was a trap,

And thrust his fingers in the hole-
The waiter heard a snap,

And out there rolled two sets of teeth,
And fell into his lap.

"Now, waiter, just unscrew my arm,

But don't look so alarmed;

I'm helpless as a sailing ship
Upon a sea becalmed.

And when my arm you've taken off,

You'll see that I'm disarmed."

The waiter in astonishment

Upon the traveler gazed:

He thought so strange a stranger

Must certainly be crazed;

But, when he saw the arm come off,
He was still more amazed,

And seemed inclined to go away.
"A moment more, I beg,"
Cried out the waggish traveler:
"Help me unstrap my leg."
The waiter's hair began to rise
As off he pulled the peg.

"As sheep in summer," said the man,
"Rejoice to lose their fleeces,
So, when I doff my limbs at night,

My happiness increases,

Because I cannot rest in peace

Unless I rest in pieces.”

Then he apostrophized his limbs

In strange soliloquy :

"Alas!

said he, "one's in the earth,

The other's in the sea;

But, though I well remember them,

They can't re-member me.

"Now bring me here that looking-glass,
And I'll take out my eye;
Although I'm not a party man

A 'man of parts' am I;"
And, as he uttered this vile joke,
He laughed as if he'd die.

The waiter's hair now stood on end,
He trembled with affright;
"Surely," thought he, "no mortal eyes
Ere saw so strange a sight."
But the man of fractions only sat
And laughed with all his might.

"Now lay my fragments in that box,
Where they'll be out of sight;
Be careful not to drop the eye,

And mind the teeth don't bite.
My limbs go on my trunk by day,
And in my trunk at night."
But fear held fast the waiter:
He merely stood and stared.

To see such soul-appalling sights
He hadn't come prepared :

While the traveler only laughed the more,

To see the man so scared;

And putting on a serious look,

In solemn accents said,

"There's only one more thing to do

Before I get in bed:

Steady yourself against the wall

And just unscrew my head!"

You've met afore the metaphor
About the camel's back;
'Tis a common aphorism where
The creature's made a hack.
It says it is the final straw

That makes his spine to crack.

It is as apt as it is old,

And, in the waiter's case,

The meaning of the proverb is
Not difficult to trace,

For he could hear no more, but rushed
From out the accursed place.

And down the stairs by threes and pairs,
He fled with speed as quick

As if an angry Nemesis

Pursued him with a stick,

Or as though the man without a leg
Had given him a kick.

And heavily as falls a log,

Or loaf of bread sans leaven,
He fell upon the sanded floor,

And, pointing up towards heaven,
Shrieked out "I've seen the devil!
He's up in Number Seven!"

A DRUM.--STANLEY WATERLOO.

A regiment in motion and the rattle of a drum,
With a rat, tat, tat! and rat, tat, tum!

Fear is on the face of some,

Others stepping with aplomb;

And steady is the patter and the clatter of the drum.

Sweeping lines in evolution fast the wheeling columns come And a thousand men are stepping to the tapping of the drum! There are countenances glum,

There are senses dull and numb,

But a boy is stepping proudly-there is playing on the drum.
The rage and roar of battle, and the rattle of a drum,
The shrapnel shot are flying with a zip! and a zum!
Cruel shells exploding come,

And the bullets hiss and hum!

But a drum still echoes loudly. Will the thing be never mum? Darkness on the field of battle, where the body-seekers come; The storm of death is ended, and displayed the struggle's

sum:

A pallid face, a drum,

There is blood, and both are dumb,A story of a drummer and a story of a drum.

THE SWORD.*-HELEN BOOTH.

All through the smiling, resting land
There came the cry for valiant men-
A traitorous horde was on the strand,
And threatened freedom. Then, ah, then
Uprose the country's manly forms,
Each heart with fevered throbbings for
The land it loved, whose very storms
Were sweet as peace in time of war.
A blanched woman of threescore years,
A widow with a son alone,

Pushed back gray hair and dried her tears
(A fire within her pale eyes shone),
Her boy of nineteen years she called,
Her all of love, her most of life,

Within whose heart her own was walled.
She stifled her wild bosom's strife,

She reached his grandsire's trusty blade
From off its hook above the board,
And held it to the lad, and said,
"Here is your sword!"

Oh, carnage, carnage everywhere!
The rattle and the din and smoke;
The glints of fire; the awful stare
Of blackened, sweatened men who spoke
Their will in deadly deeds; the shrieks
From writhing wounded forms; the rush
Of steeds with fiery nostrils, streaks
Of foam upon them; the awful crush
Of flesh to earth! And there was yet
A pass untaken, through which must
The victory come. Let none forget
The lad of nineteen years, who thrust
Himself before his General's gaze,
When all appalled they eyed the pass

Where Death eyed them! His fair young face
Shone with his mother's love. "Nay, lass,"

The General frowned-"or lad art thou?

What time have I to list thy word?"
"List not," said he; "bid me to do-

Here is my sword!”

Written expressly for this Collection.