Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow, From my books, surcease of sorrow -sorrow for the lost LenoreFor the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
""Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;·
This it is and nothing more."

66

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, 66 or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door ; – Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"—
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somthing louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore; — "Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no

craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven, wandering from the Nightly shoreTell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown be-
fore

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before." Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster, till his song one burden bore —
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and

door;

--

Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen

censer,

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

66 Wretch," I cried, hath sent thee

"thy God hath lent thee-by these angels he

Respite-respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, Oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

66

Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil! — Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted

On this home by Horror hauuted-tell me truly, I implore-
Is there - is there balm in Gilead?-tell me - tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us― by that God we both adore –
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,*
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven," Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting

"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light, o'er him streaming, throws his shadow on the

floor;

And my soul from out that shadow, that lies floating on the floor,

Shall be lifted- nevermore!

*The place of departed spirits: from the Greek "Hades " or " Haides;" or perhaps the word is an Anglicized and disguised spelling of the Arabic form of the word Eden, synonymous here with celestial paradise.

[JOHN GALT was born in Irvine, Scotland, May 2, 1779, and died April 11, 1839. He was a voluminous writer, and among other things, author of a series of novels illustrating Scottish life and manners, of which the first in order of time, "The Annals of the Parish," became immediately and widely popular. They are unequal in style and structure, but none are without marked merit. He was for some time in Canada, and in one of the best of his novels," Lawrie Todd," the scene is laid in this country.

The following extract is from "Ringan Gilhaize,” a novel so called from the name of one of the principal characters. The scene is laid in Scotland, during the time of the religious persecutions under Charles II. and James II. The speech is by Ringan Gilhaize, a patriotic and religious enthusiast, in reply to Mr. Renwick, a clergyman, who had counselled moderation.]

MODERATION! — You, Mr. Renwick, counsel moderation -you recommend the door of peace to be still kept open you doubt if the Scriptures warrant us to undertake revenge, and you hope that our forbearance may work to 5 repentance among our enemies. Mr. Renwick, you have hitherto been a preacher, not a sufferer; with you the resistance to Charles Stuart's government has been a thing of doctrine of no more than doctrine, Mr. Renwick with us it has been a consideration of facts. Judge ye 10 therefore between yourself and us, I say, between yourself and us; for I ask no other judge to decide, whether we are not, by all the laws of God and man, justified in avowing that we mean to do as we are done by.

-

And, Mr. Renwick, you will call to mind that in this 15 sore controversy the cause of debate came not from us. We were peaceable Christians, enjoying the shade of the vine and the fig-tree of the gospel, planted by the care and cherished by the blood of our forefathers, protected by the laws, and gladdened in our protection by the oaths and the 20 covenants which the king had sworn to maintain. The Presbyterian freedom of worship was our property, we were in possession and enjoyment, no man could call our right to it in question, - the king had vowed, as a condition before he was allowed to receive the crown, that he would

pieserve it. Yet, for more than twenty years, there has been a most cruel, fraudulent, and outrageous endeavor instituted, and carried on, to deprive us of that freedom and birthright.

We were asking no new thing from government; we were taking no step to disturb government; we were in peace with all men, when government, with the principles of a

robber and the cruelty of a tyrant, demanded of us to surrender those immunities of conscience which our fathers 10 had earned and defended; to deny the gospel as it is writ

ten in the evangelists, and to accept the commentary of Charles Stuart, a man who has had no respect to the most solemn oaths, and of James Sharp, the apostate of St. Andrews, whose crimes provoked a deed, that but for their 15 crimson hue, no man could have doubted to call a most foul murder. The king and his crew, Mr. Renwick, are, to the indubitable judgment of all just men, the causers and the aggressors in the existing difference between his subjects and him. In so far, therefore, if blame there be, 20 it lieth not with us nor in our cause.

But, sir, not content with attempting to wrest from us our inherited freedom of religious worship, Charles Stuart and his abettors have pursued the courageous constancy with which we have defended the same, with more animos25 ity than they ever did any crime. I speak not to you, Mr. Renwick, of your own outcast condition, perhaps you delight in the perils of martyrdom; I speak not to those around us, who, in their persons, their substance, and their families, have endured the torture, poverty, and irreme30 diable dishonor, they may be meek and hallowed men, willing to endure. But I call to mind what I am and was myself. I think of my quiet home, it is all ashes.

- he was slain at Both

I remember my brave first-born, well-brigg. Why need I speak of my honest brother; the 35 waves of the ocean, commissioned by our persecutors, have

triumphed over him in the cold seas of the Orkneys; and