And her- why, I said "Good morrow

"Good even," and nothing more:

The neighborly way! She was just to me as fifty

had been before.

So coward it is and coward shall be! There's a

friend, now!

Of water I wanted

Thanks! A drink

and now I can walk, get home

by myself, I think.

THE LOST LEADER.

I.

Just for a handful of silver he left us,

Just for a riband to stick in his coat

Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us,

Lost all the others she lets us devote;

They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver,
So much was their's who so little allowed :
How all our copper had gone for his service!
Rags were they purple, his heart had been

proud!

We that had loved him so, followed him, honored

him,

Lived in his mild and magnificent eye,

Learned his great language, caught his clear accents,

Made him our pattern to like and to die!

Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us,

Burns, Shelley, were with us, they watch from

their graves!

He alone breaks from the van and the freemen,

He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves !

II.

We shall march prospering,- not thro' his presence;
Songs may inspirit us,—not from his lyre;
Deeds will be done,- while he boasts his quiescence,

Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire :

Blot out his name, then,―record one lost soul more, One task more declined, one more footpath

untrod,

One more triumph for devils, and sorrow for angels, One wrong more to man, one more insult to God! Life's night begins: let him never come back to us! There would be doubt, hesitation and pain, Forced praise on our part - the glimmer of twilight, Never glad confident morning again!

Best fight on well, for we taught him,-strike gallantly,

Aim at our heart ere we pierce through his own ; Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us,

Pardoned in Heaven, the first by the throne!

THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN;

A CHILD'S STORY.

(WRITTEN FOR, and inscribed to, w. M. THE YOUNGER.)

I.

Hamelin Town's in Brunswick,

By famous Hanover city;

The river Weser, deep and wide,

Washes its wall on the southern side;

A pleasanter spot you never spied;

But, when begins my ditty,

Almost five hundred years ago,

To see the townsfolk suffer so

From vermin, was a pity.

II.

Rats!

They fought the dogs, and killed the cats,

And bit the babies in the cradles,

And ate the cheeses out of the vats,

And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,

Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,
And even spoiled the women's chats,
By drowning their speaking

With shrieking and squeaking
In fifty different sharps and flats.

III.

At last the people in a body

To the Town Hall came flocking:

""Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy;
And as for our Corporation - shocking
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine
For dolts that can't or won't determine

What's best to rid us of our vermin?

You hope, because you're old and obese,

To find in the furry civic robe ease?

Rouse up, Sirs! Give your brains a racking

To find the remedy we're lacking,

Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!

At this the Mayor and Corporation

Quaked with mighty consternation.