Bring the heart-piercing shoots from your corns,
Bring all the dull news you can gather:
Bring Dick Dismal, who looks so forlorn,
And let us all be unhappy together.

We'll talk about mildews and blights,
Occasioned by badness of weather;
About horrible dreams and dull nights,
And we'll all be unhappy together.

And we'll talk of the ghost without head,
That kissed mother Mump in the cellar,
And frightened the barber's boy dead,
And we'll all be unhappy together.

Let us fancy fresh duty on snuff,

Cats, lap-dogs, and monkeys, so clever; Let's suppose that there's taxes enough To make us unhappy together.

Let us talk of invasion and blood,

And of devils, black, blue, white and yellow, Noah's ark, Noah's self, and the flood; Let us all be unhappy together.

Let us mourn for those days that are past,

When our hearts were as light as a feather;

Let's suppose that this day is our last,

And we shall all be unhappy together.

Come, quickly, my dear Granny Gray,

Lest the sun should break out with fair weather, And the blues to blue skies should give way, So we can't be unhappy together.

The following legend of Niagara Falls, if not founded on any known fact, is certainly not improbable. It may be necessary to inform the young pupil, that, for several miles above the great fall, the current becomes so rapid by the declivity of the stream, and so broken by the jagged rocks which form its bed, that it is impossible to cross the river or resist its impetuosity. This dangerous portion of the river is called the rapids. The spray which rises in consequence of the fall of such an immense body of water over the precipice, produces the same effect as a shower of rain, and beautiful rainbows may always be seen when the sun shines.

The rain fell in torrents, the thunder rolled deep,
And silenced the cataract's roar;

But neither the night nor the tempest could keep
The warrior chieftain on shore.

The war-shout has sounded, the stream must be crossed;
Why lingers the leader afar?

Twere better his life than his glory be lost;

He never came late to the war.

He seized a canoe as he sprang from the rock,
But fast as the shore fled his reach,

The mountain wave seemed all his efforts to mock,
And dashed the canoe on the beach.

"Great Spirit!" he cried, "shall the battle be given, And all but their leader be there?

May this struggle land me with them—or in Heaven!"
And he pushed with the strength of despair.

He has quitted the shore, he has gained the deep,
His guide is the lightning alone;

But he felt not with fast, irresistible sweep,
The rapids were bearing him down.

But the cataract's roar with the thunder now vied;
"O what is the meaning of this!"

He spake, and just turned to the cataract's side,
As the lightning flashed down the abyss.

All the might of his arm to one effort was given,
At self-preservation's command;

But the treacherous oar with the effort was riven,
And the fragment remained in his hand.
"Be it so!" cried the warrior, taking his seat,
And folding his bow to his breast;

"Let the cataract shroud my pale corse with its sheet, And its roar lull my spirit to rest.

The prospect of death with the brave I have borne,
I shrink not to bear it alone;

I have often faced death when the hope was forlorn,
But I shrink not to face him with none."

The thunder was hushed, and the battle field stained,
When the sun met the war-wearied eye,

But no trace of the boat, or the chieftain remained,
Though his bow is still seen in the sky.

LESSON XXIV.

THE OCEAN.

The following address to the Ocean is one variety of the figure of speech called Apostrophe. The poem, so worthy of the subject, was extracted from an Irish magazine, but the author is unknown to the Editor.

Likeness of heaven! agent of power;

Man is thy victim; shipwrecks thy dower!
Spices and jewels, from valley and sea,
Armies and banners are buried in thee!

What are the riches of Mexico's mines,

To the wealth that far down in thy deep water shines? Thy proud waves that cover the conquering westThou fling'st them to death with one heave of thy breast!

From the high hills that view thy wreck-making shore, When the bride of the mariner shrieks at thy roar; When, like lambs in the tempest, or mews in the blast, O'er thy ridge broken billows the canvass is cast;

How humbling to one with a heart and a soul,
To look on thy greatness and list to its roll;
To think how that heart in cold ashes shall be,
While the voice of eternity rises from thee!

Yes! where are the cities of Thebes and of Tyre?
Swept from the nations like sparks from the fire;
The glory of Athens, the splendor of Rome,
Dissolved-and forever-like dew in thy foam.

But thou art almighty-eternal-sublime-
Unweakened, unwasted-twin brother of time!
Fleets, tempests, nor nations, thy glory can bow;
As the stars first beheld thee, still chainless art thou!

But hold! when thy surges no longer shall roll,
And that firmament's length is drawn back as a scroll;
Then-then shall the spirit that sighs by thee now,
Be more mighty-more lasting, more chainless than
thou.

LESSON XXV.

THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS.

The following witty lines were written by OLIVER W, HOLMES, M. D., of Boston, son of the Reverend author of the Annals of NewEngland, and unequalled in this difficult though apparently easy class of poetry. His poems, which have been published together, form a considerable volume, which we will veuture to say will cure more me grims than the author with all his skill will ever cure by the most scientific prescriptions. This lesson contrasts well with Lesson XXII.

I wrote some lines once on a time,
In wondrous merry mood,

And thought, as usual, men would say
They were exceeding good.

They were so queer, so very queer,

I laughed as I would die;
Albeit, in the general way,
A sober man am I,

I called my servant, and he came;
How kind it was of him,
To mind a slender man like me,
He of the mighty limb!

"These to the printer!" I exclaimed,
And, in my humorous way,

I added, as a trifling jest,

"There'll be the devil to pay."