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Of the bells, bells, bells,

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
Hear the loud alarum bells-

Brazen bells !
What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells !

In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,

Out of tune!
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire

Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavour

Now, now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.

Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells

Of Despair !
How they clang, and clash, and roar!

What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air !
Yet the ear it fully knows,

By the twanging

And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows ;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,

In the jangling

And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells

Of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
In the clamour and the clangour of the bells !
Hear the tolling of the bells-

Iron bells !
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels !

In the silence of the night,

How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy inenace of their tone !

For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats

Is a groan !
And the people—ah, the people ! -
They that dwell up in the steeple,

All alone!
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,

In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling

On the human heart a stone-
They are neither man nor woman-
They are neither brute nor human-

They are Ghouls !
And their king it is who tolls ;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls

A pæan from the bells !
And his merry bosom swells

With the pæan of the bells-
And he dances and he yells ;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme
To the pæan of the bells-

Of the bells !
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the throbbing of the bells --
Of the bells, bells, bells-

To the sobbing of the bells ;
Keeping time, time, time,

As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,

To the tolling of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells,
To the tolling of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-

Bells, bells, bells-
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. PoE.

“ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER.”

WILLIE WAG went to see Charlie Quirk,

More famed for his books than his knowledge, In order to borrow a work

He had looked for in vain over college. But Charlie replied, “My dear friend,

You must know I have sworn and agreed, My books from my room not to lend;

But, pray, sit by my fire and read !”

Now it happened by chance on the morrow,

That Quirk, with a cold, shivering air, Came his neighbour Will's bellows to borrow,

His own being out of repair.
But Willie replied, “My dear friend,

I have sworn and agreed, you must know,
That my bellows I never will lend;
But, pray, sit by my fire and blow !"

Anon.

THE LAST FAREWELL.

COME, my brother, nearer, nearer,

For my limbs are growing cold ;
And thy presence seemeth dearer

When thy arms around me fold.
I am dying, brother, dying ;

Soon you'll miss me in your berth,
For my form will soon be lying

'Neath the ocean's briny surf.

Hearken to me, brother, hearken,

I have something I would say,
Ere the veil my vision darken,

And I go from hence away :
I am going, surely going ;-

But my hope in God is strong;
I am willing, brother, knowing

That He doeth nothing wrong.

Tell my father, when you greet him,

That in death I prayed for him ; Prayed that I might one day meet hiin

In a world that's free from sin. Tell iny mother-(God assist her,

Now that she is growing olul) Say her child would ylad have kissed her

When his lips grew pale and cold.

Listen, brother, catch each whisper,

'Tis my wife I'd speak of now: Tell, oh tell her, how I missed her

When the fever burned my brow ! Tell her, brother—(closely listen,

Don't forget a single word) That in death my eyes did glisten

With the tears her mem'ry stirred.

Tell her she must kiss my children,

Like the kiss I last impressed;
Hold them as when last I held them,

Folded closely to my breast :
Give them early to their Maker,

Putting all her trust in God; And he never will forsake her,

For he's said so in his Word.

Oh, my children! Heaven bless them,

. They were all my life to me; Would I could once more caress them,

Ere I sink beneath the sea ! 'Twas for them I crossed the ocean

What my hopes were, I'll not tell; But I've gained the better portion,

For He doeth all things well.

Tell my sisters I remember

Every kindly parting word;
And my heart has been kept tender

By the thoughts their mem'ry stirred.

Tell them I ne'er reached the haven

Where I sought the precious dust; But I have gained that better land,

Where the gold will never rust.

Urge them to secure an entrance,

For they'll find their brother there:
Faith in Jesus, and repentance,

Will secure for each a share.
Hark! I hear my Saviour speaking-

'Tis his voice, I know it well.
When I'm gone, oh, don't be weeping-
Brother, here's my last farewell!

ANON.

THE KITTEN.

WANTON droll, whose harmless play
Beguiles the rustic's closing day,
When drawn the evening fire about,
Sit aged crone and thoughtless lout,
And child upon his three-foot stool,
Waiting till his supper cool;
And maid, whose cheek outblooms the rose,
As bright the blazing fagot glows-
Who, bending to the friendly light,
Plies her task with busy sleight;
Come, show thy tricks and sportive graces,
Thus circled round with merry faces.

Backward coiled, and crouching low, With glaring eyeballs watch thy foe, The housewife's spindle whirling round, Or thread, or straw, that on the ground Its shadow throws, by urchin sly Held out to lure thy roving eye; Then, onward stealing, fiercely spring Upon the futile, faithless thing. Now wheeling round, with bootless skill, Thy bo-peep tail provokes thee still,

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