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kneeled, with my arms incumbent on the grave-stone, in a kind of mental prayer, for I could not speak.

Having performed these duties, I arose with quieter feelings, and felt leisure to attend to indifferent objects. Still I continued in the churchyard, reading the various inscriptions, and moralising upon them with that kind of levity which will not unfrequently spring up in the mind in the midst of deep melancholy. I read of nothing but careful parents, loving husbands, and dutiful children. I said jestingly, where be all the bad people buried ! Bad parents, bad husbands, bad children, what cemeteries are appointed for these? Do they not sleep in consecrated ground-or is it but a pious fiction, a generous oversight, in the survivors, which thus tricks out men's epitaphs when dead, who, in their lifetime, discharged the offices of life perhaps but lamely? Their failings, with their reproaches, now sleep with them in the grave. Man wars not with the dead. It is a trait of human nature, for which I love it.



Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold :
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said :
• What writest thou !--The vision raised its head,

And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, “The names of those who love the Lord.'
. And is mine one ?' said Abou. ' Nay, not so,'
Replied the Angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still; and said : 'I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.'

2. The angel wrote and vanished. The next night It came again with the great wakening light, And shewed the names whom love of God had blessed, And, lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest !



A sailor, who was in the habit of spending all his money at the public-house, one day made a vow to be temperate in future, and kept it. Meeting with an old friend about a twelvemonth afterwards, the following conversation took place :

Peter. Hollo, Jack! Here you are back from America. Jack. Yes, Master Peter.

Peter. Won't you come in, and have a glass this cold day?

Jack. No, Master Peter, no! I cannot drink.

Peter. What, Jack, can you pass the door of the 'Ship at Anchor' without taking a cup


friends ? Jack. Impossible, Master Peter; I have a swelling here-don't

Peter. Ah ! that's because you don't drink your grog

you see it?

as you used to do. Drink, my boy, and the swelling will soon go down.

Jack. You are quite right there! (He pulls out of his pocket a large leathern purse full of money.] There's the swelling I have given myself by steering clear of the ‘Ship at Anchor.' If I begin drinking again, it will soon go down—there's not the least doubt of that.

Peter. Is it possible you have saved so much money, Jack ?

Jack. It is, indeed, and I mean to go on doing it; and when I pass the Ship at Anchor' after my next voyage, I hope to shew you a new swelling on the other side.



1. sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ;

Good-speed !' cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew; Speed !' echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

2. Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup and set the pique right, Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit, Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

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3. 'Twas moonset at starting ; but, while we drew near Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see; At Düffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be; And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the

half-chime, So Joris broke silence with : Yet there is time!'

At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,
And against him the cattle stood black every one,
To stare through the mist at us galloping past,
And I saw my stout galloper, Roland, at last,
With resolute shoulders each butting away,
The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray;

5. And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent

back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; And one eye's black intelligence-ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance ! And the thick, heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

6. By Hasselt, Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris : 'Stay, spur! Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her, We'll remember at Aix'--for one heard the quick

wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering

knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

7. So we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Loos and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, ’Neath our foot broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; Till over by Dalhem a dome-tower sprang white, And “Gallop,' cried Joris, 'for Aix is in sight!'

8. How they'll greet us !' and all in a moment his roan Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

Then I cast my loose buff-coat, each holster let fall,
Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,
Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,
Called my Roland his pet name, my

horse without peer; Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or

good, Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

10. And all I remember is friends flocking round As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground, And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, Which-the burgesses voted by common consentWas no more than his due who brought good news from


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