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When Winter toil'd thro' the knee-deep snow and the winds were wailing by,
And the old and wayworn year lay down, in the solitude to die,
On the forest branches black and bare, but the ancient moss was seen
With the woodbine's faded tapestry, and the ivy ever green ;
But in bough and bole, thro’a hundred rin the soul of beauty stirr'd
In the folded germs that would bud anew, when the voice of Spring was heard,
As lovers' thoughts in my twilight shade are breathed in some sweet word.
So time moves on, and is led in turn by the bright and gloomy hour,
While ever I shew like a face of care in pleasure's glorious bower ;
I bring a fear of the Autumn-time to the manhood of the year ;
The sap runs not in my withered limbs, my leaves are shrunk and sere,
Nor have I strength to cast them off, though so frail a hold have they,
The lightest gust that stoops so low, may bear them all away
To the cold wet ground, at length to feed the spirit of decay.
A few more years shall bring the light, and darken in the tree,
And the elm bough once so beautiful the spoil of death shall be,
Unconscious when the world at morn awakens in the sun,
Or sleeps at noon in the wearying light; or when the day is done,
Lies in the glory of the dew, touch'd by the white moonbeam :
In the stillest night my rustling leaves, restless, shall ever seem
The voice of death in the ear of sleep, whispering a fearful dream.
Wild flowers in their season still shall spring in wood and field,
The violets like first thoughts of love a balny influence yield,
All day and night shall the hawthorn blow to welcome in the May,
The rose shall give its inmost sweets like trustful hearts alway,
And the woodbine climbing evermore, as it long’d to see the sun,
Clasp the green boughs with fragrant trails that blossom as they run,
Yet wary of my fragile hold, the broken elm bough shun.
Wild natures of the forest realm! the coney and the hare
Shall play in the dewy fern and grass, the brown deer's secret lair ;
The squirrel's sharp hilarious cry from tree to tree be heard,
With the ring-dove's croon and merry chant of many a wilder bird,
And the golden bee that ever makes a pleasure of his toil,
Where the wood-top rears its milk-white cones, keep up his dreamy coil,
But pass by me, who can yield him not as of old a honied spoil.
And merry-hearted youth shall come with the basket and the crook,
For the hazle-nut and purple sloe, ripening in secret nook,
To plunder the poor bird's hidden nest, or hive of the forest bee-
Their joyous whoops and laughter wild, that startle every tree,
A moment hush'd when the wither'd bough through the foliage they espy,
'Twere a childish feat then to pull me down, and with triumphant cry
To trail me at their own wild will in a distant place to die.
But wherever I rest, and at length become the hoary lichen's prey,
My ruins shall be the human heart a lesson of decay,
For the fairest boughs of life must fall, time ever will destroy
Desires and hopes, that are as buds to the open flowers of joy ;
All things must fade, and fall, and die, or young, or past their prime !
The mighty trunk that a thousand years hath stood in the forest clime,
Must pass away like the smallest leaf in the burning breath of time.

And death shall quell the merriest voice, the clearest eye be dim,
And make the stoutest heart to quail, nor battle do with him;
The good, the evil, the blithe, the sad, the king, by the beggar's side,
Shall pass together thro' that gate, wide as the world is wide,
For the earth is all the hunter's path, and he keenly doth pursue
The affrighted quarry all the year, with his swift and silent crew-
Turn where ye may, his dark eye turns, and the arrow pointeth true.

By HYLARION.

THE PREACHER'S HORSE.

BY S. M.

With an Illustration.

As the Rev. Mr. Brown, a methodist preacher, was riding through one of the wildest districts of Connaught, he was suddenly attacked by a savage dog, whose owner stood in the adjoining field, apparently enjoying the fun, and hardening the dog with shouts and halloos. This was not the first, by many a one, of such annoyances that he had experienced from the same quarter, but as they had generally been confined to the abuse of the tongue, or perhaps now and then a blow from a lump of turf, the good man had quietly passed them over in silence, or only expressed his pity for the ignorance of his assailant. Had the attack on the present occasion been likely to have passed off without more personal injury, it is highly probable the old preacher would have gone on his way, as he had often done before, unnoticing his ignorant brutality; but another actor was brought in, who completely changed the scene. At first the dog confined himself to barking and growling, galloping round the horse, and ever and anon approaching quite near, as if he would use the teeth he showed so plainly, until at length, either prompted by his own savage nature, or urged by the encouragement of his master, he rushed silently behind the horse with the evident intention of fastening on his leg. The horse, however, was not one to suffer himself thus to be taken by surprise. He had been an old dragoon, and had fought at Waterloo, and many other places, and had consequently learned something concerning the stratagems of war. When therefore, the dog was just in the act of seizing his heels, the horse suddenly jerked out his hoof, and striking his antagonist in the middle of his skull, laid him dead on the highway. One bitter howl, a deep groan, with a hard convulsive struggle, and the fierce beast lay as quiet as the surrounding sod.

The old preacher, not expecting such a fatal catastrophe, looked with a feeling of pity on the martyred brute, and was just about to express his regret to the man for the accident which had befallen his dog, when he

beheld him approaching with the most enfuriated expression on his countenance, a large turf spade grasped in both hands, and evidently bent on taking the most summary and fatal vengeance for the loss of his dog. One glance at his face was sufficient to convince Mr. Brown, that he had no time to lose if he valued his life, and, with as much coolness and promptness as any general ever displayed, he instantly decided on the most effective measures for his safety. It is true, he might possibly have escaped by setting spurs to his horse and riding off beyond the reach of his enemy, but he knew that if he succeeded in this instance, he should be liable to renewed attacks whenever he journeyed that way, and he therefore availed himself of the means, not only to free himself on the present occasion, but also to do that which might put a salutary check on the man for the time to come.

The horse, as we have said before, was an old soldier, and amongst the other tricks he had learned in the service was one of assisting his rider in attacking the enemy. The old trooper who used to bestride him in the day of battle had taught him to rear up on his hinder legs and to strike with his forefeet, as well as very effectually to bite with a most formidable set of teeth, which he showed to perfection. The horse and his rider had been for many years on most intimate terms, until the sagacious quadruped had become acquainted with his speech, and in many instances it appeared as if he really understood the language of his master. Of these peculiarities, the preacher had become aware by accidentally meeting with the old trooper, who, less fortunate than his horse, had left one of his legs behind him, and he now availed himself of the habits of the animal to free himself from this imminent danger. The red hot Irishman, boiling with rage, was within five yards, and in another instant the terrible weapon would have been buried in the head of the preacher, when the latter, suddenly wheeling round so as to face his adversary, put the spurs to the sides of his horse, and shouting “Go at him Jack,” soon turned the fortune of the day, for no sooner had the noble animal ascertained the will of his master, by the long remembered warcry, than he instantly became animated with the most lively emotionsa thrilling tremour ran through his frame, and uttering, a wild expressive scream, he instantly reared on his hind legs, opened his mouth, and drawing back his lips grinned fiercely on his astonished foe, and at the same time flinging out his forelegs so as to come within half a yard of the Irishman's head, he so terrified poor Pat, that dropping his spade he made but one leap across the ditch, and fled over the field as fast as if old Harry had been behind him.

The old preacher, forgetting for the time his more sacred calling, entered into the spirit of the contest, and amused by the terrors of his former tormentor, determined to give him a sufficient dose to serve him for some years to come. Accordingly when the poor Irishman had rounded a hill and began to hope himself free from the terrible spectre, the preacher came suddenly upon him, and crying loudly “Go at him Jack,” made his horse rear and plunge, and grin and fight, in the same dreadful manner as before. Away ran Pat, roaring for mercy with the lungs of a wild bull, and away after him went the preacher;whenever he slackened his pace through exhaustion, up came again the dreadful monster, and as Pat thought, with the devil on his back, breathing flaming brimstone, and roaring “Go at him Jack, go at him Jack," till the sounds struck upon his ears with the agony of the accursed. In vain he attempted to go upon his knees, neither the horse nor his rider would listen to his prayers, in vain he called upon the saints, not one took pity upon him; if he ran up the hill or down the hill, into the highway or across the fields, it was just the same, the faster he ran, the faster the enemy bore down upon him; he rushed into a thicket of young trees, hoping to screen himself from his

pursuer, it was all in vain, the tremendous creature came snorting and blowing, and crashing the trees at every bound; he rushed into a river and tried to swim across, here also he was disappointed, for the horse leaped fairly over his head and stood on the banks ready to devour him; he tried to dive, the horse rushed in and he felt the fierce splash of the waters, and had only just time to creep out and up the bank, when the animal was again upon him. “ What will I do ? what will I do ?” he roared out in the bitterness of his soul, as he cast his terrified looks for a moment behind him, and again saw the excited horse rearing and plunging, and breathing fire, and as he thought mad to devour him alive. Off he rushed again with redoubled speed, still more and more frightened, for as his nerves grew higher excited so his terrors increased, and the loud tramp of the galloping horse, and the fierce shout of his rider, became every instant more and more terrible, and nothing but the excessive terror of his mind enabled him to hold out so long, and to rush with such fearful rapidity from place to place. Any one that had seen him as he flew along, with his hair standing upright, his eyes half bursting from his head, his long grey coat streaming behind him, his hands stretched forward, and his whole frame quivering with agony, would have fancied him some lost spirit from the bottomless pit flying from his merciless tormentor. If he made towards a cabin with view to take shelter, his intention was anticipated, and the terrible phantom was sure to intercept him; every hope was extinguished, and notwithstanding the desperate energy he had hitherto displayed, there appeared no chance of his ultimate escape.

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