We couldn't stop; and she would'nt stir, So the brakes let off, and the steam full again, And ran on through the lighted length of the town O I've run over more than one! If I could have stopp'd, with all the spur I pick'd it off the big wheel there. Time's up, Jack. Stand clear, sir. Yes; We're going out with the express. W. WILKINS. [Reprinted from "Kottabos"-Trinity College, Dublin.-No. 3, Vol. III. Hilary Term, 1878. By kind permission of the author.] THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES. I have had playmates, I have had companions, I have been laughing, I have been carousing, Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies- I loved a love once, fairest among women. I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man. Ghost-like, I paced round the haunts of my childhood. Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother! How some they have died, and some they have left me, All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. CHARLES LAMB. THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. Between the dark and the daylight, when the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, that is known as the Children's Hour. I hear in the chamber above me the patter of little feet, The sound of a door that is opened, and voices soft and sweet. From my study I see in the lamplight, descending the broad hall stair, Grave Alice and laughing Allegra, and Edith with golden hair. A whisper and then a silence; yet I know by their merry eyes They are plotting and planning together to take me by surprise. A sudden rush from the stairway, a sudden raid from the hall! By three doors left unguarded they enter my castle wall! They climb up into my turret o'er the arms and back of my chair; If I try to escape they surround me; they seem to be everywhere. They almost devour me with kisses, their arms about me entwine, Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen in his Mouse-tower on the Rhine! Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, because you have scaled the wall, Such an old moustache as I am is not a match for you all! I have you fast in my fortress, and will not let you depart, But put you down into the dungeon in the round-tower of my heart. And there will I keep you for ever, yes, for ever and a day, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, and moulder in dust away. H. W. LONGFELLOW. FROM INDIA. "O come you from the Indies, and, soldier, can you tell Aught of the gallant 90th, and who are safe and well? O soldier, say my son is safe-for nothing else I care, And you shall have a mother's thanks-shall have a widow's prayer." "O I've come from the Indies-I've just come from the war; And well I know the 90th, and gallant lads they are; From colonel down to rank and file, I know my comrades well, And news I've brought for you, mother, your Robert bade me tell." "And do you know my Robert, now? O tell me, tell me true, O soldier, tell me word for word all that he said to you! Through Havelock's fights and marches the 90th were there; In all the gallant 90th did, your Robert did his share; "O thanks unto the living God that heard his mother's prayer, The widow's cry that rose on high her only son to spare! O bless'd be God, that turn'd from him the sword and shot away! And what to his old mother did my darling bid you say? ?" "Mother, he saved his colonel's life, and bravely it was done; In the despatch they told it all, and named and praised your son; A medal and a pension's his; good luck to him I say, And he has not a comrade but will wish him well to-day." "Now, soldier, blessings on your tongue; O husband, that you knew How well our boy pays me this day for all that I've gone through, All I have done and borne for him the long years since you're dead! But, soldier, tell me how he look'd, and all my Robert said." "He's bronzed, and tann'd, and bearded, and you'd hardly know him, dame, We've made your boy into a man, but still his heart's the same: For often, dame, his talk's of you, and always to one tune, But there, his ship is nearly home, and he'll be with you soon." "O is he really coming home, and shall I really see My boy again, my own boy, home? and when, when will it be? Did you say soon?" 66 dame; he's here." "Well, he is home; keep cool, old "O Robert, my own blessed boy !"-" O mother-mother dear!" W. C. BENNETT. [By kind permission of the author.] G |