"The world grows cold, my arm is old,
And thin my lyart hair,

And all that I loved best on earth
Is stretched before me there.

The king he lighted from his horse,
He flung his brand away,

And took the Douglas by the hand,
So stately as he lay.

"God give thee rest, thou valiant soul!
That fought so well for Spain;
I'd rather half my land were gone,
So thou wert here again!"

We bore the good Lord James away,
And the priceless heart we bore,
And heavily we steered our ship
Toward the Scottish shore.

We laid our chief in Douglas Kirk,
The heart in fair Melrose;
And woful men were we that day,—
God grant their souls repose!

TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE.

OUSSAINT, the most unhappy man of men!
Whether the all-cheering sun be free to shed
His beams around thee, or thou rest thy head
Pillowed in some dark dungeon's noisome den.
O miserable chieftain! where and when
Wilt thou find patience? Yet die not; do thou
Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow:
Though fallen thyself, never to rise again,

Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind
Powers that will work for thee: air, earth, and skies.
There's not a breathing of the common wind

That will forget thee; thou hast great allies;

Thy friends are exultations, agonies,

And love, and man's unconquerable mind. Wordsworth.

THE PARROT AND THE CUCKOO.

[SCENE: The vicinity of the cuckoo clock. Cuckoo discovered in the act of telling three o'clock. Parrot watching from a perch near by.] UCKOO: Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo! PARROT: Hark, there she goes!

To hear her any parrot would suppose
She owned the earth, conceited little thing,
She really seems to fancy she can sing.

And, though you'll scarce believe, that little bird
Rules the whole blessed household with a word.
She only has to call "cuckoo!" and lo!
The family at once to luncheon go.

When she screams "cuckco!" twice it is the rule
For all the little ones to march to school;

Then when she screams six times, that is a sign
That cuckoo thinks it's time for them to dine.
And so it goes through all the livelong day,
She tells them what to do and they obey.
And as for me, they treat me like a doll
And mimic me and call me "pretty poll,"
And ask me several million times a day,
"Does Polly want a cracker?" By the way,
I've yet to see that cracker. Oh! sometimes
I gnash my beak, or mutter nursery rhymes

Or anything! for fear I should let slip

The wicked words they taught me on the ship.

Next time the cuckoo squalls will be her last.

Next times she tries-Cuckoo [striking four o'clock]: "Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo! cuc

PARROT [smashes the cuckoo to bits, causing the machinery to run

down]:

Come, now, have done! we've heard enough from you!

Prepare to die! your little reign is o'er.

Over this house you'll tyrannize no more!

What! won't you come? Then I'll soon show you how! There! stop that whirring; heavens, what a row!

Help! stop it some one! [stops.]

Well, upon my word,

You're tough for such a very little bird,

I thought you'd never die! and now, my dear,
The family will very soon be here;

And when they see how little's left of you
They'll be so glad they won't know what to do,
To think the cuckoo's killed and they are free
To work or play or sleep or take their tea
Just when they please; and, most of all, how jolly
To feel they owe it all to "pretty Polly!"

THE PEDLER AND HIS TRUMPET.

THOMAS HOOD.

F all old women hard of hearing,

OF

The deafest sure was Dame Eleanor Spearing! Except the mere ghost of a sound,

She sat in a silence most profound

But she saw the shadow that crept on her gown,
And turned its skirt of a darker brown.

And lo! a man! a pedler? ay, marry,

With a little back-shop that such tradesmen carry.

Well, in the stranger came,

And the moment he met the eyes of the dame,
Threw her as knowing a nod as though
He had known her fifty long years ago;
And then from among his portable gear,
With even more than a pedler's tact,
Before she had time to be deaf, in fact,
Popped a trumpet into her ear.

66

"There, ma'am! try it!

You needn't buy it

The last new patent-and nothing comes nigh it
For affording the deaf, at little expense,
The sense of hearing, and hearing of sense!
A real blessing-and no mistake,
Invented for poor humanity's sake;
For what can be a greater privation
Than playing dummy to all creation,
And always to answer quite by guess
Yes for no, and no for yes."

("That's very true," says Dame Eleanor S.)
Try it again! No harm in trying—

I'm sure you'll find it worth your buying,
A little practice—that is all-

And you'll hear a whisper, however small,
Every syllable clear as day,

And even what people are going to say—
Only a guinea-and can't take less."
("That's very dear," says Dame Eleanor S.)

"Dear! Oh dear, to call it dear!

Why, it isn't a horn you buy, but an ear;
Only think, and you'll find on reflection

You're bargaining, ma'am, for the voice of affection;

Come-suppose we call it a pound!

Come," said the talkative man of the pack,

"Before I put my box on my back,

Come, you can spare it, I'll be bound,

Only a pound! it's only the price

Of hearing a concert once or twice.

Why! what's a pound to the blessing of hearing!" ("A pound's a pound," said Dame Eleanor Spearing.)

"Try it again! no harm in trying!

A pound's a pound, there's no denying;

But think what thousands and thousands of pounds We pay for nothing but hearing sounds.

It's not the thing for me-I know it

To crack my own trumpet up and blow it;
But it is the best, and time will show it.
There was Mrs. F.

So very deaf,

That she might have worn a percussion-cap,

And been knocked on the head without hearing it snap.
Well, I sold her a horn, and the very next day
She heard from her husband at Botany Bay!
Come-eighteen shillings-that's very low,
You'll save the money as shillings go.
Eighteen shillings! it's worth the price.
Supposing you're delicate-minded and nice,
And a tradesman come-as tradesmen will-
Short and crusty about his bill,

Of patience, indeed, a perfect scorner,
And because you're deaf and unable to pay,
Shouts whatever he has to say,

In a vulgar voice that goes over the way,
Down the street and round the corner!
Come-speak your mind-it's 'no' or 'yes.""
(“I've half a mind," said Dame Eleanor S.)

"Try it again, dear madam, try it!
Many would sell their beds to buy it.

I warrant you often wake up in the night,
Ready to shake to a jelly with fright,
And up you must get to strike a light,
And down you go, whether it's chilly or not,
To see if you heard a noise or what!
Or just suppose in a public place,

You see a great fellow a-pulling his face,
With his staring eyes and his mouth like an 0—

And how is a poor deaf lady to know

If he's calling 'Green Peas,' or calling her names?" ("They're tenpence a peck!" said the deafest of dames.)