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THE CONSUMPTIVE. Tambic. Four and three feet alternating with each other. 1. No', never morè—my setting sun'

Hath sunk his evening rays';
And this

poor heart is nearly done
With hope of better days'.
I feel it in the clay-cold hand',

The hard and fast-expiring breath";
For now', so near the tomb I stand',

I breathe the chilling airs of death. 2. No, never morè—it all is vain'

But O', how memory leans
To seé, and hear', and feel again'

Its youth-inspiring scenes'?
And deep the sigh that memory heaves',

When, one by oné, they all are fled',
As autumn gales on yellow leaves',

That wither on their woodland bed. 3. Nò, never morè—I may not view'

The summer vale and hill',
The glorious heaven', the ocean's blué,

The forests', dark and stilly-
The evening's beauty', once so dear',

That bears the glowing thoughts above,
When nature seems to breathe and hear'

The voiceless eloquence of love.
4. Nô, never morè—when prisoners wait

The death-call to their doom',
And see beyond their dungeon gaté

The scaffold and the tomb',
On the fair earth, and sun-bright heaven,

Their gaze how fervently they cast'!
So death to life a charm hath given',

And makes it loveliest at the last. 5. Nò, never morè—and now farewell':

The bitter word is said';
And soon above my green-roofed cell’

The careless foot will tread.
My heart hath found its rest above,

The cares of earth are passing by';

And O', it is a voice of love",

That whispers'- It is time to die.



Anapestic. Four feet in each line. 1. O, HAD I the wings of a swallow', I'd fly'

Where the roses are blossoming all the year long ;
Where the landscape is always a feast to the eye,

And the bills of the warblers are ever in song'; 0, then I would fly from the cold and the snow',

And hie to the land of the orange and vine', And carol the winters away in the glow'

That rolls o'er the evergreen bowers of the line. 2. Indeed I should gloomily steal o'er the deep',

Like the storm-loving petrel, that skims there alone”; I would take me a dear little martin to keep

A sociable flight to the tropical zone'; How cheerily', wing by wing' over the sea,

We would fly from the dark clouds of winter away'! And forever our song and our twitter should bé,

“ To the land where the year is eternally gay.” 3. We would nestle awhile in the jessamine bowers',

And take up our lodge in the crown of the palm', And livé, like the beé, on its fruits and its flowers',

That always are flowing with honey and balm"; And there we would stay' till the winter is o’er',

And April is checkered with sunshine and rain' 0, then we would fly from the far-distant shoré,

Over island and wavé, to our country again. 4. How light we would skim', where the billows are rolled',

Through clusters that bend with the cane and the lime', And break on the beaches in surges of gold',

When morning comes forth in her loveliest prime! We would touch for a while, as we traversed the ocean',

At the islands that echoed to Waller and Moore', And winnow our wings with an easier motion',

Through the breath of the cedar that blows from the shore. 6. And when we had rested our wings', and had fed'

On the sweetness that comes from the juniper groves“. By the spirit of home and of infancy led',

We would hurry again to the land of our loveso;
And when from the breast of the ocean would spring ,

Far off in the distance, that dear native shoré,
In the joy of our hearts we would cheerily sing',

“ No land is so lovely', when winter is o'er'.”



Iambic. The third and sixth lines of each stanza have three

feet each ; the other lines, four each.
1. I'll tell you, friend', what sort of wifé,
Whene'er I scan this scene of life,

Inspires my waking schemes';
And when I sleep', with form so light',
Dances before my ravished sight',

In sweet aerial dreams.
2. The rose its blushes need not lend',

yet the lily with them bend'
To captivate my eyes'.
Give me a cheek the heart obeys',
And', sweetly mutablé, displays

Its feelings as they rise;
3. Features', where pensivè, more than gay',-

Save when a rising smile doth play',
The sober thought you see;
Eyes', that all soft and tender seem',
And kind affections round them beam',

But most of all“, on mè;
4. A form', though not of finest mould',
Where yet a something' you behold'

Unconsciously doth please;
Manners all graceful without art',
That to each look and word impart'

A modesty and ease.
5. But still her air', her facé, each charm ,
Must speak a heart with feeling warm';

And mind inform the whole;
With mind her mantling cheek mast glow!;
Her voice“, her beaming eje', must show
An all-inspiring soul.

6. Ah! could I such a being find',
And were her fate to mine but joined

By Hymen's silken tié,
To her myself', my all I'd give',
For her alone delighted live',

For her consent to die.
7 Whene'er by anxious gloom oppressed',
On the soft pillow of her breast

My aching head I'd lay';
At her sweet smile each care should cease,
Her kiss infuse a balmy peace,

And drive my griefs away.
8. In turn', I'd soften all her carè;
Each thought', each wish', each feeling' sharè;

Should sickness e'er invadé,
My voice should soothe each rising sigh'
My hand the cordial should supply;

I'd watch beside her bed'.
9. Should gathering clouds our sky deform',
My arms should shield her from the storm";

And', were its fury hurled",
My bosom to its bolts I'd barè;
In her defence undaunted daré

Defy the opposing world'.
10. Together should our prayers ascend',
Together humbly would we bend'

To praise the Almighty name;
And when I saw her kindling eye
Beam upwards to her native sky',

My soul should catch the flame.
11. Thus nothing should our hearts divide',
But on our years serenely glidé,

And all to love be given'.
And, when life's little scene was o'er',
We'd part, to meet and part nö möré,

But live and love in heaven.


EXTRACT FROM COWPER'S CONVERSATION. lambic. Five feet in a line ;-heroic verse, or epic poetry. 1. SOME fretful tempers wince at every

touch'; You always do too littlé, or too mucho;

You speak with life', in hopes to entertain',

Your elevated voice goes through the brain'. 5. You fall at once into a lower' key ;

That's worsè—the dronepipè of a humblebee.
The southern sash admits too strong a light“;
You risé and drop the curtain —now it's night'.

He shakes with cold-you stir the fire', and strivé 10. To make a blazer—that 's' roasting him alive.

Serve him with ven'son', and he chooses fish';
With sôal—that's just the sort he would not wish'.
He takes what he at first professed to lothè,

And in due timé feeds heartily on both;
15. Yet still', o'erclouded with a constant frown',

He does not swallów, but he gûlps it down.
Your hope to please him', vain' on every plano;
Himself should do that wonder', if he can'.

Alas!! his efforts double his distress';
20. He likes yours littlé, and his own still less'.

Thus always teasing others', always teased“,
His only pleasure is'—to be dis pleased.


A TALE OF POTTED SPRATS. Most mistresses of families have a family receipt-book; and are apt to believe that no receipts are so good as their own.

With one of these notable ladies a young housekeeper went to pass a few days', both at her town' and country'-house. The hostess was skilled, not only in culinary loré, but in economy; and was in the habit of setting on her tablé, even when not alone, whatever her taste or carefulness, had led her to pot', picklè or preservé, for occasional use.

Before a meager family dinner was quite over', a dish of Potted Sprats was set before the lady of the house, whó, expatiating on their excellencé, derived from a family receipt' a century old', prest her still unsatisfied guest to partake of them.

The dish was as good as much salt and little spice could make it'; but it had one peculiarity'—it had a strong flavor of garlick', and to garlick' the poor guest had a great dislike.

But she was a timid woman'; and good breeding', and what she called benevolencé, said, “persevere in swallowing!" though her palate said, “ nò.” “Is it not excellent ? ” said the hostess'. “Very'; ” faltered out the half-suffocated guest; and

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