And now as the night was senescent,

And star-dials pointed to morn,

And car-drivers hinted of morn,、

At the end of the path a liquescent
And bibulous lustre was born;

'T was made by the bar-keeper present, Who mixéd a duplicate horn,

His two hands describing a crescent
Distinct with a duplicate horn.

And I said: "This looks perfectly regal. For it's warm, and I know I feel dry, I am confident that I feel dry;

We have come past the emeu and eagle,

And watched the gay monkey on high;

Let us drink to the emeu and eagle,

To the swan and the monkey on high

Bully boy with the vitreous eye; He surely would never inveigle, Sweet youth with the crystalline eye."

But Mary, uplifting her finger,

Said, "Sadly this bar I mistrust, —

I fear that this bar does not trust.

O hasten! O let us not linger!

O fly, let us fly,-ere we must!"

Then I pacified Mary and kissed her,

And tempted her into the room,

And conquered her scruples and gloom; And we passed to the end of the vista,

But were stopped by the warning of doom,

By some words that were warning of doom. And I said, "What is written, sweet sister, At the opposite end of the room?" She sobbed, as she answered, "All liquors

Must be paid for ere leaving the room."

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober,

As the streets were deserted and drear, For my pockets were empty and drear; And I cried, "It was surely October,

On this very night of last year,

That I journeyed — I journeyed down here,

That I brought a fair maiden down here, On this night of all nights in the year.

Ah! to me that inscription is clear; Well I know now, I'm perfectly sober,

Why no longer they credit me here,

Well I know now that music of Auber,

And this Nightingale, kept by one Shear.

NORTH BEACH.

AFTER SPENSER.

LO! where the castle of bold Pfeiffer throws

L°

Its sullen shadow on the rolling tide, -

No more the home where joy and wealth repose,

But now where wassailers in cells abide;

See yon long quay that stretches far and wide,
Well known to citizens as wharf of Meiggs;
There each sweet Sabbath walks in maiden pride
The pensive Margaret, and brave Pat, whose legs
Encased in broadcloth oft keep time with Peg's.

Here cometh oft the tender nursery-maid,

While in her ear her love his tale doth pour;