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Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling- | Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward,

All are turning, all the day, and we with all. Grinding life down from its mark; And all day the iron wheels are droning,

And the children's souls, which God is calling And sometimes we could pray,

sunward, O ye wheels' (breaking out in a mad moaning), Spin on blindly in the dark. "Stop! be silent for to-day!'”

Now, tell the poor young children, O


brothera ! Ay, be silent! Let them hear each other breath- To look up to Him and pray;

So the Blessed One, who blesseth all the others, For a moment, mouth to mouth!

Will bless them another day. Let them touch each other's hands in a fresh They answer, “Who is God that he should hear us, wreathing

While the rushing of the iron wheels is stirred ? Of their tender human youth !

When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us Let them feel that this cold metallic motion

Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word ; Is not all the life God fashions or reveals; And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding) Let them prove their living souls against the Strangers speaking at the door : notion

Is it likely God, with angels singing round him, That they live in you, or under you, O wheels ! Hears our weeping any more?





XII. Two words, indeed, of praying we remember, And well

the children


before you ! And at midnight's hour of harm,

They are weary ere they run; Our Father!' looking upward in the chamber, They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory We say softly for a charm.

Which is brighter than the sun; We know no other words except 'Our Father,' They know the grief of man without his wisdom;

And we think that, in some pause of angels' song, They sink in man's despair, without his calmGod may pluck them with the silence sweet to Are slaves without the liberty in Christdomgather,

Are martyrs, by the pang without the palmAnd hold both within his right hand which is Are worn, as if with age, yet unretrievingły strong.

The blessing of its memory cannot keep Our Father!' If he heard us, he would surely Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly: (For they call him good and mild)

Let them weep! let them weep!
Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely,
Come and rest with me, my child.'

They look up, with their pale and sunken faces,

And their look is dread to see, “But, no !” say the children, weeping faster, For they mind you of their angels in high places "He is speechless as a stone:

With eyes turned on Deity. And they tell us, of his image is the master “How long," they say, “how long, O cruel nation, Who commands us to work on.

Will you stand, to move the world, on a child's Go to!” say the children—"up in heaven,

heart: Dark, wheel-like turning clouds are all we find. Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation, Do not mock us; grief has made us unbelieving; And tread onward to your throne amid the We look up for God, but tears have made us blind.”

mart? Do you hear the children weeping and disproving, Our blood splashes upward, O gold-heaper, O my brothers, what ye preach ?

And your purple shows your path! For God's possible is taught by his world's loving, But the child's sob curses deeper in the silence And the children doubt of each.

Than the strong man in his wrath."


THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS. [DR. WOLCOTT, born at Dodbrooke, in Devon, 1738. Was ordained, and held a living in Jamaica ; but returned to England

and practised as a physician at Truro. Published satires, under the assumed name of Peter Pindar. Died in Somers

Town, January 14, 1819. Buried in St. Paul's, Covent Garden.] A BRACE of sinners, for no good,

A nostrum, famous in old Popish times,
Were ordered to the Virgin Mary's shrine, For purifying souls that stunk with crimes;
Who at Loretto dwelt in wax, stone, wood,

A sort of apostolic salt,
And in a curled little wig looked wondrous fine. That Popish parsons for its powers exalt,

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One of the sinners galloped on,

* But, brother sinner, do explain Light as a bullet from a gun;

How 'tis that you are not in painThe other limped as if he had been shot.

What power hath worked a wonder for your toes?

Whilst I just like a snail am crawling; One saw the Virgin, soon peccavi cried,

Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawlingHad his soul whitewashed all so clever ;

Whilst not a rascal comes to ease my woes! When home again he nimbly bied,

Made fit with saints to live for ever.

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[GEORGE COLMAN, the Younger, boin October 21, 1762. Educated at Westminster and Oxford. Favourite companion of

George IV., and by him made licenser of plays. Died in London, October 26, 1836.]


ANGLOSS. Never before whose name, in the College of Aberdeen, is sub

did honour and affluence joined LL.D., signifying Doctor of Laws; to
let fall such a shower on which has been recently added the distinction of
the head of Dr. Pangloss! A double S; the Roman initials for a Fellow of
Fortune, I thank thee! the Society of Arts.
Propitious goddess, I am Dick. I am your most obedient, Richard
grateful! I, thy favoured Dowlas; to whose name, in his tailor's bill, is sub-
child, who commenced joined D.R., signifying Debtor; to which are added
his career in the loftiest L.S.D., the Roman initials for pounds, shillings,
apartment of a muffin- and pence.
maker, in Milk Alley. Pang. (Aside.) Ha! this youth was, doubtless,
Little did I think-good designed by destiny to move in the circles of fashion,

Shake- for he dips in debt, and makes a merit of telling it. speare-hem !-of the riches and literary dignities Dick. But what are your commands with me, which now

doctor? Enter Dick DowLAS.

Pang. I have the honour, young gentleman, of My pupil!

being deputed an ambassador to you, from your Dick. (Speaking while entering.) Well, where father. is the man that wants -oh! you are he, I Dick. Then you have the honour to be am. suppose

bassador of as good-natured an old fellow as ever Pang. I am the man, young gentleman. Homo sold a ha'porth of cheese in a chandler's shop.

Terence-hem! Sir, the person who now Pang. Pardon me, if on the subject of your presumes to address you is Peter Pangloss, to father's cheese, I advise you to be as mute as a





mouse in one for the future ; 'twere better to keep Dick. “ Come with the doctor to my house in that altá mente repostum! Virgil-hem!

Hanover Square "-Hanover Square ! I remain Dick. Why, what's the matter? Any mis- your affectionate father, to command.—DUBERLY." fortune P—Broke, I fear?

Pang. That's his lordship's title. Pang. No, not broke; but his namc, as 'tis custo- Dick. It is? mary in these cases, has appeared in the Gazette. Pang. It is.

Dick. Not broke, but gazetted! why, zounds! Dick. Say sir to a lord's son. You have no

Pang. Check your passions ; learn philosophy. more manners than a bear! When the wife of the great Socrates threw a- Pang. Bear! Under favour, young gentleman, hum!—threw a teapot at his erudite head, he was I am the bear-leader, being appointed your tutor. as cool as a cucumber. When Plato

Dick. And what can you teach me? Dick. Hang Plato! What of my father? Pang. Prudence. Don't forget yourself in a

Pang. Don't hang Plato. The bees swarmed sudden success. Tecum habita.- Persius-hem! round his mellifluous mouth as soon as he was Dick. Prudence to a nobleman's son with fifteen swaddled. Cum in cunis apes in labellis conse- thousand a year! dissent.--Cicero-hem!

Pang. Don't give way to your passions. Dick. I wish you had a swarm round yours, Dick. Give way! Zounds! I'm wild—mad! with all my heart. Come to the point.

You teach me! Pooh! I have been in London Pang. In due time. But calm your choler. before, and know it requires no teaching to be a Ira furor brevis est.—Horace-hem! Read this. modern fine gentleman. Why, it all lies in a nut

[Gives a letter. shell: sport a curricle—walk Bond Street-play at

faro-get drunk—dance reels-go to the OperaDick. [Snatches the letter, breaks it open, and cut off your tail--pull on your pantaloons, and reads.]

there's a buck of the first fashion in town for you. “ DEAR DICK,-This comes to inform you I am D'ye think I don't know what's going ? in a perfect state of health, hoping you are the Pang. Mercy on me! I shall have a very resame.” Ay, that's the old beginning. “It was my fractory pupil. lot, last week, to be made”-ay, a bankrupt, I Dick. Not at all. We'll be hand and glore suppose ?—“to be made a ”—what p—“to be made together, my little doctor. I'll drive you down to a PEAR.” A pear!—to be made a pear! What all the races, with my little terrier between your on earth does he mean by that?

legs, in a tandem. Pang. A peer!-a pcer of the realm. His Pang. Dr. Pangloss, the philosopher, with a lordship’s orthography is a little loose, but several terrier between his legs, in a tandem ! of his equals countenance the custom. Lord Dick. I'll tell you what, doctor: I'll make,

e you Loggerhead always spells physician with an F. my long-stop at cricket-you shall draw corks

Dick. A peer !-what, my father? I'm electri. when I'm president-laugh at my jokes before fied! Old Daniel Dowlas made a peer! But, let company-squeeze lemons for punch-cast up the me see. (Reads on.)—“A pear of the realm. reckoning-and woe betide you if you don't keep Lawyer Ferrett got me my tittle "—titt-oh, sober enough to see me safe home after a jollificatitle !-"and an estate of fifteen thousand per tion! ann., by making me out next of kin to old Lord Pang. Make me a long-stop, and a squeezer of Duberly, because he died without-without hair.” | lemons! Zounds! this is more fatiguing than 'Tis an odd reason, by-the-by, to be next of kin walking out with the lapdogs! And are these to a nobleman because he died bald.

the qualifications for a tutor, young gentleman ? Pang. His lordship means heir—heir to his Dick. Come now, tutor, go you and call the estate. We shall ameliorate his style speedily. waiter. "Reform it altogether."-Shakespeare-hem! Pang. Go and call. Sir-sir! I'd have you Dick. “I send my carrot "-carrot !

to understand, Mr. DowlasPang. He! he! he! Chariot, his lordship means. Dick. Ay, let us understand one another, Dick. “With Dr. Pangloss in it.”

doctor. My father, I take it, comes down handPang. That's me.

somely to you for your management of me? Dick. “Respect him, for he's an LL.D., and Pang. My lord has been liberal. moreover, an A double S.”

[They bow. Dick. But 'tis I must manage you, doctor. Pang. His lordship kindly condescended to Acknowledge this, and, between ourselves, I'll find insert that at my request.

means to double your pay. Dick. “And I have made him your tutorer, to Pang. Double my pay! Say no more

e-done! mend your cakelology."

Actum est !—Terence-hem! Waiter. (Baul. Pang. Carology; from kakos, “malus," and ing.) Gad, I've reached the right reading at Logos, “verbum."— Vide lexicon-hem!

last !

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[Edgar Allan Poe, born at Baltimore, in Maryland, January, 1811. Educated partly in England, partly at Charlottesville

University. Died 7th October, 1819.]



It was many and many a year ago,

The angels, not half so happy in heaven, In a kingdom by the sea,

Went envying her and meThat a maiden there lived whom you may know

Yes, that was the reason (as all men know, By the name of Annabel Lee;

In this kingdom by the sea), And this maiden she lived with no other thought, That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Than to love and be loved by me.

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

v. II.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love I was a child, and she was a child,

Of those who were older than weIn this kingdom by the sea ;

Of many far wiser than we; But we loved with a love that was more than

And neither the angels in heaven above, love,

Nor the demons down under the sea, I and my Annabel Lee:

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. Coveted her and me.



And this was the reason that long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee,
So that her high-born kinsman came,

And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre,

In this kingdom, by the sea.

For the moon never beams without bringing me

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling--my darling-my life and my bride,

In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

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