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to come and take shelter under him; so that be- | heart, rallied back; the film forsook his fore my uncle Toby had half finished the kind a moment; he looked up wistfully in my unclo offers he was making to the father, he had the son Toby's face, then cast a look upon his boy; and insensibly pressed up close to his knees, and had that ligament, fine as it was, was never broken. taken hold of the breast of his coat, and was pull. Nature instantly ebbed again; the film returned ing it towards him. The blood and spirits of Le to its place; the pulse fluttered-stopped-went Fevre, which were waxing cold and slow within on-throbbed-stopped again-moved-stopped ! him, and were retreating to their last citadel, the I Shall I go on? No.


GO, LOVELY ROSE! [EDMUND WALLER, born at Coleshill in 1605. Was Member of Parliament, but vacillated between the royal and popular party.

Was exiled for a plot against Cromwell, who afterwards pardoned him. Returned to England, and died at Beaconsfield,
October 21, 1687.]
Go, lovely Rose!

Small is the worth
Tell her, that wastes her time and me,

Of beauty from the light retired:
That now she knows,

Bid her come forth,
When I resemble her to thee,

Suffer herself to be desired,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.

And not so blush to be admired.
Tell her that's young,

Then die! that she
And shuns to have her grace spied,

The common fate of all things rare
That hadst thou sprung

May read in thee:
In deserts, where no men abide,

How small a part of time they share,
Thou must have, uncommended, died.

That are so wondrous sweet and fair!


[Dr. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, of Mass., born 1809. Practised as a physician at Boston ; is Professor of Anatomy at Harvard


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(JAMES SMITE, born 1772. Published "Rejected Addresses,” in conjunction with his brother Hornce, in 1802, when Drury Lane

Theatre was about to open after being rebuilt. Died in London, December 29, 1836.]

'Tis sweet to view, from half-past five to six, Our long wax-candles, with short cotton wicks, Touch'd by the lamplighter's Promethean art, Start into light, and make the lighter start; To see red Phæbus through the gallery-pane Tinge with his beam the beams of Drury Lane; While gradual parties fill our widen'd pit, And gape, and

gaze, and wonder, ere they sit. At first, while vacant seats give choice and ease, Distant or near, they settle where they please; But when the multitude contracts the span, And seats are rare, they settle where they can. Now the full benches to late comers doom No room for standing, miscalled standing-room. See! to their desks Apollo's sons repair

Swift rides the rosin o'er the horse's hair!
In unison their various tones to tune
Murmurs the hautboy, growls the hoarse bassoon;
In soft vibration sighs the whispering lute,
Tang goes the harpsichord, too-too the flute;
Brays the loud trumpet, squeaks the fiddle sharp,
Winds the French horn, and twangs the tingling

harp, Till like great Jove, the leader figuring in Attunes to order the chaotic din. Say, why these Babel strains from Babel tongues ? Who's that calls “ Silence!" with such leathern

lungs? He who, in quest of quiet, “ Silence !” boots, Is apt to make the hubbub he imputes.



John Richard William Alexander Dwyer,

Or till half-price, to save his shilling, wait, Was footman to Justinian Stubbs, Esquire; And gain his hat again at half-past eight ? But when John Dwyer 'listed in the Blues, Now, while his fears anticipate a thief, Emmanuel Jennings polish'd Stubb's shoes. John Mullens whispers, " Take my handkerEmmanuel Jennings brought his youngest boy

chief.” Up as a corn-cutter—a safe employ;

“ Thank you,” cries Pat; "but one won't make a In Holywell Street, St. Pancras, he was bred

line." (At number twenty-seven, it is said),

“ Take mine," cried Wilson; and cried Stokes, Facing the pump, and near the “Granby's Head :" “Take mine." He would have bound him to some trade in A motley cable soon Pat Jennings ties, town,

Where Spitalfields with real India vies. But with a premium he could not come down. Like Iris' bow down darts the painted clue, Pat was the urchin's name-a red-haired youth, Starred, striped, and spotted, yellow, red, and Fonder of purl and skittle-grounds than truth. blue, Silence, ye gods! to keep your tongues in awe, Old calico, torn silk, and muslin new. The Muse shall tell an accident she saw.

George Green below, with palpitating hand, Pat Jennings in the upper gallery sat,

Loops the last 'kerchief to the beaver's band. But, leaning forward, Jennings lost his hat: Up soars the prize! The youth, with joy Down from the gallery the beaver flew,

unfeigned, And spurned the one to settle in the two.

Regained the felt, and felt what he regained: How shall he act ? Pay at the gallery-door While to the applauding galleries grateful Pat Two shillings for what cost, when new, but Made a low bow, and touched the ransomed four !


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(From the Merchant of Venice.") WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, born at Stratford-on-Avon, April 23, 1564. Was an actor, but subsequently obtained position and

wealth by his writings. Died 1616, at his native town.] Lorenzo. The moon shines bright: in such a Lor. In such a night night as this,

Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew, When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, And with an unthrift love did run from Venice. And they did make no noise; in such a night, As far as Belmont. Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojans' wall, Jes. And in such a night And sighed his soul toward the Grecian tents, Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well; Where Cressid lay that night.

Stealing her soul with many vows of faith, Jessica. In such a night

And ne'er a true one. Did Thisbe fearfully outstrip the dew;

Lor. And in such a night And saw the lion's shadow ere himself,

Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,
And ran dismay'd away.

Slander her love, and he forgave it her.
Lor. In such a night
Stood Dido, with a willow in her hand,

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this Upon the wild sea-banks, and waved her love

bank; To come again to Carthage.

Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Jes. In such a night

Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night Medea gathered the enchanted herbis

Become the touches of sweet harmony. That did renew old Æson.

Sit, Jessica: look, how the floor of heaveti




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