And the day brighten'd, and his time had come And I could only wait, and wait, and wait, At last there came a groaning deep and great I scream'd, and seem'd to turn to fire, and fell ! ROBERT BUCHANAN. NOCTURNAL SKETCH. one gun! Even is come; and from the dark Park, hark, Laughing at Liston, while you quiz his phiz. Anon Night comes, and with her wings brings things Now thieves to enter for your cash, smash, crash, And while they're going whisper low, "No go!" Now puss, while folks are in their beds, treads leads, Now Bulls of Bashan, of a prize size, rise But Nursemaid in a nightmare rest, chest-pressed, And that she hears- what faith is man's-Ann's banns That upward goes, shows Rose knows those bows' woes! "HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED, SLEEP." Of all the thoughts of God that are Borne inward unto souls afar, What would we give to our beloved? What do we give to our beloved? A little dust to overweep, And bitter memories to make The whole earth blasted for our sake. "Sleep soft, beloved! we sometimes say, But have no tune to charm away Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep. But never doleful dream again Shall break the happy slumber when He giveth His beloved, sleep. O earth, so full of dreary noises! His dews drop mutely on the hill; Though on its slope men sow and reap Ay, men may wonder while they scan For me, my heart that erst did go That sees through tears the mummers leap, Who giveth His beloved, sleep. And friends, dear friends, when it shall be MRS. BROWNING. THAT HIRED GIRL. THE CLERGYMAN'S RECEPTION ON HIS INITIAL CALL IN HIS NEW PARISH. When she came to work for the family on Congress street, the lady of the house sat down and told her that agents, book-peddlers, hatrack men, picture-sellers, ash-buyers, ragmen, and all that class of people, must be met at the front door and coldly repulsed, and Sarah said she'a repulse them if she had to break every broomstick in Detroit. And she did. She threw the door open wide, bluffed right up at 'em, and when she got through talking, the cheekiest agent was only too glad to leave. It got so after awhile that peddlers marked that house, and the door-bell never rang except for company. The other day, as the girl of the house was wiping off the spoons, the bell rang. She hastened to the door, expecting to see a lady, but her eyes encountered a slim man dressed in black and wearing a white necktie. He was the new minister, and was going around to get acquainted with the members of his flock, but Sarah wasn't expected to know this. “Ah—um—is—Mrs.—ah!” 66 "Git!" exclaimed Sarah, pointing to the gate. 66 Beg pardon, but I would like to see-see-" "Meander!" she shouted, looking around for a weapon; we don't want any flour-sifters here!" "You're mistaken," he replied, smiling blandly. "I called to-" "Don't want anything to keep moths away-fly!" she exclaimed, getting red in the face. "Is the lady in ?" he inquired, trying to look over Sarah's head. "Yes, the lady is in, and I'm in, and you are out!" she snapped; “and now I don't want to stand here talking to a flytrap agent any longer! Come, lift your boots!" "I'm not an agent," he said, trying to smile. "I'm the new-" "Yes, I know you-you are the new man with the patent flatiron, but we don't want any, and you'd better go before I call the dog!" "Will you give the lady my card, and say that I called?" "No, I won't; we are bored to death with cards and handbills and circulars. Come, I can't stand here all day." "Didn't you know that I was a minister?" he asked as he backed off. "No, nor I don't know it now; you look like the man who sold the woman next door a dollar chromo for eighteen shillings." "But here is my card." "I don't care for cards, I tell you! If you leave that gate open I will have to fling a flowerpot at you!" 66 'I will call again," he said, as he went through the gate. "It won't do any good!" she shouted after him; we don't want no prepared food for infants-no piano musicno stuffed birds! I know the policeman on this beat, and if you come around here again, he'll soon find out whether "ou are a confidence man or a vagrant!" And she took unusual care to lock the door. DETROIT FREE PRESS. ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS ARRIVED. Toll for the brave The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore! Eight hundred of the brave, Had made the vessel heel, And laid her on her side. A land breeze shook the shrouds, Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone; It was not in the battle; His sword was in its sheath; With twice four hundred men |