THE

LITTLE JIM.

cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and mean,

Yet everything within that cot was wondrous neat and clean: The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling wild, A patient mother watched beside the death-bed of her childA little worn-out creature - his once bright eyes grown dim; It was the collier's wife and child - they called him "Little Jim."

And oh! to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her cheek,
As she offered up a prayer of thought she was afraid to speak,
Lest she might waken one she loved far better than her life,
For she had all a mother's heart, had that poor collier's wife:
With hands uplifted, see! she kneels beside the sufferer's bed,
And prays that he will spare her boy, and take herself instead.

She gets her answer from her child - soft fall these words from him:

"Mother, the angels they do smile, and beckon 'Little Jim.' I have no pain, dear mother, now; but oh! I am so dry – Just moisten poor Jim's lips again — and, mother, don't ye cry." With gentle, trembling haste she held a tea-cup to his lips; He smiled to thank her as he took three little tiny sips "Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good-night to him;

And, mother, now I'll go to sleep." Alas! poor "Little Jim."

She saw that he was dying — the child she loved so dear,
Had uttered the last words that she might ever hope to hear;
The cottage door is opened the collier's step is heard —
The father and the mother meet, but neither spake a word.
He felt that all was over - he knew his child was dead;
He took the candle in his hand and walked toward the bed;
His quivering lips give token of the grief he'd fain conceal -
And see! his wife has joined him—the stricken couple kneel;
With hearts bowed down with sadness they humbly ask of Him,
In heaven once more to meet again their own poor "Little

Jim."

OVER THE RIVER.

VER the river they beckon to me,

O'

Loved ones who crossed to the other side; The gleam of their snowy robes I see,

But their voices are drowned by the rushing tide. There's one with ringlets of sunny gold,

And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue;
He crossed in the twilight gray and cold,

And the pale mist hid him from mortal view.
We saw not the angels that met him there—
The gate of the city we could not see;
Over the river, over the river,

My brother stands, waiting to welcome me.

Over the river the boatman pale

Carried another, the household pet;
Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale-
Darling Minnie! I see her yet!

She closed on her bosom her dimpled hands,

And fearlessly entered the phantom bark; We watched it glide from the silver sands,

And all our sunshine grew strangely dark. We know she is safe on the further side, Where all the ransomed and angels be; Over the river, the mystic river,

My childhood's idol is waiting for me.

For none return from those quiet shores,
Who cross with the boatman cold and pale;

We hear the dip of the golden oars,

And catch a glimpse of the snowy sail;

And lo! they have passed from our yearning hearts They cross the stream and are gone for aye.

We may not sunder the vail apart

That hides from our vision the gates of day;
We only know that their barks no more
Sail with us o'er life's stormy sea;

Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore,
They watch, and beckon, and wait for me.

And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold
Is flashing on river, and hill, and shore,
I shall one day stand by the waters cold,

And list to the sound of the boatman's oar.
I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail;
I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand;
I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale
To the better shore of the spirit-land.

I shall know the loved who have gone before,
And joyfully sweet will the meeting be,
When over the river, the peaceful river,
The angel of death shall carry me.

THER

BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.

HE warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire,

And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire: "I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring my captive train, I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord!-Oh! break my father's

chain !"

"Rise, rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man this

day:

Mount thy good horse; and thou and I will meet him on his way."

Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed, And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed.

And lo! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering

band,

With one that 'midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land: "Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he, The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see."

His dark eye flashed-his proud breast heaved-his cheek's hue came and went

He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there dismounting bent,

A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took
What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook?

That hand was cold—a frozen thing- it dropped from his like lead

He looked up to the face above-the face was of the dead.

A plume waved o'er the noble brow - the brow was fixed and white;

He met at last his father's eyes - but in them was no sight!

Up from the ground he sprang and gazed; — but who could paint that gaze!

They hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror and amaze: They might have chained him, as before that stony form he

stood;

For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood.

"Father!" at length he murmured low, and wept like childhood then

Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of war-like men! He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown He flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down.

Then, covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow,

"No more, there is no more," he said, "to lift the sword for

now

My king is false, my hope betrayed! My father-oh! the

worth,

The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth!

"I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire! beside thee yet!

I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met!-

Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then;

were won;

for thee my fields

And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no

son!"

Then starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's rein,

Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train;
And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led,
And sternly set them face to face- the king before the dead:

"Came I not forth upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss? - Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me what is this?

The voice, the glance, the heart I sought-give answer, where

are they?

If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold clay !

"Into these glassy eyes put light-be still! keep down thine ire

Bid these white lips a blessing speak - this earth is not my

sire:

Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was

Thou canst not? — and a king! — his dust be mountains on thy

head!"

He loosed the steed-his slack hand fell; - upon the silent face He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that sad

place:

His hope was crushed, his after-fate untold in martial strain: His banner led the spears no more amidst the hills of Spain.

HAMLET'S INSTRUCTION TO THE PLAYERS.

SPEA

PEAK the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue; but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor, do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus: but use all gently; for, in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. Oh! it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious, periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters