Gashed of throat and supple of limb-
Why, what do I want to-day with him?
To the tick-tock

Of the ceaseless clock

His body is swaying, slowly and free,
While his shadowy finger points at me.

Will it never be here-the dawn of the day,
When the law is to carry my life away;
And the gaping crowd, with their pitiless eyes,
Stand eager to see how the doomed one dies?
Nothing to scatter the terrible gloom
That fills up the arched and grated room;
Nothing to herald the hour of doom
But the tick-tock

Of the weariless clock,

And the tread of the tired policeman's feet
As he steadily paces the echoing street.

At last the deep darkness is melting away
At the corpse-like light on the face of the day;

I hear the prisoners in their cells,

I hear the chiming of morning bells,

The rattle of carts in the streets once more,

The careful tread on the stony floor

Of the sheriff, who comes to the grated door,
And the tick-tock

Of the great jail clock,

And the whispered words of the keepers around,
And every whisper a thunder sound.

What mocking is this in the formal demand,
In the mighty name of the law of the land,
For the body of him who is doomed to die
In the face of men, and beneath the sky?
I am safe in your thrall, but pinion me well,-
I might be desperate-who can tell?—

As I march to the sound of the clanging bell,
The tick-tock

Of the great jail clock,

And the voice of the priest as he mumbles a prayer, And the voices that murmur around me there.

THE DEATH PENALTY.

I REGRET, gentlemen, that this question of the abolition of capital punishment-the most important question, perhaps, of all before this body,-comes up at a time when we are little prepared for its discussion. For myself, I have but few words to say on the subject, but they will proceed from convictions profound and long entertained. You have established the inviolability of the domicil: we ask you to establish an inviolability higher and more sacred the inviolability of human life! Gentlemen, a constitution, and above all, a constitution made by France and for France, is necessarily an important step in civilization. If it is not that, it is nothing. Consider, then, this penalty of death. What is it but the special and eternal type of barbarism? Wherever the penalty of death is most in vogue, barbarism prevails. Wherever it is rare, civilization reigns. Gentlemen, these are in disputable facts.

The modification of the penalty was a great forward step. The eighteenth century, to its honor, abolished the torture. The nineteenth century will abolish the death penalty! You may not abolish it to-day. But, doubt not, you will abolish it to-morrow; or else your succes sors will abolish it. You have inscribed at the head of the preamble of your constitution the words, "IN PRESENCE OF GOD;" and would you begin by depriving that God of the right which to Him only belongs the right of life and death?

Gentlemen, there are three things which are God's, not man's: the irrevocable, the irreparable, the indissoluble. Woe to man if he introduces them into his laws! Sooner or later they will force society to give way under their weight; they derange the equilibrium essential to the security of laws and of morals; they take from human justice its proportions; and then it happens,-think of it, gentlemen-it happens that the law revolts the con

science!

I have ascended this tribune to say but a word, a decisive word, and it is this: After the Revolution of Feb

ruary came a great thought to the French people. The day after they had burned the Throne, they sought to burn the Scaffold! But this sublime idea they were prevented from carrying into execution. In the first article of this constitution you have consecrated the people's first thought; you have cast down the Throne ! Now consecrate its second thought, and cast down the Scafold! I vote for the entire abolition of the penalty of death. Victor Hugo.

TRUTH IN PARENTHESIS.

I REALLY take it very kind,

This visit, Mrs. Skinner;

I have not seen you such an age,

(The wretch has come to dinner!)
Your daughters, too, what loves of girls!
What heads for painters' easels !

Come here, and kiss the infant, dears!
(And give it, p'rhaps, the measles!)

Your charming boys, I see, are home,
From Reverend Mr. Russel's;
'Twas very kind to bring them both,
(What boots for my new Brussels!)
What! little Clara left at home?
Well now, I call that shabby!
I should have loved to kiss her so!
(A flabby, dabby babby !)

And Mr. S., I hope he's well;
But, though he lives so handy,
He never once drops in to sup,
(The better for our brandy!)

Come, take a seat; I long to hear

About Matilda's marriage;

You've come, of course to spend the day,
(Thank Heaven! I hear the carriage !)

What! must you go? Next time, I hope,
You'll give me longer measure;
Nay, I shall see you down the stairs;
(With most uncommon pleasure!)
Good by! good by! Remember, all,
Next time you'll take your dinners;
(Now, David, mind I'm not at home,
In future, to the Skinners.)

Thomas Hood.

CŒUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER.

The body of Henry the Second lay in state in the abbey-church of Fontevrault, where it was visited by Richard Coeur de Lion, who, on beholding it, was struck with horror and remorse, and bitterly reproached himself for that rebellious conduct which had been the means of bringing his father to an untimely grave.

TORCHES were blazing clear,

Hymns pealing deep and slow,
Where a king lay stately on his bier
In the church of Fontevrault.

Banners of battle o'er him hung,
And warriors slept beneath,

And light as noon's broad light was flung
On the settled face of death:

On the settled face of death

A strong and ruddy glare,

Though dimmed at times by the censer's breath,
Yet it fell still brightest there;

As if each deeply furrowed trace
Of earthly years to show,-
Alas! that sceptred mortal's race
Had surely closed in woe!

The marble floor was swept

By many a long dark stole,

As the kneeling priests, round him that slept,
Sang mass for the parted soul;

And solemn were the strains they poured

Through the stillness of the night,

With the cross above, and the crown and sword,
And the silent king in sight.

There was heard a heavy clang,
As of steel-girt men the tread,

And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang
With a sounding thrill of dread;

And the holy chant was hushed awhile,
As by the torch's flame,

A gleam of arms up the sweeping aisle
With a mail-clad leader came.

He came with haughty look,

An eagle glance and clear;

But his proud heart through its breast plate shook
When he stood beside the bier!

He stood there still with a drooping brow,
And clasped hands o'er it raised ;-

For his father lay before him low,

It was Cœur de Lion gazed!

And silently he strove

With the workings of his breast; But there's more in late repentant love Than steel may keep suppressed!

And his tears brake forth at last like rain,Men held their breath in awe,

For his face was seen by his warrior-train, And he recked not that they saw.

He looked upon the dead,
And sorrow seemed to lie,-
A weight of sorrow, even like lead,
Pale on the fast-shut eye.

He stooped, and kissed the frozen cheek,
And the heavy hand of clay,

Till bursting words-yet all too weak-
Gave his soul's passion way.

"Oh father! is it vain,
This late remorse and deep?
Speak to me, father! once again,
I weep,-behold, I weep!
Alas! my guilty pride and ire!
Were but this work undone,

I would give England's crown, my sire!
To hear thee bless thy son.

"Speak to me! mighty grief
Ere now the dust hath stirred!
Hear me, but hear me !-father, chief,
My king! I must be heard!
Hushed, hushed,-how is it that I call,
And that thou answerest not?

When was it thus, woe, woe for all
The love my soul forgot!