He drots and ganters, vaux and paces,
And outvorks Pelzepub in draces;
And ven he gallops in der shtreet
He vaux upon his legs and feet;

Von leg goes down, and den the oder,
Und always follows von anoder;

He hash two ears shtuck 'pon his head,
Bote of dem's neider vite nor red,
But bote alike, shust von you see,
1sh blacker than the oder pe;

He's got two eyes dat looks von vay,
Only he lost one toder day,

So, ven you vants to take a ride,
Shump on his pack on toder side,
And it is shust as gospel drue,
His eye vat's plind will not see you.
His dail's pehind him long and shleek,
Only I cut him off last veek,

Und derefore 'tis not any more
As half so longer as pefore.

He cocks his ear, and looks so gay,
Und vill not shtart and run avay,

But ven he's scart, he make von shpring
Und shumps apout like every ding;
He rides apout mit chaise and cart,
I never see such horse for smart;
Und sometimes he go on de road,
Mitout nopody for his load
But pag of corn, and takes de track,
Mit little poy upon his pack.
Mine horse ish not so very old,

Not half so young as ven he's foaled,
And ven he gallop, rear or shump,
His head come all pefore him plump.
And den his dail goes all pehind;
Put sometimes, ven he takes a mind,
Gets mad and durns all round, be sure
Vy den his dail goes all pefore.
Whoever vill my plack horse got,
Shall pay ten dollars on the sphot;

And if he brings der tief alive
Vy den he pays me twenty-five,
Mitout no questions axed by me.
By mine advertisement you'll see

I live out here by Schneider's Gap,
Near Schotoffelfunk's.

Like a thousand gleaming arrows-
Like a deadly poisoned dart;
"Long, long years I've rung the Curfew
From that gloomy shadowed tower;
Every evening, just at sunset,

It has told the twilight hour;

I have done my duty ever,

Tried to do it just and right,

Now I'm old, I will not miss it,

Girl, the Curfew rings to-night!"

Wild her eyes and pale her features,
Stern and white her thoughtful brow,
And within her heart's deep center,
Bessie made a solemn vow;
She had listened while the judges
Read, without a tear or sigh,
"At the ringing of the Curfew—
Basil Underwood must die."
And her breath came fast and faster,

And her eyes grew large and brightOne low murmur, scarcely spoken"Curfew must not ring to-night!"

She with light step bounded forward,
Sprang within the old church door,
Left the old man coming slowly,

Paths he'd often trod before.

Not one moment paused the maiden,
But with cheek and brow aglow,
Staggered up the gloomy tower,

Where the bell swung to and fro;
Then she climbed the slimy ladder,
Dark, without one ray of light,
Upward still, her pale lips saying:

"Curfew shall not ring to-night."

She has reached the topmost ladder,

O'er her hangs the great dark bell, And the awful gloom beneath her,

Like the pathway down to hell;

See, the ponderous tongue is swinging,

'Tis the hour of Curfew now

And the sight has chilled her bosom,

Stopped her breath and paled her brow. Shall she let it ring? No, never!

Her eyes flash with sudden light, As she springs and grasps it firmly"Curfew shall not ring to-night!"

Out she swung, far out, the city
Seemed a tiny speck below;
There, 'twixt heaven and earth suspended,
As the bell swung to and fro,
And the half-deaf sexton ringing;

(Years he had not heard the bell,) And he thought the twilight Curfew Rang young Basil's funeral knell;

Still the maiden clinging firmly,

Cheek and brow so pale and white, Still her frightened heart's wild beating— "Curfew shall not ring to-night."

It was o'er-the bell ceased swaying,
And the maiden stepped once more

Firmly on the damp old ladder,

Where for hundred years before
Human foot had not been planted;

And what she this night had done,
Should be told in long years after-
As the rays of setting sun
Light the sky with mellow beauty,

Aged sires with heads of white,
Tell the children why the Curfew

Did not ring that one sad night.

O'er the distant hills came Cromwell;
Bessie saw him, and her brow
Lately white with sickening terror,

Glows with sudden beauty now;

At his feet she told her story,

Showed her hands all bruised and torn;

And her sweet young face so haggard,
With a look so sad and worn,
Touched his heart with sudden pity—
Lit his eyes with misty light;
"Go, your lover lives!" cried Cromwell;
“Curfew shall not ring to-night.”

MRS. ROSE HARTWICK THORPE.

LEEDLE YAWCOB STRAUSS.

I haf von funny leedle poy

Vot gomes schust to my knee,

Der queerest schap, der createst rogue

As efer you dit see.

He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings

In all barts off der house.

But vot off dot? He vas mine son,

Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss.

He get der measles und der mumbs,

Und eferyding dot's oudt;

He sbills mine glass ob lager bier,

Poots schnuff indo mine kraut;

He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese

Dot vas der roughest chouse;

I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy

But leedle Yawcob Strauss.

He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum,

Und cuts mine cane in dwo

To make der schticks to beat it mit

Mine cracious, dot vas drue!

I dinks mine head vas schplit abart

He kicks oup such a touse;

But nefer mind, der poys vas few
Like dot young Yawcob Strauss.

He asks me questions sooch as dese:
Who baints mine nose so red?