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The wind ceased, her heart sunk in her bosom with dread, For she heard in the ruins—distinctly—the tread
Of footsteps approaching her near.
Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear,
She crept to conceal herself there;
And between then—a corpse did they bear!
Then Mary could feel her heart's-blood curdle cold!
Again the rough wind hurried by-
She fell—and expected to die !
“Curse the hat!” he exclaims; “Nay come on and first hide
The dead body," his comrade replies-
And fast through the abbey she flies.
She ran with wild speed, she rushed in at the door,
She gazed horribly eager around; Then her limbs could support their faint burden no more, And exhausted and breathless she sunk on the floor,
Unable to utter a sound.
Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart,
For a moment the hat met her view ;Her
eyes from that object convulsively start, For, Oh God! what cold horror thrilled through her heart,
When the name of her Richard she knew.
Where the old abbey stands, on the common hard by,
His gibbet is now to be seen; Not far from the inn it
eye, The traveler beholds it, and thinks, with a sigh,
Of poor Mary, the maid of the inn.
COMIC AND AMUSING.
1. TO AN OLD WIG.-Anonymous. Hail thou! that liest so snug in this old box;
With awe I bend before thy wood-built shrine! Oh! 'tis not closed with glue, nor nails, nor locks,
And hence the bliss of viewing thee is mine. Like my poor aunt, thou hast seen better days;
Well curled and powdered, once it was thy lot Balls to frequent, and masquerades, and plays,
And panoramas, and I know not what! Alas! what art thou now? a mere old mop!
With which our housemaid Nan, who hates a broom Dusts all the chambers in my little shop,
Then slyly hides thee in this lumber-room. Such is the fate of wigs—and mortals too!
After a few more years than thine are past,
Must all be shut up in a box at last!
THE CHILD'S WISH IN JUNE.-Gilman.
Mother, mother, the winds are at play,
sits ncar, with a sleepy grace, Without ever thinking of washing her face. There flies a bird to a neighboring tree, But very lazily flieth he, And he sits and twitters a gentle note, And scarcely ruffles his little throat. You bid me be busy ; but mother, hear How the humdrum grasshopper soundeth near, And the soft west wind is so light in its play, It scarcely moves a leaf on the spray. I wish, oh, I wish I was yonder cloud, That sails about with its misty shroud ; Books and work I no more should see, And I'd come and float, dear mother, o'er thee.
You'd scarce expect one of my age,
4. THE APPLE-DUMPLINGS, AND GEORGE THE THIRD.-Wolcot.
Once in the chase, this monarch drooping,
Entered, through curiosity, a cot,
Where an old crone was hanging on the pot ;
Had apple-dumplings ready for the pot;
what? what? what ?" Then taking up a dumpling in his hand, His eyes
with admiration did expandAnd oft did majesty the dumpling grapple ; “ 'Tis monstrous, monstrous, monstrous hard,” he cried; “ What makes the thing so hard ?” The dame replied,
Low courtesying, “ Please your majesty, the apple." “ Very astonishing indeed! strange thing!" (Turning the dumpling round) rejoined the king, “ 'Tis most extraordinary now, all this isIt beats the conjurer's capers all to piecesStrange I should never of a dumpling dream,But Goody, tell me, where, where, where's the seam?"
Sire, there's no seam,” quoth she, “ I never knew That folks did apple-dumplings sew!"“No!” cried the staring monarch with a grin, “Then, where, where, where, pray, got the apple in ?"
THE DIRECTING POST.—Anonymous.
In winter, once, an honest traveling wight
'Twas thus the words he traced—“To Derby-five,* “A goodly distance yet, as I'm alive !" But on he drove a weary length of way, And wished his journey he'd delayed till day: He wondered that no town appeared in view, (The wind blew stronger, it rained faster too,) When to his great relief he met a man: I say good friend, pray tell
you can, How far is't hence to Derby ?'' "Derby, hey!
1 Why zur, thee be’est completely come astray ; This y'ant the road." “Why zounds the guide-post showed • To Derby, five'-and pointed down this road!"
Ay, dang it, that may be, for you maun know,
it up again, but whether
THE ATHEIST AND ACORN.—Anonymous.
“Methinks the world seems oddly made
And every thing amiss ;"
And instanced it in this :
“ Behold,” quoth he, “ that mighty thing,
A pumpkin large and round,
Nor bear it from the ground.
So disproportioned grows,
Its ill contrivance knows.
The pumpkin on the tree,
And weak and feeble be.”