And looking grave, "You must," says he,
"Quit your sweet bride, and come with me."
"With you! and quit my Susan's side?

With you?

"the hapless bridegroom cried: "Young as I am, 'tis monstrous hard! Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared."

3. What more he urged, I have not heard:
His reasons could not well be stronger:
So Death the poor delinquent spared,
And left to live a little longer.
Yet calling up a serious look,

His hour-glass trembled, while he spoke ;
"Neighbor," he said, "farewell: no more
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour,
And further, to avoid all blame
Of cruelty upon my name,
To give you time for preparation,

And fit you for your future station,
Three several warnings you shall have,
Before you're summoned to the grave:
Willing, for once, I'll quit my prey,

And grant a kind reprieve :
In hopes you'll have no more to say,
But when I call again this way,
Well pleased the world will leave."
To these conditions both consented,
And parted perfectly contented.

4. What next the hero of our tale befell,
How long he lived, how wise, how well,
It boots not, that the muse should tell :
He plowed, he sowed, he bought, he sold,
Nor once perceived his growing old,

Nor thought of Death as near:

His friends not false, his wife no shrew,

Many his gains, his children few,

He passed his hours in peace :

But, while he viewed his wealth increase,

While thus along life's dusty road,

The beaten track, content, he trod,

Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares,
Uncalled, unheeded, unawares,

Brought on his eightieth year.

5. And now, one night, in musing mood
As all alone he sat,

The unwelcome messenger of Fate
Once more before him stood.

Half killed with wonder and surprise,
"So soon returned!" old Dobson cries.
"So soon d'ye call it?" Death replies :
"6 'Surely, my friend, you're but in jest:
Since I was here before,

'Tis six and thirty years at least,

And you are now four-score."

"So much the worse!" the clown rejoined:

"To spare the aged would be kind :

Besides, you promised me three warnings,

Which I have looked for, nights and mornings!"

6. "I know," cries Death, "that at the best,

I seldom am a welcome guest;

But don't be captious, friend: at least,

I little thought that you'd be able
To stump about your farm and stable,
Your years have run to a great length,
Yet still you seem to have your strength."
"Hold!" says the farmer, "not so fast!
I have been lame, these four years past."
"And no great wonder," Death replies :
"However, you still keep your eyes;
And surely, sir, to see one's friends,
For legs and arms would make amends."
"Perhaps," says Dobson, so it might,
But latterly I've lost my sight."

"This is a shocking story, faith;

But there's some comfort still," says Death:
"Each strives your sadness to amuse:

I warrant you hear all the news."

"There's none," cries he, "and if there were, I've grown so deaf, I could not hear."

7. "Nay then," the specter stern rejoined, "These are unpardonable yearnings: If you are lame, and deaf, and blind,

You've had your three sufficient warnings:

So, come along! no more we'll part : "

He said, and touched him with his dart.

And now, old Dobson, turning pale,
Yields to his fate-so ends my tale.

CXLIII.-THE PILOT-A THRILLING INCIDENT.

JOHN B. GOUGH.

1. JOHN MAYNARD was well known in the lake district as a God-fearing, honest and intelligent pilot. He was pilot on a steamboat from Detroit to Buffalo, one summer afternoon-at that time those steamers seldom carried boatssmoke was seen ascending from below, and the captain called out:

Simpson, go below and see what the matter is down

there."

66

Simpson came up with his face pale as ashes, and said, Captain, the ship is on fire."

Then "Fire! fire! fire!" on shipboard.

All hands were called up. Buckets of water were dashed on the fire, but in vain. There were large quantities of rosin and tar on board, and it was found useless to attempt to save the ship.

2. The passengers rushed forward and inquired of the pilot:

"How far are we from Buffalo ? 99

"Three-quarters of an hour at our present rate of steam." "Is there any danger?

"Danger, here-see the smoke bursting out-go forward if you would save your lives."

Passengers and crew, men, women and children, crowded the forward part of the ship. John Maynard stood at the helm. The flames burst forth in a sheet of fire: clouds of smoke arose.

3. The captain cried out through his trumpet:

"John Maynard!

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Head her south-east and run her on shore," said the captain.

Nearer, nearer, yet nearer, she approached the shore. Again the captain cried out:

"John Maynard!"

The response came feebly this time, "Aye, aye, sir!" "Can you hold on five minutes longer, John?" he said. "By God's help, I will."

The old man's hair was scorched from the scalp, one hand disabled, his knee upon the stanchion, and his teeth. set, with his other hand upon the wheel, he stood firm as a rock. He beached the ship: every man, woman, and child was saved, as John Maynard dropped, and his spirit took its flight to its God.

CXLIV.-TWENTY YEARS AGO.

1. I've wandered to the village, Tom: I've sat beneath the tree,
Upon the school house play-ground, which sheltered you and me;
But none were there to greet me, Tom, and few were left to know,
That played with us upon the green, some twenty years ago.

2. The grass was just as green, Tom, bare-footed boys at play,
Were sporting just as we did then, with spirits just as gay;
But "Master" sleeps upon the hill, which, coated o'er with snow,
Afforded us a sliding place just twenty years ago.

3. The school house has altered some-the benches are replaced
By new ones, very like the same our pen-knives had defaced;
But the same old bricks are in the wall-the bell swings to and fro,
Its music just the same, dear Tom, 'twas twenty years ago.

4. The boys were playing some old game, beneath that same old tree:
I do forget the name just now-you've played the same with me-
On that same spot, 'twas played with knives, by throwing so and so:
The leader had a task to do-there twenty years ago.

5. The river's running just as still, the willows on its side,

Are larger than they were, Tom: the stream appears less wide: But the grape-vine swing is ruined now, where once we played the beau, And swung our sweet-hearts, "pretty girls," just twenty years ago. 6. The spring that bubbled 'neath the hill, close by the spreading beech, Is very low-'twas once so high, that we could almost reach; And kneeling down to get a drink, dear Tom, I startled so, To see how much I've changed since twenty years ago.

7. Near by the spring, upon an elm, you know I cut your name,

Your sweet-heart's just beneath it, Tom, and you did mine the same:
Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark, 'twas dying sure but slow,
Just as that one, whose name you cut, died twenty years ago.

8. My lids have long been dry, Tom, but tears came in my eyes:
I thought of her I loved so well, those early broken ties:
I visited the old church-yard, and took some flowers to strew
Upon the graves of those we loved, some twenty years ago.
9. Some are in the church-yard laid-some sleep beneath the sea;
But few are left of our old class, excepting you and me;

And when our time shall come, Tom, and we are called to go,
I hope they'll lay us where we played just twenty years ago.

CXLV. THE RAVEN.

EDGAR A. POE.

1. ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore: While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber-door. ""Tis some visitor," I mutter'd, "tapping at my chamber-doorOnly this, and nothing more."

2. Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow: vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow-sorrow for the lost Lenore— For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named LenoreNameless here forevermore.

3. And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain, Thrill'd me-fill'd me with fantastic terrors never felt before: So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door: