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0. Man. No, sir.

Tyke. I'm glad on't-I'm glad on't-Ruin my own father!

0. Man. Ah ! did I hear rightly? Father !-what! Oh ! let me see- - let me see! (TYKE, with a countenance strongly impressed with shame and sorrow, turns round.) Ah! it's my son-my long-lost, dear profligate boy ! Heaven be thanked !-Heaven be thanked !

Tyke. (Groaning, strikes his breast.) Oh ! burst, burst, and ease me! Eh !-but he's alive- father's alive! ha! ha! (Laughs hysterically.)

0. Man. You terrify me! Robert, Robert, hear me. Take my forgiveness—take my blessing !

Tyke. What!—forgive-bless-such a rogue as(Bursts into a flood of tears.)

0. Man. Be composed.

Tyke. Let me cry; it does me good, father-it does me good.

0. Man. Oh! if there be holy water, it surely is the sinner's tears.

Tyke. But he's alive. (Rushes into his arms.)

0. Man. Ay! alive to comfort and pardon thee, my poor prodigal, and Heaven will pardon thee!

Tyke. No, don't say that, father, because it can't.
O. Man. It is all-merciful.

Tyke. Yes, I know it is. I know it would if it could, but not me! No, no!

0. Man. Kneel down, and ask its mercy.

Tyke. I dare not, father—I dare not! Oh, if I durst but just thank it for thy life!

0. Man. Angels will sing for joy.
Tyke. What !

-may I, think you? May I-may I ?
[By degrees he tremblingly falls on his knees, and

clasps his hands with energetic devotion.

Scene Closes.

79

TII E LAST MA N.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,

The sun himself must die,
Before this mortal shall assume

Its immortality !
I saw a vision in my sleep
That gave my spirit strength to sweep

Adown the gulf of Time !
I saw the last of human mould,
That shall creation's death behold,

As Adam saw her prime!
The sun's eye had a sickly glare,

The earth with age was wan,
The skeletons of nations were

Around that lonely man!
Some had expired in fight,--the brands
Still rusted in their bony hands;

In plague and famine some !
Earth's cities had no sound nor tread;
And ships were drifting with the dead

To shores where all was dumb!

Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood,

With dauntless words and high, That shook the sere leaves from the wood

As if a storm pass’d bySaying, We are twins in death, proud sun, Thy face is cold, thy race is run,

'Tis mercy bids thee go; For thou ten thousand thousand years Hast seen the tide of human tears,

That shall no longer flow. What though beneath thee man put forth

His pomp, his pride, his skill;

And arts that made fire, flood, and earth,

The vassals of his will;—
Yet mourn I not thy parted sway,
Thou dim discrowned king of day:

For all those trophied arts
And triumphs that beneath thce sprang,
Heald not a passion or a pang

Entail'd on human hearts.

Go, let oblivion's curtain fall

Upon the stage of men,
Nor with thy rising beams recall

Life's tragedy again.
Its piteous pageants bring not back,
Nor waken flesh upon the rack

Of pain anew to writhe;
Stretch'd in disease's shapes abhorr'd,
Or mown in battle by the sword,

Like grass beneath the scythe.

Even I am weary

in
yon

skies To watch thy fading fire; Test of all sunless agonies,

Behold not me expire. My lips that speak thy dirge of death Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath

To see thou shalt not boast. The eclipse of nature spreads my pall, The majesty of darkness shall

Receive my parting ghost !

This spirit shall return to Him

Who gave its heavenly spark ;
Yet think not, sun, it shall be dim,

When thou thyself art dark !
No! it shall live again, and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine,

By Him recall’d to breath,
Who captive led captivity,

Who robb’d the grave of victory, —

And took the sting from death!

Go, sun,

holds me up

while

mercy
On nature's awful waste,
To drink this last and bitter cup

Of grief that man shall taste-
Go, tell the night that hides thy face,
Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race,

On earth's sepulchral clod,
The darkening universe defy
To quench his immortality,

Or shake his trust in God!

TO PARENTS AND GUARDIANS.

FREDERICK LOCKER.

Of woe;

PAPA was deep in weekly bills,
Mamma was doing Fanny's frills,

Her gentle face full

said she, “I do declare He can't go back in such a pair

They're too disgraceful !" “ Confound it !" quoth papa. Perhaps The ban was deeper, but the lapse

Of time has drowned it;
Besides, 'tis badness to suppose
A worse, when goodness only knows

He meant Confound it.
The butcher's book—that unctuous diary
Had made my parent's temper fiery,

And bubble over;
So quite in spite he flung it down,
And spilt the ink, and spoilt his own
Fine table-cover

Of scarlet cloth! Papa cried, " Pish !" Which did not mean he did not wish

He'd been more heedful. “Good luck,” said he, “this cloth will dip, And make a famous pair. Get Snip

To do the needful."
'Twas thus that I went back to school,
In garb no boy could ridicule;

And eft becoming
A jolly child, I plunged in debt
For tarts; and promised fair to get

The prize for summing.
But, no! my schoolmates soon began
Again to mock my outward man,

And made me hate 'em !
Long sitting will broadcloth abrade;
The dye wore off—and so displayed

A red substratum !
To both my parents then I flew-
Mamma shed tears, papa cried "Pooh!

Come, stop this racket.”
He'd still some cloth; so Snip was bid
To stitch me on two tails: he did,

And spoilt my jacket !
And then the boys, despite my wails,
Would slyly come and lift my ls,

And smack me soundly.
O, weak mamma! O, wrathful dad !
Although your exploits drove me mad,

Ye loved me fondly.
Good friends, our little ones (who feel
Some bitter wounds, which only heal

As wisdom mellows)
Need sympathy in deed and word;
So never let them look absurd

Beside their fellows,

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