AN INCOMPLETE REVELATION. RICHARD A. JACKSON. While Quaker folks were Quakers still, some fifty years ago, When coats were drab and gowns were plain and speech was staid and slow, Before Dame Fashion dared suggest a single friz or curl, Ruth Wilson's garb was of her sect. Devoid of furbelows, Sylvanus Moore, a bachelor of forty years or so, A quaintly pious, weazened soul, with beard and hair of tow And queer thin legs and shuffling walk and drawling, nasal tone, Was prompted by the Spirit to make this maid his own. He knew it was the Spirit, for he felt it in his breast He let Ruth know the message true that he was moved to speak. แ Ruth, it has been revealed to me that thee and I shall wed. I have spoken to the meeting and the members all have said That our union seems a righteous one, which they will not gainsay, So if convenient to thy views, I'll wed thee next Third day." The cool possession of herself by friend Sylvanus Moore Aroused her hot resentiment, which by effort she forboreShe knew he was a goodly man, of simple, childlike mind-And checked the word "Impertinence!" and answered him in kind: Sylvanus Moore, do thee go home and wait until I see The fact that I must be thy wife revealed unto me." And thus she left him there alone, at will to ruminateSore puzzled at the mysteries of Love, Free-will, and Fate. AN INITIATED TRAMP. We have before maintained that the tramps scouring about the country are a regularly organized fraternity, having a general understanding with one another, and having a ritual of questions and answers. Their uniform appearance, their periodical visits to the same localities, their regular calls at the same houses where they have before procured food, all point to this. Sheriff Walls, of this city, has found curious emblems about them, has studied their character and listened to their conversation, until he can tell a regularly initiated tramp from an impostor. The following amusing and instructive dialogue took place between the Sheriff and one of a squad of tramps recently committed to jail: "From whence came you?" "From a town in New York, called Jerusalem.” "What's your business here?" "To learn to subdue my appetite and to sponge my living from an indulgent public." "Then you are a regular tramp, I presume?" "I am so taken and accepted wherever I go." "How am I to recognize you as a tramp?" "By the largeness of my feet, and general carnivorous appearance." 66 How do you know yourself to be a tramp?" "In seeking food, by being often denied, but ready to try again." "How gained you admittance to this town?" By a good many long tramps." "How were you received?” "On the end of a night policeman's billy presented to my head." "How did the policeman dispose of you?" "He took me several times around the town, to the south, east and west, where he found the city marshal, police judge, and the jailer, and where a great many questions were asked." "What advice did the judge give you?" "He advised me to walk in upright, regular steps, and to renounce tramping." "Will you be off or from?" "With your permission, I'll be off very quick.” "Which way are you traveling?" "East." "Of what are you in pursuit?" "Work-which by my own endeavors and the assistance of others, I hope I shall never be able to find." "My friend, you are now at an institution where the wicked are always troublesome and the weary as bad as the rest. You will now be conducted to the middle chamber by a flight of winding stairs, consisting of five or more steps. Instead of corn, wine and oil, the wages of the ancients, yours will be bread and water for five days. When your company escape from this place, divide yourselves into parties of three each, take a bee line for Portland or Bangor, where in the winter they usually run free soup houses, and you may be pardoned on condition of your never returning." (Pointing to the turnkey,) "Follow your conductor, and fear no danger-if you behave yourself." THE POET'S FUNERAL.*-F. N. ZABRISKIE. From college and from chapel spires The bells of Cambridge tolled ; And through the world on trembling wires The saddening message rolled. They spake of one whose "Psalm of life" And in sublime doxology Before the Throne arose. "The wayside inn" no longer holds *H. W. Longfellow. A "gleam of sunshine" o'er the world- And beats with heavy heart and slow "The Reaper Death" has gathered in The "woods in winter" moan for him The earth-gleam and its gloom are gone- He o'er "the bridge at midnight" passed Swifter than "birds of passage," on "Into the silent land." "Sandalphon's" hands have turned to flowers Broke is "life's goblet ;" but the well For us "the rainy day"-for him No more the clouds return: No more "the building of the ship," But the celestial main: The "village blacksmith's" arm has wrought The last link of the chain; The scholar, who to English speech So deftly knew to turn The songs of many lands and men, Had one more tongue to learn; "Translated" is the poet's self, His life-song evermore "The happiest land's" vernacular, The last "Excelsior!" "The River Charles" the message bears Out to the sobbing sea; "The birds of Killingworth" are mute And wander aimlessly; By icy capes and southern bays, The tender sorrow thrills. Let "church-bells heard at evening" waft "The curfew" toll the embers out, Of one whose "day is done." Ring out once more, “O bells of Lynn," O'er land and water call; "Belfry of Bruges," bid the shades "Two angels," named of Life and Death, Chant their triumphant hymn. “The children of the supper" stand, And Minnesingers, vikings old, And cobbler bards, and haloed saints, King Olaf and King Robert march Brave" Victor Galbraith's" wraith. And Dante walks in stately grief, |