when suddenly there stood by me Xanthippus, the Spartan general, by whose aid you conquered me, and, with a voice low as when the solemn wind moans through the leafless forest, he thus addressed me: 'Roman, I come to bid thee curse, with thy dying breath, this fated city; know that in an evil moment, the Carthaginian generals, furious with rage that I had conquered thee, their conqueror, did basely murder me. And then they thought to stain my brightest honor. But, for this foul deed, the wrath of Jove shall rest upon them here and hereafter.' And then he vanished. "And now, go bring your sharpest torments. The woes I see impending over this guilty realm shall be enough to sweeten death, though every nerve and artery were a shooting pang. I die! but my death shall prove a proud triumph; and, for every drop of blood ye from my veins do draw, your own shall flow in rivers. Woe to thee, Carthage! Woe to the proud city of the waters! I see thy nobles wailing at the feet of Roman senators! thy citizens in terror! thy ships in flames! I hear the victorious shouts of Rome! I see her eagles glittering on thy ramparts. Proud city, thou art doomed! The curse of God is on thee-a clinging, wasting curse. It shall not leave thy gates till hungry flames shall lick the fretted gold from off thy proud palaces, and every brook runs crimson to the sea." GENTLE ALICE BROWN.-W. S. GILBERT. It was a robber's daughter, and her name was Alice Brown, As Alice was a-sitting at her window-sill one day, A beautiful young gentleman he chanced to pass that way; She cast her eyes upon him, and he looked so good and true, That she thought, "I could be happy with a gentleman like you!" And every morning passed her house that cream of gentle men, She knew she might expect him at a quarter unto ten, A sorter in the custom-house, it was his daily road; (The custom-house was fifteen minutes' walk from her abode). But Alice was a pious girl, who knew it wasn't wise To look at strange young sorters with expressive purple eyes; So she sought the village priest to whom her family confessed, The priest by whom their little sins were carefully assessed. "Oh, holy father," Alice said, “'twould grieve you, would it not? To discover that I was a most disreputable lot! Of all unhappy sinners I'm the most unhappy one!" The padre said, "Whatever have you been and gone and done?" "I have helped mamma to steal a little kiddy from its dad, I've assisted dear papa in cutting up a little lad. I've planned a little burglary and forged a little check, The worthy pastor heaved a sigh, and dropped a silent tear And said, "You musn't judge yourself too heavily, my dear- "Girls will be girls--you're very young, and flighty in your mind; Old heads upon young shoulders we must not expect to find: We musn't be too hard upon these little girlish tricksLet's see, five crimes at half-a-crown, exactly twelve-and-six.” "Oh, father," little Alice cried, “your kindness makes me weep, You do these little things for me so singularly cheap- I blush to say I've winked at him and he has winked at me!' "For shame," said Father Paul," my erring daughter! On my word This is the most distressing news that ever I have heard. Why, naughty girl, your excellent papa has pledged your hand To a promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band! "This dreadful piece of news will pain your worthy parents so! "The common country folk in this insipid neighborhood Have nothing to confess, they're so ridiculously good; And if you marry any one respectable at all, Why, you'll reform, and what will then become of Father Paul ?" The worthy priest, he up and drew his cowl upon his crown, Good Robber Brown he muffled up his anger pretty well, "I've studied human nature, and I know a thing or two,- On the promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band. RIDE ON THE BLACK VALLEY RAILROAD. You have heard of the ride of John Gilpin, How he rode down to Edmonton village, In a very remarkable way. You have heard of the ride of Mazeppa, How he coursed through the fields and the forests, But I sing of a trip more exciting, In a song which I cannot restrain, Of a ride down the Black Valley Railroad, Of a ride on the Black Valley train. The setting out place for the journey, Is Sippington station, I think, Where the engines for water take whiskey, From collisions you need fear no danger, They all go one way-to perdition,- By the time we reach Medicine village, We are pious, and hold by the scripture, To take "wine" instead of much "water," 66 In fact we improve on the reading, By just a slight change in the text, Say "often" where the scripture says "little," We break up at Tippleton station, To try and get rid of our pain, At Topersville also we tarry, And do the same over again. Our spirits indeed may be willing, So oft as we stop for "five minutes," Now we come to the great central station, The last stopping place on the line, Drunkard's Curve-where is kept the chief store-house From this place on to Destruction, A full supply of bad whiskey For our engine is taken in here, From Drunkard's Curve to Destruction The train is strictly express, And will not be slowed or halted And so when all things are ready, First Rowdyville claims our attention, As we rush by the village of Woeland, Three wretches are thrown from the train, Through the darkness the mud and the rain. Our engineer chuckles and dances In the wild lurid flashes he throws, Oh, the sounds that we hear in the darkness, The ravings of anger and madness, The sobbings and pitiful moans! For now we have entered the regions Where the shadows are peopled with goblins, In this deep and Stygian darkness, Would you like, my young friend, to take passage Here stretches the Black Valley Railroad, TRUE FAITH.-B. P. SHILLABER. Old Reuben Fisher, who lived in the lane, If the weather proved fair, he thanked God for the sun, |