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,
Her father was the terror of a small Italian town;
Her mother was a foolish, weak, but amiable old thing;
But it isn't of her parents that I'm going for to sing.

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,
And slain a little baby for the coral on its neck!"

The worthy pastor heaved a sigh, and dropped a silent tear

And said, "You musn't judge yourself too heavily, my dear-
It's wrong to murder babies, little corals for to fleece;
But sins like these one expiates at half-a-crown apiece.

"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-
Your thoughtful liberality I never can forget;
But, oh, there is another crime I haven't mentioned yet!
"A pleasant-looking gentleman, with pretty purple eyes,
I've noticed at my window, as I've sat a-catching flies;
He passes by it every day as certain as can be—‍

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!
They are the most remunerative customers I know;
For many, many years they've kept starvation from my doors,
I never knew so criminal a family as yours!

"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,
And started off in haste to tell the news to Robber Brown;
To tell him how his daughter, who now was for marriage fit,
Had winked upon a sorter, who reciprocated it.

Good Robber Brown he muffled up his anger pretty well,
He said "I have a notion, and that notion I will tell;
I will nab this gay young sorter, terrify him into fits,
And get my gentle wife to chop him into little bits.

"I've studied human nature, and I know a thing or two,-
Though a girl may fondly love a living gent, as many do,
A feeling of disgust upon her senses there will fall
When she looks upon his body chopped particularly small.
He traced that gallant sorter to a still suburban square;
He watched his opportunity and seized him unaware;
He took a life-preserver and he hit him on the head,
And Mrs. Brown dissected him before she went to bed.
And pretty little Alice grew more settled in her mind,
She never more was guilty of a weakness of the kind,
Until at length good Robber Brown bestowed her pretty
hand

On the promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band.

RIDE ON THE BLACK VALLEY RAILROAD.
I. N. TARBOX.

You have heard of the ride of John Gilpin,
That captain so jocund and gay,

How he rode down to Edmonton village,

In a very remarkable way.

You have heard of the ride of Mazeppa,
Bound fast to his wing-footed steed,

How he coursed through the fields and the forests,
At a very remarkable speed.

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,
And the people take-something to drink.

From collisions you need fear no danger,
No trains are ever run back,

They all go one way-to perdition,-
Provided they keep on the track.

By the time we reach Medicine village,
The passengers find themselves sick,
Have leg-ache, or back-ache, or head-ache,
Or some ache that strikes to the quick.

We are pious, and hold by the scripture,
With Paul the Apostle agree

To take "wine" instead of much "water,"
For our often infirmity."

66

In fact we improve on the reading,

By just a slight change in the text,

Say "often" where the scripture says "little,"
And leave "little" for what may come next.

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,
But very weak is the flesh;

So oft as we stop for "five minutes,"
We use all the time to refresh.

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
Of rum, whiskey, brandy, and wine.

From this place on to Destruction,
The train makes no break or delay,
And those who may wish to stop sooner,
Are kindly thrown out by the way.

A full supply of bad whiskey

For our engine is taken in here,
And a queer looking fellow from Hades
Steps on for our engineer.

From Drunkard's Curve to Destruction

The train is strictly express,

And will not be slowed or halted
For any flag of distress.

And so when all things are ready,
From Drunkard's Curve we set out:
Let me give you some flying glimpses
Of the places along the route:

First Rowdyville claims our attention,
Then Quarrelton comes into view,
Then Riotville breaks on the vision,
And the filthy Beggarstown, too.

As we rush by the village of Woeland,

Three wretches are thrown from the train,
We can see them roll over and over,

Through the darkness the mud and the rain.

Our engineer chuckles and dances

In the wild lurid flashes he throws,
Hotter blaze the red fires of his furnace,
As on into blackness he goes.

Oh, the sounds that we hear in the darkness,
The laughter and crying and groans,

The ravings of anger and madness,

The sobbings and pitiful moans!

For now we have entered the regions
Where all things horrible dwell,

Where the shadows are peopled with goblins,
With the fiends and the furies of hell.

In this deep and Stygian darkness,
Lost spirits have made their abode;
It is plain we are near to Destruction,--
Very near to the end of the road.

Would you like, my young friend, to take passage
To this region of horror and pain?

Here stretches the Black Valley Railroad,
And here stands the Black Valley train.

TRUE FAITH.-B. P. SHILLABER.

Old Reuben Fisher, who lived in the lane,
Was never in life disposed to complain;

If the weather proved fair, he thanked God for the sun,
And if it were rainy, with him 'twas all one;-