Its body was of thin birdy bones,

Bound round with a parchment skin; And when 'twas struck, the hollow tones, That circled round like drum-dull groans, Bespoke a void within.

Its arm was like a peacock's leg,

And the claws were like a bird's;

But the creep that went, like a blast of plague,
To loose the live flesh from the bones,

And to wake the good Saint's inward groans,
As it clawed his cheek, and pulled his hair,
And pressed on his eyes in their beating lair
Cannot be told in words.

But the good St. Anthony kept his eyes
Still on the holy book;

He felt the clam on his brow arise,

And he knew that the thing had a horrid guise
And he did not dare to look.

An imp came then like a skeleton form
Out of the charnel vault;

Some clinging of meat had been left by the worms,
Some tendons and strings on his legs and arms,
And his jaws with gristle were black and deform,
But his teeth were as white as salt.

And he grinned full many a lifeless grin,
And he rattled his bony tail;

His skull was decked with gill and fin,
And a spike of bone was on his chin,
And his bat-like ears were large and thin,

And his eyes were the eyes of a snail.

He took his stand at the good Saint's back
And on tiptoe stood apace;

Forward he bent, all rotten-black,

And he sunk again on his heel, good lack!
And the good Saint uttered some ghostly groans,
For his head was caged in the gaunt rib-bones,

A horrible embrace!

And the skull hung o'er with an elfish pry,
And cocked down its india-rubber eye
To gaze upon his face.

The good St. Anthony sunk his eyes
Deep in the holy book;

He felt the bones, and so was wise

To know that the thing had a ghastly guise,
And he did not care to look.

Last came an imp-how unlike the rest!

A beautiful female form;

And her voice was like music, that sleep oppressed
Sinks on some cradling zephyr's breast;

And whilst with a whisper, his cheek she pressed,
Her cheek felt soft and warm.

When over his shoulder she bent the light
Of her soft eyes on his page,

It came like a moonbeam silver bright,
And relieved him then with mild delight;
For the yellow lamp-lustre scorched his sight,
That was weak with the mists of age.

Hey! the good St. Anthony boggled his eyes
Over the holy book;

Ho, ho! at the corners they 'gan to rise,
For he knew the thing had a lovely guise,
And he could not choose but look.

There are many devils that walk this world,
Devils large, and devils small;

Devils so meagre, and devils so stout;
Devils with horns, and devils without;
Sly devils that go with their tails uncurled,
Bold devils that carry them quite unfurled;
Meek devils, and devils that brawl;

Serious devils and laughing devils;
Imps for churches, and imps for revels;
Devils uncouth and devils polite;

Devils black and devils white;

Devils foolish, and devils wise;

But a laughing woman, with two bright eyes

Is the very worst devil of all.

-Bentley's Miscellany.

FOOTPRINTS OF DECAY.

Oh! let the soul its slumbers break-
Arouse its senses, and awake

To see how soon

Life, in its glories, glides away,
And the stern footsteps of decay
Come stealing on.

And while we view the rolling tide,
Down which our rolling minutes glide
Away so fast,

21

Let us the present hour employ,
And deem each future dream a joy
Already past.

Let no vain hope deceive the mind,
No happier let us hope to find
To-morrow than to-day;

Our golden dreams of yore were bright,
Like them the present shall delight-
Like them decay.

Our lives like hastening streams must be,
That into one engulfing sea

Are doomed to fall

The sea of death whose waves roll on
O'er king and kingdom, crown and throne,
And swallow all.

Alike the river's lordly tide,
Alike the humble rivulets glide,
To that sad wave;

Death levels poverty and pride,
And rich and poor sleep side by side,
Within the grave.

Our birth is but a starting place;
Life is the running of the race;

And death the goal:

There all our glittering toys are brought—
That path alone of all unsought,

Is found of all.

See, then, how poor and little worth
Are all those glittering toys of earth,

That lure us here;

Dreams of a sleep that death must break;
Alas! before it bids us wake,

We disappear.

Long ere the damp of death can blight,
The cheek's pure glow of red and white
Has passed away;

Youth smiled and all was heavenly fair,
Age came, and laid his finger there,
And where are they?

Where is the strength that spurned decay,
The step that roved so light and gay,
The heart's blithe tone?

The strength is gone, the step is slow,
And joy grows wearisome, and woe,-
When age comes on.

LITTLE STEENIE.-ANNA L. RUTH.

Sturdy Steenie, rose-cheeked, bright-eyed,
Standing at the open door
Bidding me good-bye with kisses
And with promises a score-
"I'll be just as good as-apples!
'Bey my aunties and not cry,
Not tease Mabe or wake the baby
Till you comes, mamma,-good-bye!"

So I started, musing softly,

On the blessings God had given In my children-"Surely," said I,

"They are cherubs strayed from heaven!

Hearts so full of tender loving,

Eyes with earnest impulse bright--
Round them still there seems to linger
Halos of celestial light!

Two hours' labor, home returning
Languidly, with weary feet,
Standing in the self-same doorway
Little Mabe I chanced to greet;
Bright blue eyes all flushed with weeping,

Lips a-quiver, cheeks a-flame;

Eagerly, to pour her sorrows

Into mamma's ears, she came.

"Mamma, Steenie's been so naughty! First he told aunt Sallie 'won't,'

Then he scratched my little table,

Though I asked him 'please to don't!'

Then he screeched and waked the baby,
Frighted him most to a fit,

And when aunt Belle called him naughty,
Said he didn't care a bit!

"Then he made a face at Dolly,
Said she was an 'ugly sing,'
Said some day he's going to hang her
To the door-knob with a string.

Then I told him if he did it

You would send him right to bed, So he thumped me on the shoulder,See the place-it's awful red!

"When he saw you coming, mamma, He hid hisself behind the door,

RRR

And he's wearing out his slippers,
Poundin' with 'em on the floor.
Mamma, if he is so wicked,

Does so many drefful things,
Will he ever be an angel

Up in heaven with shiny wings?"

With a sudden jerk, my visions
Of celestial cherubs fled.
Frowningly my brows contracted;
In an accent stern, I said,
"Come to me, you naughty fellow!
What are all these things I hear?
Rude to aunties! striking sister!
I must punish you, I fear!"

From his stronghold came the culprit,
Seeming not at all afraid;

Round his mouth the dimples lurking,
Brown eyes beaming undismayed;
By my knee he took his station,
Small defiance in his air,
Answering only to my chidings
Saucily, "I doesn't care!"

In my eyes the tear-drops started,
Anger giving place to pain,
"O my baby, how you grieve me!
Are my teachings all in vain ?"
Suddenly, two arms were round me-
Little fingers softly drew

Down my quiv'ring lips to meet his,
"Kiss me mamma-I loves-you!”

This was all of his confession;

All his plea for pardoning grace,
Yet I knew that I had conquered
By the love-light in his face,—
So I gave him absolution,—

Though I pondered sadly still
On this mingled human nature,
Half of good, and half of ill.

Inwardly I prayed for wisdom,
Safe my little band to guide,
Through the perils that beset them,
Hedge them in on every side.
And an answer seemed to reach me,
Softly falling from above,

"Safest guard and guide, O mother,
Is the holy power of love!"