A sluggish water, black as ink,
The depth was so extreme:-
My gentle Boy, remember this
Is nothing but a dream!

"Down went the corse with a hollow plunge, And vanish'd in the pool;

Anon I cleansed my bloody hands,
And wash'd my forehead cool,
And sat among the urchins young,
That evening in the school.

"Oh, Heaven! to think of their white souls, And mine so black and grim !

I could not share in childish prayer,
Nor join in Evening Hymn:
Like a Devil of the Pit I seem'd,
'Mid holy Cherubim !

"And peace went with them, one and all,
And each calm pillow spread ;

But Guilt was my grim Chamberlain
That lighted me to bed;

And drew my midnight curtains round,

With fingers bloody red!

"All night I lay in agony,

In anguish dark and deep,

My fever'd eyes I dared not close,
But stared aghast at Sleep:

For Sin had render'd unto her
The keys of Hell to keep!

"All night I lay in agony,

From weary chime to chime,
With one besetting horrid hint,
That rack'd me all the time;
A mighty yearning, like the first
Fierce impulse unto crime!

"One stern tyrannic thought, that made
All other thoughts its slave;
Stronger and stronger every pulse

Did that temptation crave,—

.

Still urging me to go and see

The Dead Man in his grave!

"Heavily I rose up, as soon

As light was in the sky,

And sought the black accursed pool
With a wild misgiving eye;

And I saw the Dead in the river bed,
For the faithless stream was dry.

"Merrily rose the lark, and shook
The dew-drop from its wing;
But I never mark'd its morning flight,
I never heard it sing:

For I was stooping once again

Under the horrid thing.

"With breathless speed, like a soul in chase,

I took him up and ran;-
There was no time to dig a grave

Before the day began:

In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves,
I hid the murder'd man!

"And all that day I read in school,

But my thought was other where;

As soon as the mid-day task was done,
In secret I was there:

And a mighty wind had swept the leaves,
And still the corse was bare!

"Then down I cast me on my face
And first began to weep,

For I knew my secret then was one
That earth refused to keep:

Or land or sea, though he should be
Ten thousand fathoms deep.

"So wills the fierce avenging Sprite,
Till blood for blood atones!
Ay, though he's buried in a cave,
And trodden down with stones,
And years have rotted off his flesh

The world shall see his bones!

"Oh, God! that horrid, horrid dream

Besets me now awake!
Again-again, with dizzy brain,
The human life I take;

And my red right hand grows raging hot,
Like Cranmer's at the stake.

"And still no peace for the restless clay,
Will wave or mould allow ;

The horrid thing pursues my soul, —
It stands before me now!"
The fearful Boy look'd up, and saw
Huge drops upon his brow.

That very night, while gentle sleep
The urchin eyelids kiss'd,
Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn,
Through the cold and heavy mist;
And Eugene Aram walk'd between,
With gyves upon his wrist.

A PSALM OF LIFE.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!"
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal; "Dust thou art, to dust returnest," Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow,
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches to the grave.

Longfellow.

INVOCATION TO THE NEW YEAR.

From "In Memoriam." — Tennyson.

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;

Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;

Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

"POOR JO." From "Bleak House."— Dickens.

"Well, Jo! What is the matter? Don't be frightened."

"I thought," says Jo, who has started and is looking round, “I thought I was in Tom-all-Alone's agin. An't there nobody here but you, Mr. Woodcot?"

"Nobody."

"And I an't took back to Tom-all-Alone's.

Am I, sir?"

"No." Jo closes his eyes, muttering, "I am wery thankful.” After watching him closely a little while, Allan puts his mouth very near his ear, and says to him in a low, distinct voice:

"Jo! Did you ever know a prayer?" "Never know'd nothink, sir."

"Not so much as one short prayer?"

"No, sir. Nothink at all. Mr. Chadbands he was a prayin' wunst at Mr. Sangsby's, and I heerd him, but he sounded as if he was a speakin' to his-self, and not to me. He prayed a lot but I couldn't make out nothing on it. Different times there wos other gen'lmen come down Tom-all-Alone's a-prayin', but they mostly sed as the t'other wuns prayed wrong, and all mostly sounded to be a talking to theirselves, or a passing blame on be t'others, and not a