Though no glittering guards surround me, Let not Cæsar's servile minions "Twas no foeman's arm that felled him— I am dying, Egypt, dying; Hark! the insulting foeman's cry. Ah! no more amid the battle Shall my heart exulting swell- LOCKED OUT. Those who carry latch-keys can readily realize my sensations when I found I had left it in town. To wake the inmates was a matter of disturbing the whole neighborhood; I therefore determined (after waiting thirty minutes for a policeman,) to effect an entrance by the staircase window. I must mention that my house is one of a short row, in which there live a butcher, baker, and chemist-each of * whom keeps a dog or dogs, more or less vicious, according to the amiableness of its owner. Having determined to attempt the great window feat, I went round to the back of the house and looked over the paling. Scarcely had I raised my head, than "Boo-woowoo!" went a dog with whom I had some slight acquaintance. I addressed it soothingly by its Christian name, "Gip." The sound of my voice set the remainder of the dogs off, and in less than a minute there was a row only equalled by "a pack in full cry." This naturally woke some of the nobler animals; and one gentle female with a shrieky voice put her head out of the window and asked, in a hysterical tone, who was there. The ever-ready answer, "Me," burst forth, regardless of grammar. "Where are the police?" "Precisely what I have been asking myself for the last thirty minutes," answered I. At this juncture I attempted a laugh, and nearly overbal. anced myself, and in regaining my position, I kicked the palings on which I was seated, so vigorously, that off went the dogs louder than before, and several more windows went up. At the chemist's appeared something that looked like Robinson Crusoe, ably supported by La Somnambula in a nightcap. "What's the matter?" sensibly asked a third window. "Matter?" shrieked all the windows together; but their explanation was lost in the general howl of dogs. "You shall hear of this in the morning," said one irrepressible female. "It strikes me I am hearing of it- very much of it-in the morning; you mean later in the day. Call to lunch," said I. "and let's have it out." The windows went down with a bang, and I went off the palings with another, falling within a yard of a beautiful bull-mastiff, who showed me the perfect order in which he kept his teeth: after a satisfactory inspection thereof, I described a circle round him, and reached the wash-house. One foot on the window-sill and one hand on the leaden spout, I prepared for the great feat, but at that instant (owing to the dog's violent effort to strangle itself,) the staple holding the chain gave way, and without a word of apology, he seized me by that portion of my clothes unknown to angels. I held on to the spout, the dog held on to me. One derisive laugh rang through the air. A lapse of several seconds, each of which seemed an hour. Every moment I expected would be my last, when within reach I saw a broom-handle; to seize it, and deal him a fearful blow, was the work of an instant. Horror! the spout is giving way. A second fearful blow proved more fortunate-I broke the wash-house windows; one more, and I landed the stick on the dog's nose, in a way that sounded like cracking an egg-shell. A dreadful howl followed; he let go. Windows again up -general howling, shouting, and a rally all around. During the melee I disappeared in at the window, and peeped round the blind; row gradually subsided. An interval of five minutes. All quiet. An interval of five more minutes. A policeman ! composed, unruffled, dignified. OLD FARMER GRAY GETS PHOTOGRAPHED. I want you to take a picter o' me and my old woman here, Jest as we be, if you please, sir,-wrinkles, gray hairs, and all; We never was vain at our best, and we're going on eighty year, But we've got some boys to be proud of,-straight, an' handsome, and tall. They are coming home this summer, the nineteenth day of July, Tom wrote me (Tom's a lawyer in Boston, since fortyeight); So we're going to try and surprise 'em, my old wife and I,Tom, Harry, Zay, and Elisha, and the two girls, Jennie and Kate. GGG I guess you've hearn of Elisha, he preaches in Middletown. But he's good, for I brought him up; and the others-Harry 'n' Zay, They're merchants down to the city, an' don't forget mother 'n' me. They'd give us the fat of the land, if we'd only come that way. And Jennie and Kate are hearty off, for they married rich, you see. Well, lud, that's a cur'us fix, sir! Do you screw it into the head? I've hearn o' this photography, and I reckon its scary work. Do you take the picters by lightnin'?-La, yes; so the neighbors said: It's the sun that does it, old woman; 'n' he never was known to shirk. Wall, yes, I'll be readin' the Bible: old woman, what'll you do? Jest sit on the other side o' me 'n' I'll take hold o' your hand. That's the way we courted, mister, if it's all the same to you; And that's the way we're a goin', please God, to the light o' the better land. I never could look that thing in the face, if my eyes was as good as gold. 'Tain't over? Do say! What, the work is done? Old woman that beats the Dutch. Jest think! we've got our picters took; and we nigh eighty year old: There ain't many couples in our town, of our age, that can say as much. You see, on the nineteenth of next July our Golden Wed ding comes on, For fifty year in the sun and rain we've pulled at the same old cart; We've never had any trouble to speak of, only our poor son *hn Went wrong, an' I drove him off; 'n' it about broke the old woman's heart. There's a drop of bitter in every sweet. And my old wo man and me Will think of John when the rest come home. Would 1 forgive him, young sir? He was only a boy; and I was a fool for bein' so hard, you see: If I could jist git him atween these arms, I'd stick to him like a burr. And what's to pay for the sunshine that's painted my gray old phiz? Nothin'! That's cur'us! of working, hey? You don't work for the pleasure Old woman, look here! there's Tom in that face-I'm blest if the chin isn't his! Good God! she knows him-It's our son John, the boy that we drove away. AN ODE TO RUM.-WILLIAM C. BRown. "O thou invisible spirit of wine! if thou hast no name to be known by, let us all thee devil.”—SHAKSPEARE. Let thy devotee extol thee, And thy wondrous virtues sum; Pimple-maker, visage-bloater, Almshouse-builder, pauper-maker, Trust-betrayer, sorrow's source; Pocket-emptier, Sabbath-breaker, Conscience-stifler, guilt's resource; Nerve-enfeebler, system-shatterer, Thirst-increaser, vagrant thief; Cough-producer, treacherous flatterer, Mud-bedauber, mock-relief; Business-hinderer, spleen-instiller, Woe-begetter, friendship's bane; Anger-heater, Bridewell filler, Debt-involver, toper's chain! |