THE STAB.-WILL WALLACE HARNEY.

On the road, the lonely road,

Under the cold, white moon;

Under the rugged trees he strode, Whistled and shifted his heavy load,Whistled a foolish tune.

There was a step, timed with his own,
A figure that stooped and bowed:
A cold white blade that flashed and shone,
Like a splinter of daylight downward thrown,—
And the moon went behind a cloud.

But the moon came out so broad and good
The barn-fowl woke and crowed,

Then roughed his feathers in drowsy mood;
And the brown owl called to his mate in the wood,
That a man lay dead in the road.

SONG OF STEAM.-GEORGE W. CUTTER.

Harness me down with your iron bands,

Be sure of your curb and rein,

For I scorn the strength of your puny hands
As the tempest scorns a chain.

How I laughed as I lay concealed from sight,
For many a countless hour,

At the childish boast of human might,

And the pride of human power.

When I saw an army upon the land,
A navy upon the seas,

Creeping along, a snail-like band,

Or waiting the wayward breeze,-

When I marked the peasant faintly reel
With the toil which he daily bore,

As he feebly turned the tardy wheel,

Or tugged at the weary oar,—

When I measured the panting courser's speed,

The flight of the carrier dove,

As they bore the law a king decreed,
Or the lines of impatient love,

I could but think how the world would feel,
As these were outstripped afar,

When I should be bound to the rushing keel,
Or chained to the flying car.

Ha, ha, ha! They found me at last,
They invited me forth at length,

And I rushed to my throne with a thunder blast,
And laughed in my iron strength!
Oh! then ye saw a wondrous change
On the earth and the ocean wide,
Where now my fiery armies range,
Nor wait for wind or tide.

The ocean pales where'er I sweep,
To hear my strength rejoice,
And monsters of the briny deep
Cower trembling at my voice.

I carry the wealth and the lord of earth,
The thoughts of his godlike mind;
The wind lags after my going forth,

The lightning is left behind.

In the darksome depths of the fathomless mine, My tireless arm doth play;

Where the rocks never saw the sun decline,

Or the dawn of a glorious day;

I bring earth's glittering jewels up

From the hidden caves below,

And I make the fountain's granite cup
With a crystal gush o'erflow.

I blow the bellows, I forge the steel,
In all the shops of trade;

I hammer the ore and turn the wheel

Where my arms of strength are made.

I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint,~
I carry, I spin, I weave;

And all my doings I put into print

On every Saturday eve.

I've no muscle to weary, no brains to decay,
No bones to be "laid on the shelf,"

And soon I intend you may "go and play,"
While I manage the world myself.

But harness me down with your iron bands,
Be sure of your curb and rein,

For I scorn the strength of your puny hands
As the tempest scorns a chain.

THE DOUBLE BED.

A new Western town. but lately reclaimed from the wilderness, where the houses are few, mean, and ugly, the streets mud or dust, the trees destroyed, and the general appearance one of poverty struggling with heavy obstacles, where the wolves run the mail in ahead of time, and night is made hideous by a tailor practising on a flute-this is a good place to keep away from.

Into such a town as this, and during court week, I once rode on horseback, at the end of a weary day; passed into a continuous mud hole, studded with stumps and ornamented with logs, that a benighted country called a road. Night had already closed in, and I was guided to the hotel by the thousand and one boys of the place, and the noise issuing from the bar-room, no less beastly and disagreeable. I found the landlord shut up in a corner pen, dealing out liquid insanity to his customers. To my request for supper and a bed he responded that I could eat my fill, but there was not a bed unengaged or not occupied in the house. I persisted, until the wretch informed me that there was "a feller" in No. 6 occupying a double bed, and I could "roll in there," if so minded.

It was dismal, but my only hope; so after the evening indigestion, I climbed the rough stairs to No. 6. I was told by the landlord to walk in without knocking, and did so.

I found my companion measuring off his dreams by snores, and, undressing, “rolled in," as the landlord had suggested. The stranger turned over, with something between a growl and a grunt, as I crept to his side.

Tired as I was, I could not sleep. The bed-tick felt as if it were stuffed with grasshoppers, and the pillows were of the sort to slip up one's nose in the night, and be sneezed out some time during the day. Besides this, my bedfellow snored abominably. It sounded like a giant trying to blow "Old Hundred" through a tin horn, without knowing exactly how. I bore this infliction as long as I could, and at last gave my friend a dig in the ribs, exclaiming at the same

I say!"

Hillo-sh-what is it?" he asked, in a confused way.

"I am sorry to disturb you, but I think it my duty to inform you that I walk in my sleep."

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Well, walk."

"My Christian friend, I am well aware that this is a free country, and if a man wishes to walk in his sleep, there is no constitutional provision to prevent him. But I wish to remark that if I do walk you had better not interfere with me."

“Oh, walk! I won't say a word about it."

"Well, don't. When addressed or interfered with, I am apt to get furious. I nearly brained a poor man with a dogiron the other night."

"The deuce you did! That's rather disagreeable.

A fel

low might, under an impulse, blurt out something to you." "Better not."

"No, I should think not."

A long pause followed this. At last the now wide-awake lodger asked abruptly:

"Did you notice my hat on the floor?"

"I believe I did."

"If you walk, you know, I'd rather you would not step in it."

"I'll bear that in mind."

After another pause he again asked:

Did you notice that door on the left?"

"I saw a door on my left."

"Well, if you walk, I'd advise you not to go out there. It opens on a porch, only the porch hasn't been built, and it's twenty feet down into the stable-yard."

"I don't believe I shall walk out of that door."

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'Don't think I would if I walked much."

I supposed my inquisitive friend was dropping into a sleep,

when he again broke out:

"I say, did you really brain a man with a dog-iron?"

"I tried pretty hard."

Then came in a silence that was not broken.

After a lit

tle while I heard my bedfellow creeping softly from the other side of the bed. I could hear him feeling about for

his hat and his clothes. Then I had the satisfaction of knowing that the door had closed softly on my retreating tormentor. I rolled over and slept the sleep of innocence. The next morning, on descending to breakfast, I found an old friend seated at the table. We had not met for years.

After a cordial greeting, I said: "Are you stopping here?"

"I have been trying. But I am nearly dead.

I slept on

a bench in the bar-room, amid a lot of drunken brutes who sang 'Bingo' for wagers of drink all night."

66

Could you get no bed?"

Yes. I had a double bed to myself when that stupid ass of a landlord sent up a crazy fellow, who walked and struck out with dog-irons."

"Good heavens, Gillipsy, was that you?"

"And, D., you don't mean to say that you served me that infernal trick!"

It was a case that called for diplomatic explanation.

HEROES OF GREECE.-BYRON.

They fell devoted, but undying;

The very gale their names seemed sighing;
The waters murmured of their name;
The woods were peopled with their fame;
The silent pillar, lone and gray,

Claimed kindred with their sacred clay;
Their spirits wrapped the dusky mountain;
Their memory sparkled o'er the fountain;-
The meanest rill, the mightiest river,
Rolled mingling with their fame forever.

Despite of every yoke she bears,
That land is glory's still and theirs!
"Tis still a watchword to the earth :-
When man would do a deed of worth,
He points to Greece, and turns to tread,
So sanctioned, on the tyrant's head:
He looks to her, and rushes on
Where life is lost, or freedom won.
ww*