They come no more. But they tell the tale,
That, when fogs are thick on the harbour reef,
The mackerel fishers shorten sail;

For the signal they know will bring relief:
For the voices of children, still at play

In a phantom hulk that drifts alway

Through channels whose waters never fail.

It is but a foolish shipman's tale,
A theme for a poet's idle page:

But still when the mists of doubt prevail,
And we lie becalmed by the shores of Age,
We hear from the misty troubled shore
The voice of the children gone before,
Drawing the soul to its anchorage.

“Do you know why they've put us in that back room,

Up in the attic, close against the sky,

And made believe our nursery's a cloak room?

Do you know why?"

JOHNNY.

"No more I don't, nor why that Sammy's mother What Ma thinks horrid, 'cause he bunged my eye, Eats an ice cream, down there, like any other—

No more don't I!"

BOBBY.

"Do you know why Nurse says it isn't manners
For you and me to ask folks twice for pie,
And no one hits that man with two bananas?

JOHNNY.

Do you know why?"

"No more I don't, nor why that girl, whose dress is
Off of her shoulders, don't catch cold and die,
When you and me gets croup when we undresses!

No more don't I!"

BOBBY.

"Perhaps she ain't as good as you and I is,
And God don't want her up there in the sky,
And lets her live-to come in just when pie is—

Perhaps that's why!"

JOHNNY.

"Do you know why that man that's got a cropped head

Rubbed it just now as if he felt a fly?

Could it be, Bobby, something that I dropded?

And is that why?"

BOBBY.

"Good boys behaves, and so they don't get scalded, Nor drop hot milk on folks as they pass by."

JOHNNY [piously].

"Marbles would bounce on Mr. Jones' bald head

BOBBY.

But I shan't try!"

"Do you know why Aunt Jane is always snarling

At you and me because we tells a lie,

And she don't slap that man that called her darling?
Do you know why?"

JOHNNY.

"No more I don't, nor why that man with Mamma

Just kissed her hand."

BOBBY.

"She hurt it—and that's why,

He made it well, the very way that Mamma

Does do to I."

JOHNNY.

"I feel so sleepy. *

* Was that Papa kissed us?

What made him sigh, and look up to the sky?"

BOBBY.

"We wer❜n't down stairs, and he and God had missed us

And that was why!"

BRET HARTE.

THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET.

O'er a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray,
Where, in his last strong agony, a dying warrior lay,—
The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne'er been
bent

By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent.

"They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er,―

That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band no more; They come, and, to my beard, they dare to tell me now that I, Their own liege lord and master born, that I—ha! ha!must die.

"And what is death? I've dared him oft, before the Paynim

spear;

'Think ye he's entered at my gate-has come to seek me here? I've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was

raging hot;

I'll try his might-I'll brave his power-defy, and fear him not!

"Ho! sound the tocsin from my tower, and fire the culverin; Bid each retainer arm with speed; call every vassal in: Up with my banner on the wall,—the banquet-board prepare, Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armour there!"

An hundred hands were busy then: the banquet forth was spread,

And rang the heavy oaken floor with many a martial tread; While from the rich, dark tracery, along the vaulted wall, Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and spear, o'er the proud old Gothic hall.

Fast hurrying through the outer gate, the mailed retainers

poured,

On through the portal's frowning arch, and thronged around the board;

While at its head, within his dark, carved, oaken chair of state Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger with girded falchion sate.

"Fill every beaker up, my men!-pour forth the cheering wine,

There's life and strength in every drop,-thanksgiving to the vine!

Are

ye all there, my vassals true?-mine eyes are waxing

tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim!

"Ye're there, but yet I see you not!-Draw forth each

trusty sword,

And let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board!

I hear it faintly;-louder yet! What clogs my heavy breath? Up, all!—and shout for Rudiger, 'Defiance unto Death!'"

Bowl rang to bowl, steel clanged to steel, and rose a deafening cry,

That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high;

“Ho! cravens! do ye fear him? Slaves! traitors! have flown?

ye

Ho! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone?

"But I defy him!—let him come!" Down rang the massy

cup,

While from its sheath the ready blade came flashing halfway up;

And, with the black and heavy plumes scarce trembling on his head,

There, in his dark, carved, oaken chair, old Rudiger sat

dead!

ALBERT G. GREENE.

THE LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT.

I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, where we sat side by side, On a bright May morning, long ago, when first you were my bride.

The corn was springing fresh and green, and the lark sang loud and high,

And the red was on your lip, Mary, and the love-light in

your eye.