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Rings the prisoned monarch's lay,
Through and through me, night and day;
And the only strain I know
Haunts my brain where'er I go, -
Trumpet-tones that ring and ring
Till I see my Richard king!

“ Gallants, hear my song of love,
Deeper tones than courtiers move, -
Hear my royal captive's sigh,-
England, Home, and Liberty!"

Then he struck his lute and sang,
Till the shields and lances rang:
How for Christ and Holy Land
Fought the Lion Heart and Hand, -
How the craft of Leopold
Trapped him in a castle old, -
How one balmy morn in May,
Singing to beguile the day,
In his tower, the minstrel heard
Every note and every word,
How he answered back the song,
“Let thy hope, my king, be strong!
We will bring thee help ere long !"

Still he sang, “Who goes with me?
Who is it wills King Richard free?
He who bravely toils and dares,
Pain and danger with me shares, -
He whose heart is true and warm,
Though the night perplex with storm
Forest, plain, and dark morass,
Hanging-rock and mountain-pass,
And the thunder bursts ablaze,
Is the lover that I praise !"

As the minstrel left the hall,
Silent, sorrowing, sat they all.
Well they knew his banner-sign,
The Lion-Heart of Palestine.
Like a flame the song had swept
O'er them ;— then the warriors leapt
Up from the feast with one accord, -
Pledged around their knightly word,
From the castle-windows rang
The last verse the minstrel sang,
And from out the castle-door
Followed they the Troubadour.


over it? who but the industrious moth

er of six children, the eldest of which GOLOSH STREET AND ITS PEOPLE.

is only nine months old, all of whom A SMALL lane, the name of which I are dependent on her exertions for suphave forgotten, or do not choose to re- port ? I see her slip and tumble. I see member, slants suddenly off from Chat- the pale face convulsed with agony, and ham Street, (before that headlong thor- the vain struggle to get up; the pitying oughfare reaches into the Park,) and crowd closing her off from all air ; the retreats suddenly down towards the East anxious young doctor who happened to River, as if it were disgusted with the be passing by; the manipulation of the smell of old clothes, and had determined broken limb, the shake of the head, the to wash itself clean. This excellent in- moan of the victim, the litter borne on tention it has, however, evidently con- men's shoulders, the gates of the New tributed towards the making of that im- York Hospital unclosing, the subscripaginary pavement mentioned in the old tion taken up on the spot. There is adage; for it is still emphatically a dirty some food for speculation in that threestreet. It has never been able to shake year-old, tattered child, masked with dirt, off the Hebraic taint of filth which it in- who is throwing a brick at another threeherits from the ancestral thoroughfare. year-old, tattered child, masked with dirt. It is slushy and greasy, as if it were twin It is not difficult to perceive that he is brother of the Roman Ghetto.

destined to lurk, as it were, through life. I like a dirty slum; not because I am His bad, flat face-or, at least, what can naturally unclean, -I have not a drop be seen of it-does not look as if it were of Neapolitan blood in my veins, - but made for the light of day. The mire in because I generally find a certain sedi- which he wallows now is but a type of ment of philosophy precipitated in its the moral mire in which he will wallow gutters. A clean street is terribly pro- hereafter. The feeble little hand lifted saic. There is no food for thought in at this instant to smite his companion, carefully swept pavements, barren ken- half in earnest, half in jest, will be raised nels, and vulgarly spotless houses. But against his fellow-beings forevermore. when I go down a street which has been G olosh Street - as I will call this left so long to itself that it has acquired nameless lane before alluded to-is an a distinct outward character, I find plen- interesting locality. All the oddities of ty to think about. The scraps of sod- trade seem to have found their way thithden letters lying in the ash-barrel have er and made an eccentric mercantile settheir meaning: desperate appeals, per- tlement. There is a bird-shop at one haps, from Tom, the baker's assistant, to corner, wainscoted with little cages conAmelia, the daughter of the dry-goods taining linnets, waxwings, canaries, blackretailer, who is always selling at a sacri- birds, Mino-birds, with a hundred other fice in consequence of the late fire. That varieties, known only to naturalists. Immay be Tom himself who is now passing mediately opposite is an establishment me in a white apron, and I look up at the where they sell nothing but ornaments windows of the house (which does not made out of the tinted leaves of auhowever, give any signs of a recent con tumn, varnished and gummed into vaflagration) and almost hope to see Ame- rious forms. Farther down is a seclia wave a white pocket-handkerchief. ond-hand book-stall, which looks like a The bit of orange-peel lying on the side- sentry-box mangled out flat, and which walk inspires thought. Who will fall is remarkable for not containing a com

plete set of any work. There is a small admirably are the figures executed, that chink between two ordinary-sized houses, they seem replete with life. One is alin which a little Frenchman makes and most led to believe, in looking on them, sells artificial eyes, specimens of which, that they are resting beneath some spell ranged on a black velvet cushion, stare which hinders their motion. One exat you unwinkingly through the window pects every moment to hear the loud as you pass, until you shudder and hurry explosion of the arquebuse, - to see the on, thinking how awful the world would blue smoke curling, the Templar falling, be, if every one went about without eye- — to hear the orchestra playing the relids. There are junk-shops in Golosh quiem of the guilty. Street that seem to have got hold of all Few people knew what Herr Hippe's the old nails in the Ark and all the old business or trade really was. That he brass of Corinth. Madame Filomel, the worked at something was evident; else fortune-teller, lives at No. 12 Golosh why the shop? Some people inclined to Street, second story front, pull the bell the belief that he was an inventor, or on the left-hand side. Next door to mechanician. His workshop was in the Madame is the shop of Herr Hippe, com- rear of the store, and into that sancmonly called the Wondersmith.

tuary no one but himself had admission. Herr Hippe's shop is the largest in He arrived in Golosh Street eight or Golosh Street, and to all appearance is ten years ago, and one fine morning, furnished with the smallest stock. Be- the neighbors, taking down their shutyond a few packing-cases, a turner's lathe, ters, observed that No. 13 had got a tenand a shelf laden with dissected maps of ant. A tall, thin, sallow-faced man stood Europe, the interior of the shop is entirely on a ladder outside the shop-entrance, unfurnished. The window, which is lofty nailing up a large board, on which “ Herr and wide, but much begrimed with dirt, Hippe, Wondersmith," was painted in contains the only pleasant object in the black letters on a yellow ground. The place. This is a beautiful little miniature little theatre stood in the window, where theatre, -- that is to say, the orchestra it stood.ever after, and Herr Hippe was and stage. It is fitted with charmingly established. painted scenery and all the appliances But what was a Wondersmith ? people for scenic changes. There are tiny traps, asked each other. No one could reply. and delicately constructed “lifts,” and Madame Filomel was consulted, but she real footlights fed with burning-fluid, and looked grave, and said that it was none in the orchestra sits a diminutive con- of her business. Mr. Pippel, the birdductor before his desk, surrounded by fancier, who was a Gerinan, and ought to musical manikins, all provided with the know best, thought it was the English for smallest of violoncellos, Autes, oboes, some singular Teutonic profession ; but drums, and such like. There are char- bis replies were so vague, that Golosh acters also on the stage. A Templar in Street was as unsatisfied as ever. Solon, a white cloak is dragging a fainting fe- the little humpback, who kept the oddmale form to the parapet of a ruined volume book-stall at the lowest corner, bridge, while behind a great black rock could throw no light upon it. And at on the left one can see a man concealed, length people had to come to the conwho, kneeling, levels an arquebuse at the clusion, that Herr Hippe was either a knight's heart. But the orchestra is silent; coiner or a magician, and opinions were the conductor never beats the time, the divided. musicians never play a note. The Templar never drags his victim an inch nearer to the bridge, the masked avenger

A BOTTLEFUL OF SOULS. takes an eternal aim with his weapon. It was a dull December evening. This repose appears unnatural; for so There was little trade doing in Golosh

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Street, and the shutters were up at most vibrated on his long neck like the head of the shops. Hippe's store had been of a cobra when about to strike, and afclosed at least an hour, and the Mino- ter a moment's silence uttered a strange birds and Bohemian waxwings at Mr. guttural sound. The door unclosed, and

Pippel's had their heads tucked under a squat, broad-shouldered woman, with their wings in their first sleep.

large, wild, Oriental eyes, entered softly. Herr Hippe sat in his parlor, which “Ah! Filomel, you are come !” said was lit by a pleasant wood-fire. There the Wondersmith, sinking back in his were no candles in the room, and the chair. “Where are the rest of them ?” flickering blaze played fantastic tricks on “They will be here presently,” anthe pale gray walls. It seemed the festi- swered Madame Filomel, seating herself val of shadows. Processions of shapes, in an arm-chair much too narrow for a obscure and indistinct, passed across the person of her proportions, and over the leaden-hued panels and vanished in the sides of which she bulged like a pudding. dusk corners. Every fresh blaze flung “Have you brought the souls ? " asked up by the wayward logs created new the Wondersmith. images. Now it was a funeral throng, “They are here," said the fortune-telwith the bowed figures of mourners, the ler, drawing a large pot-bellied black shrouded coflin, the plumes that waved bottle from under her cloak. “Ah! I like extinguished torches ; now a knight- have bad such trouble with them!” ly cavalcade with flags and lances, and "Are they of the right brand, wild, weird horses, that rushed silently along tearing, dark, devilish fellows? We want until they met the angle of the room, no essence of milk and honey, you know. when they pranced through the wall and None but souls bitter as hemlock or vanished.

scorching as lightning will suit our purOn a table close to where Herr Hippe pose.” sat was placed a large square box of “You will see, you will see, Grand some dark wood, while over it was spread Duke of Egypt! They are ethereal deå casing of steel, so elaborately wrought mons, every one of them. They are the in an open arabesque pattern that it pick of a thousand births. Do you think seemed like a shining blue lace which that I, old midwife that I am, don't was lightly stretched over its surface. know the squall of the demon child from

Herr Hippe lay luxuriously in his arm- that of the angel child, the very moment chair, looking meditatively into the fire. they are delivered ? Ask a musician, He was tall and thin, and his skin was how he knows, even in the dark, a note of a dull saffron hue. Long, straight hair, struck by Thalberg from one struck by - sharply cut, regular features,- a long, Listz!” thin moustache, that curled like a dark "I long to test them," cried the Wonasp around his mouth, the expression of dersmith, rubbing his hands joyfully. “I which was so bitter and cruel that it long to see how the little devils will beseemed to distil the venom of the ideal have when I give them their shapes. serpent, — and a bony, muscular form, Ah! it will be a proud day for us when were the prominent characteristics of the we let them loose upon the cursed ChrisWondersmith.

tian children! Through the length and The profound silence that reigned in breadth of the land they will go; wherthe chamber was broken by a peculiar ever our wandering people set foot, and scratching at the panel of the door, like wherever they are, the children of the that which at the French court was for Christians shall die. Then we, the demerly substituted for the ordinary knock, spised Bohemians, the gypsies, as they when it was necessary to demand ad- call us, will be once more lords of the mission to the royal apartments. Herr earth, as we were in the days when the Hippe started, raised his head, which accursed things called cities did not ex

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