Thus armed, he set out on a ramble--a-lack!

He set out, poor dear soul! but he never came back!
First dinner-bell rang

Out its euphonious clang

At five-folks kept early hours then-and the last
Ding-donged, as it ever was wont, at half-past.

Still the master was absent; the cook came and said, he
Feared dinner would spoil, having been so long ready;
That the puddings her ladyship thought such a treat
He was morally sure, would be scarce fit to eat!

Said the lady, "Dish up! Let the meal be served straight, And let two or three slices be put on a plate,

And kept hot for Sir Thomas." Captain Dugald said grace, Then sat himself down in Sir Thomas's place.

Wearily, wearily, all that night,

That livelong night did the hours go by ;
And the Lady Jane,

In grief and pain,

She sat herself down to cry!

And Captain MacBride,
Who sat by her side,

Though I really can't say that he actually cried,
At least had a tear in his eye!

As much as can well be expected, perhaps,
From "very young fellows," for very "old chaps."
And if he had said

What he'd got in his head,

"Twould have been, "Poor old Buffer, he's certainly dead!"

The morning dawned, and the next, and the next,
And all in the mansion were still perplexed;

No knocker fell,

His approach to tell;

Not so much as a runaway ring at the bell.

Yet the sun shone bright upon tower and tree,
And the meads smiled green as green may be,
And the dear little dickey birds caroled with glee,
And the lambs in the park skipped merry and free.
Without, all was joy and harmony!

And thus 'twill be-nor long the day-
Ere we, like him, shall pass away!
Yon sun that now our bosoms warms,
Shall shine--but shine on other forms;

Yon grove, whose choir so sweetly cheers
Us now, shall sound on other ears;
The joyous lamb, as now, shall play,
But other eyes its sports survey;
The stream we loved shall roll as fair,
The flowery sweets, the trim parterre,
Shall scent, as now, the ambient air;
The tree whose bending branches bear
The one loved name shall yet be there-
But where the hand that carved it? Where?

These were hinted to me as the very ideas
Which passed through the mind of the fair Lady Jane,
As she walked on the esplanade to and again,
With Captain MacBride,

Of course at her side,

Who could not look quite so forlorn-though he tried.
An "idea" in fact, had got into his head

That if "poor dear Sir Thomas" should really be dead,
It might be no bad "spec" to be there in his stead,
And by simply contriving, in due time, to wed
A lady who was young and fair,

A lady slim and tall,

To set himself down in comfort there

The lord of Tapton Hall.

Thinks he, "We have sent

Half over Kent,

And nobody knows how much money's been spent,
Yet no one's been found to say which way he went!
Here's a fortnight and more has gone by, and we've tried
Every plan we could hit on,-and had him well cried,
'MISSING!! Stolen or Strayed,

Lost or Mislaid,

A GENTLEMAN, middle-aged, sober and staid;

Stoops slightly, and when he left home was arrayed
In a sad-colored suit, somewhat dingy and frayed;
Had spectacles on with a tortoise-shell rim,

And a hat rather low-crowned, and broad in the brim.
Whoe'er shall bear,

Or send him with care,

(Right side uppermost) home; or shall give notice where
The said middle-aged GENTLEMAN is; or shall state
Any fact that may tend to throw light on his fate
To the man at the turnpike, called Tappington Gate,
Shall receive a reward of five pounds for his trouble.
N. B. If defunct, the reward will be double!'

"Had he been above ground,
He must have been found.

No; doubtless he's shot, or he's hanged, or he's drowned! Then his widow-ay! ay!

But what will folks say?

To address her at once, at so early a day!

Well-what then?-who cares!-let 'em say what they may." When a man has decided,

As Captain MacBride did,

And once fully made up his mind on the matter, he
Can't be too prompt in unmasking his battery.

He began on the instant, and vowed that her eyes

Far exceeded in brilliance the stars in the skies;

That her lips were like roses, her cheeks were like ilies;
Her breath had the odor of daffy-down-dillies!
With a thousand more compliments, equally true,
Expressed in similitudes equally new!

Then his left arm he placed

Round her jimp, taper waistEre she fixed to repulse or return his embrace, Up came running a man at a deuce of a pace, With that very peculiar expression of face Which always betokens dismay or disaster,

Crying out-'twas the gard'ner-"Oh, ma'am! we've found master!"

"Where! where?" screamed the lady; and echo screamed "Where?"

The man couldn't say "there!"

He had no breath to spare,

But gasping for breath he could only respond

By pointing-he pointed, alas!-to the pond.

"Twas e'en so; poor dear knight, with his "specs" and his

hat,

He'd gone poking his nose into this and to that;

When close to the side of the bank, he espied
An uncommon fine tadpole, remarkably fat!
He stooped-and he thought her

His own; he had caught her!

Got hold of her tail, and to land almost brought her, When-he plumped head and heels into fifteen feet water! The Lady Jane was tall and slim,

The Lady Jane was fair,

Alas for Sir Thomas!-she grieved for him,
As she saw two serving men sturdy of limb,
His body between them bear.

She sobbed and she sighed, she lamented and cried,
For of sorrow brimful was her cup;

She swooned, and I think she'd have fallen down and died
If Captain MacBride
Hadn't been by her side

With the gard'ner;-they both their assistance supplied,
And managed to hold her up.

But when she "comes to,"

Oh! 'tis shocking to view

The sight which the corpse reveals!
Sir Thomas' body,

It looked so odd-he

Was half eaten up by the eels!

His waistcoat and hose,

And the rest of his clothes

Were all gnawed through and through;
And out of each shoe,

An eel they drew,

And from each of his pockets they pulled out two!
And the gard'ner himself had secreted a few,
As well might be supposed he'd do,
For, when he came running to give the aların,
He had six in the basket that hung on his arm.

Good Father John was summoned anon;
Holy water was sprinkled and little bells tinkled,
And tapers were lighted,

And incense ignited,

And masses were sung, and masses were said,
All day, for the quiet repose of the dead,
And all night no one thought about going to bed.

But Lady Jane was tall and slim,

And Lady Jane was fair,

And ere morning came, that winsome dame

Had made up her mind, or-what's much the same-
Had thought about, once more changing her name.
And she said, with a pensive air,

To Thompson, the valet, while taking away,
When supper was over, the cloth and the tray:

"Eels a many I've ate; but any

So good ne'er tasted before!

They're a fish too, of which I'm remarkably fond-
Go-pop Sir Thomas again in the pond;

Poor dear-he'll catch us some more."

YOU PUT NO FLOWERS ON MY PAPA'S GRAVE.
C. E. L. HOLMES.

With sable-draped banners, and slow measured tread,
The flower laden ranks pass the gates of the dead;
And seeking each mound where a comrade's form rests,
Leave tear-bedewed garlands to bloom on his breast.
Ended at last is the labor of love;

Once more through the gateway the saddened lines move-
A wailing of anguish, a sobbing of grief,

Falls low on the ear of the battle-scarred chief;
Close crouched by the portals, a sunny-haired child
Besought him in accents which grief rendered wild:

“Oh! sir, he was good, and they say he died brave—
Why, why did you pass by my dear papa's grave?
I know he was poor, but as kind and as true
As ever marched into the battle with you;
His grave is so humble, no stone marks the spot,
You may not have seen it. Oh, say you did not!
For my poor heart will break if you knew he was there,
And thought him too lowly your offerings to share.
He didn't die lowly --he poured his heart's blood,
In rich crimson streams, from the top-crowning sod
Of the breast works which stood in front of the fight-
And died shouting, 'Onward! for God and the right!'
O'er all his dead comrades your bright garlands wave,
But you haven't put one on my papa's grave.

If mamma were here-but she lies by his side,
Her wearied heart broke when our dear papa died."

"Battalion! file left! countermarch!" cried the chief,
"This young orphaned maid hath full cause for her grief."
Then up in his arms from the hot, dusty street,
He lifted the maiden, while in through the gate
The long line repasses, and many an eye

Pays fresh tribute of tears to the lone orphan's sigh.

This way, it is-here, sir, right under this tree;

They lie close together, with just room for me."

"Halt! Cover with roses each lowly green mound; A love pure as this makes these graves hallowed ground.”

"Oh! thank you, kind sir! I ne'er can repay The kindness you've shown little Daisy to-day;