now pursuing, which are as necessary to the soldier as they are to the clergyman or lawyer.

THE AFRICAN CHIEF.

CHAINED in the market-place he stood,
A man of giant frame,
Amid the gathering multitude

That shrunk to hear his name,-
All stern in look and strong of limb,
His dark eye on the ground:
And silently they gazed on him,
As on a lion bound.

Vainly, but well, that chief had fought-
He was a captive now;
Yet pride, that fortune humbles not,
Was written on his brow:

The scars his dark broad bosom wore
Showed warrior true and brave;
A prince among his tribe before,
He could not be a slave.

Then to his conqueror he spake-
"My brother is a king:

Undo this necklace from my neck,

And take this bracelet ring,

And send me where my brother reigns,

And I will fill thy hands

With store of ivory from the plains,

And gold dust from the sands."

"Not for thy ivory nor thy gold
Will I unbind thy chain;

That bloody hand shall never hold
The battle-spear again.

A price thy nation never gave

Shall yet be paid for thee;

For thou shalt be the Christian's slave
In lands beyond the sea."

Then wept the warrior chief, and bade
To shred his locks away;

And, one by one, each heavy braid
Before the victor lay.

Thick were the platted locks, and long,
And deftly hidden there

Shone many a wedge of gold among
The dark and crisped hair.

"Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold, Long kept for sorest need:

Take it-thou askest sums untoldsay that I am freed.

And

Take it, my wife, the long, long day
Weeps by the cocoa tree,

And my young children leave their play,
And ask in vain for me."

"I take thy gold,—but I have made
Thy fetters fast and strong,
And ween that by the cocoa shade
Thy wife shall wait thee long."
Strong was the agony that shook

The captive's frame to hear,
And the proud meaning of his look
Was changed to mortal fear.

His heart was broken-crazed his brainAt once his eye grew wild :

He struggled fiercely with his chain,
Whispered, and wept, and smiled;
Yet wore not long those fatal bands,
And once, at shut of day,

They drew him forth upon the sands,
The foul hyena's prey.

WASHING DAY.

THE Muses are turned gossips; they have lost
The buskined step, and clear high-sounding phrase,
Language of gods. Come, then, domestic Muse,
In slipshod measure loosely prattling on

Of farm or orchard, pleasant curds and cream,
Or drowning flies, or shoe lost in the mire
By little whimpering boy, with rueful face;
Come, Muse, and sing the dreaded Washing-Day.
Ye who beneath the yoke of wedlock bend,
With bowed soul, full well ye ken the day
Which week, smooth sliding after week, brings on
Too soon ;-for to that day nor peace belongs
Nor comfort;-ere the first gray streak of dawn,
The red-armed washers come and chase repose.
Nor pleasant smile, nor quaint device of mirth,
E'er visited that day: the very cat,

From the wet kitchen scared and reeking hearth,
Visits the parlour, an

che unwonted guest.

The silent breakfast-meal is soon despatched;
Uninterrupted, save by anxious looks

Cast at the lowering sky, if sky should lower.
From that last evil, O preserve us, heavens!
For should the skies pour down, adieu to all
Remains of quiet: then expect to hear

Of sad disasters,-dirt and gravel stains
Hard to efface, and loaded lines at once

Snapped short, and linen-horse by dog thrown down,
And all the petty miseries of life.

Saints have been calm while stretched upon the rack,
And Guatimozin smiled on burning coals;
But never yet did housewife notable

Greet with a smile a rainy washing-day.
-But grant the welkin fair, require not thou
Who call'st thyself perchance the master there,
Or study swept, or nicely dusted coat,
Or usual 'tendance ;-ask not, indiscreet,
Thy stockings mended, though the yawning rents
Gape wide as Erebus; nor hope to find
Some snug recess impervious: shouldst thou try
The 'customed garden walks, thine ye shall rue
The budding fragrance of thy tender shrubs,
Myrtle or rose, all crushed beneath the weight
Of coarse checked apron,—with impatient hand
Twitched off when showers impend: or crossing
lines

Shall mar thy musings, as the wet cold sheet
Flaps in thy face abrupt. Woe to the friend
Whose evil stars have urged him forth to claim
On such a day the hospitable rites!

Looks, blank at best, and stinted courtesy,
Shall he receive. Vainly he feeds his hopes
With dinner of roast chickens, savoury pie,
Or tart or pudding :-pudding he nor tart
That day shall eat; nor, though the husband try,
Mending what can't be helped, to kindle mirth
From cheer deficient, shall his consort's brow
Clear up propitious :-the unlucky guest
In silence dines, and early slinks away.
I well remember when a child, the awe

This day struck into me; for then the maids,

I scarce knew why, looked cross, and drove me from them:

Nor soft caress could I obtain, nor hope
Usual indulgences; jelly or creams,
Relic of costly suppers, and set by

For me their petted one; or buttered toast,
When butter was forbid; or thrilling tale
Of ghost or witch, or murder—so I went
And sheltered me beside the parlour fire:
There my dear grandmother, eldest of forms,
Tended the little ones, and watched from harm,
Anxiously fond, though oft her spectacles
With elfin cunning hid, and oft the pins
Drawn from her ravelled stockings, might have soured
One less indulgent-

At intervals my mother's voice was heard,
Urging despatch: briskly the work went on,
All hands employed to wash, to rinse, to wring,
To fold, and starch, and clap, and iron and plait.
Then would I sit me down and ponder much
Why washings were. Sometimes through hollow

bowl

Of pipe amused we blew, and sent aloft
The floating bubbles; little dreaming then
To see, Mongolfier, thy silken ball

Ride buoyant through the clouds-so near approach
The sports of children and the toils of men.
Earth, air, and sky, and ocean, hath its bubbles,
And verse is one of them-this most of all.