Pagan, Christian and Jew, black and white, in one glad, har monious, triumphant procession! "Blest and thrice blest the Roman Who sees Rome's brightest day; And through the bellowing Forum, Of Capitolian Jove !" THE SICK ENGLISHMAN IN GERMANY. ALTERED FROM THOMAS HOOD. Sick man reclining in a chair. Physician feels the pulse and examines the tongue of the patient. PAYSICIAN. It is a case for de wasser cure. He will soon be well mit de wasser. ATTENDANT. And as to his eating, Doctor? ATT. And what ought he to drink? PHYS. Cold wasser. ATT. Would it be well to bathe his feet? PHYS. Yah-mit cold wasser. ATT. And if he feels a little low? PHYS. Low? Vat is dat ? ATT. Out of spirits; a little faint-like. PHYS. Faint-ah-So? You shall sprinkle at him mid some cold wasser. ATT. And nothing else? PHYS. Yah-I shall write someting. (Writes.) Dare you shall send dis paper to de apotheke in de Leer street, almost to de Rondel. He shall drink some flasks of Kissingen. ATT. Kissengen ?-what's that? Is it some sort of wine? PHYS. Wine! nein! It is some sort of cold wasser. ATT. Oh, from the baths! PHYS. Yah! yah!-it shall be goot to bath too-in cold wasser. (To the patient.) Sare, have you read my little boke? PATIENT. (Speaking in broken sentences, as if in pain.) What's it about, Doctor? PHYS. De wholesome of de cold wasser. I have prove de cold wasser is good for every sickness in de world. PATIENT. What! for-water in the head? PHYS. Yah-and for wasser in de chest. And for wasser in de-what you may call him? de abdomen. It is good for everyting. De cold wasser shall sweep away all de Kranken, all de sick peoples from de face of de earth. PATIENT. (To himself.) Yes-so did-the Great Flood. (Aside to attendant.) Come here. I've heard before-of wetnurses--but never of-a wet-doctor. It's the old story-of the prescription that was nothing-but aqua pumpy. I shall be drowned-before I am cured. Nothing but watering, watering, watering. Egad! he takes me for a sick Hydrangea ! PHYSICIAN. (Beckoning attendant into a corner, with a mysterious manner.) Hist! Come here! ATTENDANT. Good heavens! Is he in any danger? PHYSICIAN. He is quite so bad as one can wish. Hear to me-is he rich? Have he mosh moneys? ATTENDANT. He is what is called an independent gentlemen. PHYS. Dat is goot-bery goot. Now, hear to me. he is so bad, you shall rob him. ATT. (With astonishment.) What? Whilst PHYS. You-shall-rob him. You shall rob his chest. (Attendant looks astounded.) PHYS. (After a pause.) Do you understand me? ATT. I am afraid I do. (Indignantly leaves the physician, who goes out with a show of surprise. To himself.) What a monster! But I foretold it from the very first glimpse of him. There was villain stamped in his face. What horrid cunning eyes! Now I think of it, he is the very picture—but here comes Thomas. (Enter servant, with a bottle.) Thomas, what is in that bottle? SERVANT. It is some medicine which the doctor sent. ATT. (Reads the label.) "Some water for to rob him with on the chest.' It's really very provoking! So absurd! How uncommonly annoying! But it's all his own fault for not speaking better English. What fools these foreigners are! Why could he not have said rub? SALATHIEL TO TITUS. CROLY. Son of Vespasian, I am at this hour a poor man, as I may in the next be an exile or a slave; I have ties to life as strong as ever were bound round the heart of man; I stand here a suppliant for the life of one whose loss would embitter mine! Yet, not for wealth unlimited, for the safety of my family, for the life of the noble victim that is now standing at the place of torture, dare I abandon, dare I think the impious thought of abandoning the cause of the City of Holiness. Titus in the name of that Being, to whom the wisdom of the earth is folly, I adjure you to beware. Jerusalem is sacred. Her crimes have often wrought her misery-often has she been trampled by the armies of the stranger. But she is still the City of the Omnipotent; and never was blow inflicted on her by man, that was not terribly repaid. The Assyrian came, the mightiest power of the world: he plundered her temple, and led her people into captivity. How long was it before his empire was a dream, his dynasty extinguished in blood, and an enemy on his throne ?-The Persian came from her protector, he turned into her oppressor; and his empire was swept away like the dust of the desert!-The Syrian smote her; the smiter died in agonies of remorse; and where is his kingdom now?—The Egyptian smote her: and who now sits on the throne of the Ptolemies? Pompey came: the invincible, the conqueror of a thousand cities, the light of Rome; the lord of Asia, riding on the very wings of victory. But he profaned her temple; and from that hour he went down-down, like a millstone plunged into the ocean! Blind counsel, rash ambition, womanish fears, were upon the great statesman and warrior of Rome. Where does he sleep? What sands were colored with his blood? The universal conqueror died a slave, by the hand of a slave! Crassus came at the head of the legions; he plundered the sacred vessels of the sanctuary. Vengeance followed him, and he was cursed by the curse of God. Where are the bones of the robber and his host? Go, tear them from the jaws of the lion and the wolf of Parthia,-their fitting tomb! You, too, son of Vespasian, may be commissioned for the punishment of a stiff-necked and rebellious people. You may scourge our naked vice by force of arms; and then you may return to your own land exulting in the conquest of the fiercest enemy of Rome. But shall you escape the common fate of the instrument of evil? Shall you see a peaceful old age? Shall a son of yours ever sit upon the throne? Shall not rather some monster of your blood efface the memory of your virtues, and make Rome, in bitterness of soul, curse the Flavian name? OVER THE RIVER. Over the river they beckon to me, NANCY A. W. PRIEST. Loved ones who crossed to the other side; The gleam of their snowy robes I see, But their voices are drowned by the rushing tide. There's one with ringlets of sunny gold, And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue; He crossed in the twilight gray and cold, And the pale mist hid him from mortal view. Over the river, over the river, My brother stands, waiting to welcome me. Over the river the boatman pale Carried another, the household pet; Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale- She closed on her bosom her dimpled hands, And fearlessly entered the phantom bark; We watched it glide from the silver sands, And all our sunshine grew strangely dark. We know she is safe on the further side, Where all the ransomed and angels be; Over the river, the mystic river, My childhood's idol is waiting for me. For none return from those quiet shores, We hear the dip of the golden oars, And catch a glimpse of the snowy sail; And lo! they have passed from our yearning hearts They cross the stream and are gone for aye. We We may not sunder the veil apart That hides from our vision the gates of day; We only know that their barks no more Sail with us o'er life's stormy sea; Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore, And I sit and think when the sunset's gold And list to the sound of the boatman's oar. And joyfully sweet will the meeting be, The angel of death shall carry me. ་་ ་ ་ |