Words half-vague and passion-broken,
Meaningless, yet meaning all

That the lips have left unspoken,
That we never may recall.

"Magdalena, dearest, hear me,"
Sighed I, as I seized her hand
"Hola! Senor," very near me,

Cries a voice of stern command

And a stalwart caballero

Comes upon me with a stride, On his head a slouched sombrero, A toledo by his side.

From his breast he flung his capa
With a stately Spanish air-
[On the whole he looked the chap a
Man to slight would scarcely dare.]

"Will your worship have the goodness
To release that lady's hand?”
"Senor," I replied, "this rudeness
I am not prepared to stand.

"Magdalena, say"- the maiden,
With a cry of wild surprise,
As with secret sorrow laden,
Fainting sank before my eyes.

Then the Spanish caballero

Bowed with haughty courtesy,

Solemn as a tragic hero,

And announced himself to me.

"Senor, I am Don Camillo,
Guzman Miguel Pedrillo
De Xymenes y Ribera.

Y Santallos y Herrera

Y de Rivas Mendoza
Y Quintana y de Rosa

Y Zorilla ""*
y

"No more, sir,

'Tis as good as twenty score, sir,”

Said I to him with a frown;
"Mucha bulla, para nada,
No palabras, draw your 'spada;
If you're up for a duello

You will find I'm just your fellow-
Senor, I am Peter Brown!"

By the river's bank that night,
Foot to foot in strife,
Fought we in the dubious light
A fight of death or life.

Don Camillo slashed my shoulder,
With the pain I grew the bolder,
Close, and closer still I pressed;

Fortune favored me at last,

I broke his guard, my weapon passed
Through the caballero's breast-
Down to the earth went Don Camillo

Guzman Miguel Pedrillo

De Xymenes y Ribera
Y Santallos y Herrera,
Y de Rivas y Mendoza
Y Quintana y de Rosa

Y Zorilla y · One groan,

And he lay motionless as stone,

* The approximately correct pronunciation of the Spanish names may be indicated as follows: Sevilla, Seveelya; Quien Sabe, Kee-en Sabe (a as in father); Cabellero, Cavalyaro: Camillo, Cameelyo; Miguel, Migale; Pedrillo, Pedreelyo; D Xymenes y Ribera, Da Zimanes e Ribara; Y Santallos y Herrera, E Santalyos e Herrara; Guzman, Guthman; Y de Rivas y Mendoza, E da Revas e Mendotha; Y Quintana y de Rosa, E Keentanya e de Rosas; r Zorilla, E Zoreellya.

The man of many names went down,
Pierced by the sword of Peter Brown!
Kneeling down, I raised his head;
The cabellero faintly said,

"Senor Ingles, fly from Spain
With all speed, for you have slain
A Spanish noble, Don Camillo
Guzman Miguel Pedrillo

De Xymenes y Ribera
Y Santallos y Herrera
Y de Rivas y Mendoza
Y Quintana y de Rosa

Y Zorilla y - He swooned
With the bleeding from his wound.
If he be living still, or dead,

I never knew, I ne'er shall know. That night from Spain in haste I fled, Years and years ago.

Oft when autumn eve is closing,
Pensive, puffing a cigar,

In my chamber lone reposing
Musing half, and half a-dozing,
Comes a vision from afar

Of that lady of the villa
In her satin, fringed mantilla,
And that haughty caballero,
With his capa and sombrero,
Vainly in my mind revolving

That long, jointed, endless name;

'Tis a riddle past my solving,

Who he was or whence he came. Was he that brother home returned? Was he some former lover spurned?

Or some family fiance

That the lady did not fancy?
Was he any one of those?

Sabe Dios. Ah! God knows.

Sadly smoking my manilla,

Much I long to know

How fares the lady of the villa
That once charmed me so,
When I visited Sevilla

Years and years ago.

Has she married a Hidalgo?
Gone the way that ladies all go
In those drowsy Spanish cities,
a thousand pities -

Wasting life

Waking up for a fiesta
From an afternoon siesta,
To" Giralda" now repairing,
Or the Plaza for an airing;
At the shaded reja flirting,
At a bull-fight now disporting;
Does she walk at evenings ever
Through the gardens by the river?
Guarded by an old duenna
Fierce and sharp as a hyena,
With her goggles and her fan
Warning off each wicked man?
Is she dead, or is she living?
Is she for my absence grieving?
Is she wretched, is she happy?

Widow, wife, or maid? Quien Sabe?

J. F. WALLER.

BROTHER WATKINS.

We have the subjoined discourse, delivered by a Southern divine, who had removed to a new field of labor.

To his

new flock, on the first day of his ministration, he gave some reminiscences of his former charge, as follows:

"My beloved brethering, before I take my text I must tell

you about my parting with my old congregation. On the morning of last Sabbath I went into the meeting-house to preach my farewell discourse. Just in front of me sot the old fathers and mothers in Israel; the tears coursed down their furrowed cheeks; their tottering forms and quivering lips breathed out a sad —fare ye well, brother Watkins — ah! Behind them sot the middle-aged men and matrons; health and vigor beamed from every countenance; and as they looked up I could see in their dreamy eyes-fare ye well, brother Watkins-ah! Behind them sot the boy's and girls that I had baptized and gathered into the Sabbathschool. Many times had they been rude and boisterous, but now their merry laugh was hushed, and in the silence I could hear-fare ye well, brother Watkins - ah! Around, on the back seats, and in the aisles, stood and sot the colored brethering, with their black faces and honest hearts, and as I looked upon them I could see a-fare ye well, brother Watkins- ah! When I had finished my discourse and shaken hands with the brethering ah! I passed out to take a last look at the old church ah! the broken steps, the flopping blinds, and moss-covered roof, suggested only -fare ye well, brother Watkins-ah! I mounted my old gray mare, with my earthly possessions in my saddlebags, and as I passed down the street the servant-girls stood in the doors, and with their brooms waved me a — fare ye And keep the flame from wasting by repose:

I still had hopes, my long vexations past,

Here to return,

- and die at home, at last.

O blessed retirement! friend to life's decline,
Retreat from care, that never must be mine!
How blessed is he who crowns, in shades like these,
A youth of labor with an age of ease;

Who quits a world where strong temptations try,

And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly!

So on he moves to meet his latter end,

Angels around befriending virtue's friend;