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"Heaven rest his soul !" replied an ancient dame, leaning upon her crutch; "Heaven rest his soul! He has lain these fifteen years in the house that he will never leave."
The goatherd shuddered, as in the last speaker he recognised his neighbour, who seemed to have suddenly grown old; but he had lost all desire for farther question. At this moment, a brisk young woman pressed through the anxious gapers, carrying an infant in her arms, and leading by the hand a girl of about fourteen years old, all three the very image of his wife. With increasing surprise he asked her name : "Maria !"-And your father's?" Peter Klaus! Heaven rest his soul! It is now twenty years since we sought him day and night on the Kyffhausen mountains, when his flock returned without him; I was then but seven years old."
The goatherd could contain himself no longer; "I am Peter Klaus," he cried; "I am Peter Klaus, and none else; and he snatched the child from his daughter's arms. All for a moment stood as if petrified, till at length one voice, and another, and another, exclaimed, "Yes, this is Peter Klaus! Welcome, neighbour !welcome, after twenty years!"
THE SHADOW ON THE WALL.
THERE is a shadow on the wall,
Which comes between my rest and me;
There is no living form to see;
I strive to shut it from my sight,
But Conscience tells me it is there;
Nor heart-nor tongue-can utter prayer;
I wander, listless, through the street,
There, many a well-known face I meet—
It is her shadow that I see.
Her shadow! Oh, so young and fair! She was too angel-pure for me,
My heart too black for her to share;
(I dare not count them if I could) Has the remembrance of her tears
Come up before me like a flood!
We stood upon the river's edge,
The sunlight on its petals shone;
He slipp'd and fell: he could not swim:
He snatch'd in vain the bending reeds:
I'd breasted many a deeper tide; I might have saved him if I would:
Saved him that she might be his bride? A demon whisper'd passing by,
"SHE MAY BE THINE, IF HE BUT DIE!"
I turn'd from her appealing eyes,
She called on Heaven and me to save:
"I come to thee, belov'd, I come―
Since other aid has been denied-To save thee, or to share thy doom:
Life is not life, but by thy side!Nay, let me leave this cheerless place: 'Tis worse than death to miss his face!"
I know not how I drew her out,
For I was maddened by my grief; A moment more, I heard a shout,
And others came to my relief. They bore her silently away, And left me in my mute dismay.
All night I linger'd near her door,
While pale forms flitted to and fro; I questioned each one o'er and o'er,
And met their looks of silent woe: Yes-she was dying-close to heaven, And I was living—unforgiven!
Oh, how I longed that voice to hear,
When weary night withdrew her shroud,
That near the loved one's chamber flock'd:
They let me pass without a word,
But there's her shadow evermore,
Just as I saw it in the wave;
Her lover's rescue from the grave:
It rings for ever in my ear,
"Twill haunt me downward to the grave:
But when I've left this world of strife-
Dissolve before the Eternal Day?
CHRISTMAS IS COMING.
J. R. PLANCHÉ.
FAREWELL to the lilies and roses,
Adieu to green leaves and bright skies, Prepare for red hands and blue noses,
Fogs, chilblains, sore throats, and old guys:
The sun, Sagittarius nearing,
The days they grow shorter and shorterYou can't see the town for its smokeInvention, Necessity's daughter,
How long must we blacken and choke? Contract with some wholesale perfumer, To wash off the soot as it falls; Or let a gigantic consumer
Be placed on the top of St. Paul's.
Contrive by some channel to turn it,
Ere down our poor throttles it rolls; Why can't the gas company burn it?
"Twould save them a fortune in coals! Much longer we cannot endure it:
The smother each residence crams;Unless something's soon done to cure it, 'Twill cure us, like so many hams.
The cit, now from Thanet's fair island,
To pace Brighton's chain-pier again;
Each Englishman, now at his hope's end,