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And then she said to them with smiling speech "My maidens, 'Au revoir

Bonsoir !'"

The Phases as they left the gentle Moon

With voices blending like a tune

And spirits gay and light,

Made answer thus: "Oh! mistress fair, good-night!

I shall not penetrate the secret places

Of the Moon's household.

Three in certain cases

Are sorry company :-But I think I may
Just take one only peep!

The Moon and Saturn are fast asleep!
The married twain are happy-hip! hurrah!

Since then, I've heard that Saturn knit his brows
To find he only got a daily spouse.

And to the Earth made overtures and tried
To tempt him to forego the Moon's pale rites
By offering two of his own Satellites.
But thus the Earth, the wise old fox, replied,
That he had been observant

Of human life from Pekin to Peru,

And found that one good servant
Was worth at any time the name of two.
Besides the Moon had lit him on his way,
Along Heaven's flashing floors,

Since the first night that closed creation's day,

And that no generous bosom could ignore That blessing which the skies so seldom send, The faithful service of a humble friend.

Besides, 'twas right that he should mention The Moon and He were almost blood relations, And that 'twould be the worst of degradations,

To sell her thus, as 'twere without redemption. "However!" thus the Earth went on to say, "Whene'er I wander through the milky way, When 'tis no matter that the moonlight fails, And the stars watch me through their silver veils, Then I may grant the boon,

And give permission unto Madame Moon

Softly to steal away and wander on

Until, she finds in thee
Legitimately

A husband and a lover all in one.

Though on these evenings which I'll call non-lunar

I'll have to light my hydrogen the sooner."

In petto, I confess I liked this way
That the earth acted. In my heart I hate your
Sour, selfish dogs. An instinct of my nature.
Is it to love fair play.

And so I would have said, but for a sound
That filled with echoes all the walls around.
I woke. I was alone upon the tower
Of my own Castle. 'Twas the matin hour,
And freshly fell its young beams virginal
On Paddington's fair islet and canal.
The Marriage of the Moon, with spirit eyes

I had seen in Heaven, and in a dream of sleep
Had gauged its mysteries sublime and deep,
And trod the other world beyond the skies.
Above the earth, so happy did I feel
That I forgot

A while man's wretched lot

All his vain hopes in such a world as this-
His biding sorrows and ephemeral bliss.

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414

POOR WILLIS.

BY JAMES BOWKER.

"I SHOULD like to see Willis once more," said my friend Charley, a surgeon on board an East Indiaman, as we sat one evening in my little room.

"You will never do that, Charley, for he is dead."

"You must be joking," said he, "why, young Willis looked more likely for a long and prosperous life than any of us."

"So he did, Charley; but the grass has been growing over him two summers now. Fill your pipe, and draw nearer to the fire, and I will tell you his story."

"You remember the dear old student life, with its hard work, its poverty and gaiety? Well, after you had passed, Willis and I went to live together, fancying that all our wild oats were sown, and resolving to imitate you, and pass with flying colours. We were mutually tired of the vagabond life, and had vowed to think somewhat of our future, instead of leaving the morrow to take care of itself. Willis and I had ever been friends; but after we had lived together for a time, one purse, and one set of chambers serving for both, I began to love him. A young man whose inner and outward life differed more I never met. Generally the gayest of the gay, at times, when after a course of hard and unbroken study we had met at some other student's rooms-much to the disgust of the landlady-when we were heated with wine and sparkling conversation, I have seen a cloud of utter woe fall upon his face, and a look such as we never see, save in the eyes of a faithful dog or a beaten woman, came into his eyes as he turned away his head to hide the emotion he fain would have concealed, but which his tell-tale face revealed to me. You remember his face, Charley? He was not what is generally termed a beautiful man, he had many sorrow lines in his features, and his mouth, only partly concealed by his drooping moustache, testified to some weakness of will. He was a manly-looking young fellow, and was honest and true. In the course of many a chat over our pipes, we had confided most of our secrets to each other, but I was convinced that there was something pressing heavily and painfully upon his mind, as yet unrevealed, and one night I asked him what it was. In a few broken words he told me that he had been engaged to a fair young girl, who had confessed that she loved him in return, but that something had come between them, and that now there was no hope or happiness left. Rising from his easy chair, he opened a drawer and

took therefrom a little worn book, and opening it, and pointing to the first leaf he showed me the initials, A. F. L.' 'Those three letters,' said he, 'are more eloquent to me of love and youth and sorrow than all the poetry ever written. Now let us bury the subject for ever.'

"He replaced the book in the drawer, and immediately began to converse as gaily as though he was the happiest fellow alive, but his worn face belied his every look. Some months passed without any other allusion to his past life, and I had begun to hope that time was effecting its blessed cure upon his wounded heart, when one night when I had retired to rest very early, having been at the hospital all the previous night, I was startled by Willis rushing suddenly into my room, sinking into a chair, burying his face in his hands, and sobbing convulsively. I was too astonished to speak, and without waiting for any question, he said hoarsely and rapidly: 'I have seen her once more, Frank. Heaven help me now! I have seen her once more;' and then again he buried his face in his hands. I arose and entreated him to be calm, and tell me all. In a few moments he assumed his old weary look and said: 'To-night, Frank, as I passed Rooms, a strain of sweet sad music tempted me to enter. Something, Fate I suppose, compelled me, and I went in. I was idly sauntering round the room, scarcelythrowing a glance upon the scores of fair frail beauties gathered there, the music carrying my thoughts back to a sweet sad time for ever past, when suddenly I saw one girl for whom my heart has been breakingthe dear girl to whom I once was engaged, Frank-and there she sat with a bevy of frail ones, the gayest of the gay. As beautiful as ever, her hair massed so sweetly, my golden hair, and her face as calm as though she had never been loved as I had loved her; but in her eyes, Frank, there was a look I never saw in the old sweet days before we were parted. She did not see me, and I came away, and now, Heaven help me! what shall I do?'

"I endeavoured to advise him to the best of my ability-for I was profoundly affected by his narrative-to forget her, and above all things to vow that he never would enter Rooms again; but he said that he must speak to her, if only two or three words, and remained obdurate in spite of all I could say. We talked until daylight came, and I at once saw that there was a terrible change in poor Willis. It was not that his face looked haggard and wild, that I had seen after many a night's gaiety, but there was a yearning yet hopeless look in his eyes, and at times his fingers clutched convulsively as though he was grappling with his bitter thoughts. The day passed and I said nothing more to him, for I knew that that night he would see her again, and that his future weal or woe depended upon it. In the evening he went out, shaking my hand affectionately ere he did so, and I waited until the clocks had chimed five hours past midnight but he did not return. I began to be terribly nervous for I knew his impetuous nature, and every hour added to my uneasiness until at length, at about four in the after

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noon, I heard his footstep at the door. The day had been a miserable and a gloomy one even for London; the drizzling rain and the fog seemed to have conspired to make everything and everybody miserable. I had watched the wretched looking passers by in the dreary street until darkness began to cover the scene, and, as I turned from the window upon hearing my friend's footstep, I thought sorrowfully of the gloom fallen upon his life. He entered the room, and I bade the little maiden bring us lights, but he countermanded the order. I knew his reason, for he was one of those tender-hearted fellows as emotional as a child, but who are ashamed of showing their feelings. We sat by the fire and for a few moments there was a deep silence; but at length lifting up his sorrowful looking face, he said in a sad, low, broken voice: Frank, you never believed in ghosts! Look at me, friend, I am one to-night; for I am as truly dead to the world and everything the world contains as any corpse can be.' I told him that he was ill, and that he needed rest; but he laughed sadly, and said: Rest! so I do, Frank, but I shall never have any more perfect rest. Last night, after speaking to her, I walked about the streets all night in the rain, and to-night I leave London, and have come to say good-bye to the only friend I have left.' I strove earnestly to persuade him to change his mind, but he was resolute, and in a few moments we had parted.

"Two years passed and I heard nothing from or about him. Time had brought its changes to me, and I was an assistant to a surgeon in one of the dingy streets leading down to the docks in Liverpool. One night the old doctor was out, and I sat by the surgery fire thinking of my past life with its wasted years and its dead hopes. It was winter, the snow had been falling all day, and the wind howled round the house, a fit accompaniment to my mournful thoughts. I began to feel quite nervous, a most unusual sensation; for as you know, Charley, a few years of our life soon knocks all that out of a fellow's life; but I had one of these presentiments of coming sorrow that we never feel save when the supreme moments of our lives are advancing toward us. Suddenly I heard the muffled sound of feet in the snow, and a hurried knock at the door. I went into the passage and opened the door, and out in the falling snow there stood a scare-crow of a man dressed in a costume of the Stuart period, but in place of the Cavalier bonnet, with its drooping plume, there was the ordinary and ugly nineteenth century hat, and over the rich velvet doublet and cape an old overcoat had been hurriedly thrown. In spite of the paint upon his cheeks I could see that he was very pale, and in answer to my inquiry as to what he required, he said that I was requested to come to the Theatre, naming a second-rate house, as one of the actors, 'Mr. Balfour, the celebrated Hamlet, sir,' had been stabbed.

"I hurried out and he led the way along the dingy streets, and through the side door of a large building. We were upon the stage, but the curtain was down and the audience in front were making a terrible

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