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They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time

Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
By the crier on his round

Through the town.

But now he walks the streets,
And he looks at all he meets,

Sad and wan,
And he shakes his feeble head,
And it seems as if he said :

“ They are gone!”

The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he has pressed

In their bloom ;
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year

On the tomb.

My grandmamma has said —
Poor old lady! she is dead

Long ago —
That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose

In the snow.

But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin

Like a staff;

And a crook is in his back
And a melancholy crack

In his laugh.

I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin

At him here;
But the old three-cornered hat,
And the breeches, and all that,

Are so queer!

And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree

In the Spring,
Let them smile as I do now
At the old forsaken bough

Where I cling.

SAINT PANCRAS BELL.

Shirley Brooks.

A SOUND came booming through the air !

“What is that sound ?” quoth I. My blue-eyed pet, with golden hair,

Made answer, presently, “ Papa, you know it very well ; That sound – it was Saint Pancras bell.”

“My own Louise, put down the cat

And come and stand by me;

I'm sad to hear you talk like that, —

Where's your philosophy ?
That sound — attend to what I tell —
That sound was not Saint Pancras bell.
“Sound is the name the sage selects,

For the concluding term
Of a long series of effects,

Of which that blow's the germ. The following brief analysis Shows the interpolations, Miss. 6. The blow which, when the clapper slips,

Falls on your friend, the bell, Changes its circle to ellipse

(A word you'd better spell), And then comes elasticity, Restoring what it used to be

“Nay, making it a little more;

The circle shifts about,
As much as it shrunk in before,

The bell, you see, swells out ;
And so a new ellipse is made,
(You're not attending, I'm afraid.)

6. This change of form disturbs the air,

Which, in its turn behaves
In like elastic fashion there,

Creating waves on waves ;
Which press each other onward, dear,
Until the outmost finds your ear.

“ Within that ear the surgeons find

A tympanum, or drum,
Which has a little bone behind —

Malleus, it's called by some ;
Those not proud of Latin grammar
Humbly translate it as the hammer.

6. The wave's vibrations this transmits

To this, the incus bone
(Incus means anvil, which it hits),

And this transfers the tone
To the small os orbiculare,
The tiniest bone that people carry.

66 The stapes next — the name recalls

A stirrup's form, my daughter — Joins three half-circular canals

Each filled with limpid water; Their curious lining you'll observe, Made of the auditory nerve.

“ This vibrates next — and then we find

The mystic work is crowned ;
For then my daughter's gentle mind

First recognizes sound.
See what a host of causes swell
To make up what you call the ' bell.'”

Awhile she paused — my bright Louise,

And pondered on the case ;

Then, settling that he meant to tease,

She slapped her father's face,
“ You bad old man, to sit and tell
Such gibbery gosh about a bell !”

TURNING THE GRINDSTONE.

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.

WHEN I was a little boy, I remember, one cold winter's morning, I was accosted by a smiling man with an axe on his shoulder. “My pretty boy,” said he, “has your father a grindstone ?” – “Yes, sir,” said I. — “You are a fine little fellow,” said he ; “ will you let me grind my axe on it?” Pleased with the compliment of “ fine little fellow,” “O yes, sir,” I answered. “It is down in the shop.” — “ And will you, my man," said he, patting me on the head, “get me a little hot water ?” How could I refuse? I ran, and soon brought a kettle full. “How old are you ? and what's your name?” continued he, without waiting for a reply; “I am sure you are one of the finest lads that ever I have seen ; will you just turn a few minutes for me?” · Tickled with the flattery, like a little fool, I went to work, and bitterly did I rue the day. It was a new axe, and I toiled and tugged till I was almost tired to death. The school-bell rang, and I could not get away; my hands were blistered, and the axe was not half ground. At length, however, it was sharpened ; and the man turned to me with, “ Now, you little rascal,

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