solid front to the enemy. Simmer
down generally, and talk reason to BISMARCK, and, on the honor of
PUNCHINELLO, I can solemnly assure you that things won't be so
'speckled' as they now are."

Saying which, I gathered the drapery of my duster gracefully about me,
and left.

DICK TINTO.

* * * * *

THE SHE THAT IS TO BE.

By a Prominent Member of Sorosis.

1.

--She stood! The hurrying clouds wild drove--
--The purpling aspect of the air...!
While her wild contour symbolized
The Unity of Hope's Despair!

2.

And shall not We, when Life's short span,
Enveloping the Yet-To-Be--
Smiling candescent?--Nay?--Ah! well!
BE THAT OUR FUTURE DESTINY!!

* * * * *

POEMS OF THE CRADLE.

CANTO XI.

Little Bo-Peep has lost his sheep,
And don't know where to find them.
Let them alone and they'll come home,
And bring their tails behind them.

The Poet having now advanced so far in his work as to make a very
respectable collection of poems, and beginning to run short of matter,
casts his eyes around him in search of aid, hoping to find inspiration
in some fortuitous moment from the many little incidents that are always
occurring, and which only observing minds would notice. For the time he
sees nothing that would suggest even to the most sparkling intellect the
shadow of a rhyme, and he begins to be in despair. He walks up and down
his dingy room, thrusts his long fingers amid the raven locks that adorn
his poetical cranium, and gently at first, then furiously, irritates the
cuticle of his imaginative head-piece, hoping thereby to waken up his
ideas and find a foundation upon which to erect another stone in the
edifice of his never-fading glory.

This process does not seem to be as successful as usual: the ideas
refuse to come at his bidding, and he glares around in consternation,
Can it be possible that he has exhausted himself; that his ideas are
entirely run out; that the fountain is dry, and the Muse has ceased to
smile upon him; that he must descend from his high elevation as the poet
of the family, the hope and pride of his friends and the admiration of
himself, and sink to the level of his earthy brothers and become one of
them, no better and no worse? No--perish the thought! never again will
he mingle with those rude and vulgar natures, having no thoughts or
feelings above their creature comforts: