of the horrifick.

The wind whistled loud! farmer Dobbin's wheat stack
Fell down! The rain beat 'gainst his door!
As he sat by the fire he heard the roof crack!
The cat 'gan to mew and to put up her back!
And the candle burnt--_just as before_!
The farmer exclaimed with a piteous sigh,
"To get rid of this curs'd noise and rout,
"Wife gi'e us some ale." His dame straight did cry,
Hemed and coughed three times three, then made this reply--
"I can't mun! Why? 'cause the cask's out!"
By the side of the fire sat Roger Gee-ho
Who had finished his daily vocation,
With Cicely, whose eyes were as black as a Sloe,
A damsel indeed who had never said No,
And because _she ne'er had an occasion_!
All these were alarmed by the loud piercing cries,
And were thrown in a terrible state,
Till open the door, with wide staring eyes,
They found to their joy, no less than surprise,
"_'Twas the old sow fast stuck in a gate!_"

_Charms of Lit. in Prose and Verse_, p. 350, 1808, Trenton.

THE DESCENT OF ODIN.

_Port Folio_, V-406, June 25, 1808, Phila.

[In a review of _Odes from the Norse and Welch Tongues_ by Thomas
Gray.

Also in _New Haven Gaz. and Conn. Mag._, III-No. 21, May 29, 1788, New
Haven.]

THE DESCENT OF ODIN.

_Port Folio_, VI-55, 57, July 23, 1808, Phila.

[Thomas Gray, _idem_. A literal trans.; not the same as the above.
Criticism and reprint.]

THE WANDERER OF SWITZERLAND.
By JAMES MONTGOMERY.

_Gleaner_, I-78 etc., Oct. 1808, Lancaster (Penn.).

[James Montgomery, _op. cit._ Entire poem reprinted. Cf. Preface.]

The following imitation of the celebrated Swiss air "Ran des Vaches,"
in which there is great simplicity and sweetness, is from the pen of
the Editor of the Sheffield Iris, author of the Wanderer of
Switzerland.

THE SONG OF THE SWISS IN A STRANGE LAND.

O when shall I visit the land of my birth,
The loveliest land on the face of the earth?
When shall I those scenes of affection explore,
Our forests, our fountains,
Our hamlets, our mountains,
With the pride of our mountains, the maid I adore?
O when shall I dance on the daisy white mead,
In the shade of an elm, to the sound of the reed?

When shall I return to thy lowly retreat,
Where