No time he wastes; from the brown jug he brings, One draught he takes thrice claps his hands - then springs! Cleaving the foam with gurgle, spatter, splash, Down-sinking! Through the hushed and choking crowd, As fast, and faster hurried to the stroke, He strikes! all start as from wild dreams awoke ! Ev'n envy's sneer dies down to pity's sigh; While the cold doubter, whom no pangs can thrill, Loud shouts and long, the roaring flood outroar, Through the glad heavens, which tempests now conceal, As if salutes were firing from the sky, To hail the triumph, and the victory: Shout! trump of fame- 'till thy brass lungs burst out! Now rushing winds and thunderbolts engage: Beat dust from earth- on rocks, wide spattering, break. And takes, for shelter, meanly to his heels: Not even the hero, dripping from the flood, To flinch at trifles, though to dangers blind. So the hot heroes of the barricade, When, tired of laws and kings themselves had made, They met defying fire and sword and slaughter, Were by Lobau dispersed with muddy water.* A knot of savans, huddled 'neath a shed, There was some trick but where he could not see: A learned sage from Gotham that had come, The world was full of humbug; he, for one, The hero vowed with anger justly moved, On taller heights, could taller heights be found; A mob in the Place Vendome, at Paris, that refused to retire on threat of being fired upon, were thus finally scattered by means of a fire-engine, and a little dirty water. Ay, hotly swore to leap through all the air, From the moon's horns, if they would hang him there. And tinged his cheek still brighter than his nose: Fists flew claws clenched teeth gnashed, and noses bled; And struggling, tumbling, rolling, on they go, 'T were vain to trace the toils the hero passed, Till that dark day of sorrow's blackest frown, No cloud- no gloom that morn the heavens o'erhung, So many a hero to his doom, he said: 'Could danger fright, I ne'er had braved th' abyss: They spoke not, shrieked not, wailed not; with dismay, He fell!-the Great Descender of his time As well the dull and browsing ass might sneer Unthinking, in the folly of his ire, That such tremendous energies require A drink of scalding vapor, and a food of fire! There are, who hold this dread belief, beside: That of earth's common, tame abysses tired, No living laurel on their brows may bloom, Fame, like the soul, first draws enduring breath; Martyr of science! - in whose glorious cause Thou lost thy life, and gain'dst the world's applause, Thou seem'st a fossil monster of old time: Huge, shadowy, lone, of mighty race of yore; But now on earth extinct for ever more. Mine be the boast thy relics to have stirred! Mine the Cuvierian hand that disinterred, And classed thee monarch of a giant reign, Whose mammoth like we ne'er may see again. Farewell! Great Heart! Thou'rt doomed to bright renown, And like thy body shall thy fame go down To the deep sea that rolls without a shore, Farther than fame or body went before. Oh! happy chance that gave thee for my theme! Now, linked together, will we sail the stream; Thou shalt be called the PATCH whom Flaccus sang, Or I the bard who PATCH's praises rang: Yes! I shall buoy thee on th' immortal sea, Or, failing that, thyself shalt carry me! END OF THE GREAT DESCENDER. THE HAUNTED MERCHANT. BY HARRY FRANCO. CHAPTER III RELATES HOW OUR HERO WAS RECEIVED BY THE MEMBERS OF MR. TREMLETT'S HOUSEHOLD. WHEN Mr. Tremlett came down to breakfast next morning, he discovered, that something had occurred to ruffle the temper of his house-keeper, for that respectable old lady made a display of some of the most dignified airs that were probably ever seen in a republican country. And she did not allow him to remain long in ignorance of the cause of her unusual stateliness of demeanor. That little scamp,' said Mrs. Swazey, as she filled up Mr. Tremlett's cup, is the greatest villain; the greatest villain,' she repeated again, giving the coffee urn an emphatic shake, 'in the individual world.' 'I am afraid he is a rogue,' said Mr. Tremlett. I can dispel all your fears on that subject,' said the dignified lady; I know he is.' 'Has he made his escape?' inquired Mr. Tremlett. 'No, Sir, he has not, but I reckon he will;' replied the lady, 'for this house is not big enough to hold him and me, as big as it is.' Mr. Tremlett thought to himself, as he swallowed his coffee, that he had some right to be heard in the matter; and he determined that the boy should remain, if it was only to convince his housekeeper that he would do as he pleased in his own house. 'What has the boy done?' asked Mr. Tremlett. 'Every thing,' replied the lady; 'he abused me in the shamefullest manner.' But you must make allowance for the poor child's education,' said Mr. Tremlett; consider that he has not had the advantages of other children.' 'I can consider nothing as an excuse for unnatural conduct,' replied the lady; for that shows a natural wickedness of heart; and I never heard any minister say that we must forgive unnaturalness, particularly in beggars.' It is very true,' replied Mr. Tremlett, 'that unnatural conduct, particularly in a child, shows a native wickedness of heart, that we can hardly hope to correct by education.' 'Very much so indeed,' said Mrs. Swazey, approvingly. 'But I do not understand why the accident of a bad man's being a beggar, should place him out of the pale of forgiveness.' 'It is a high time of day, to be sure,' said the lady, 'if beggars are to be choosers.' As Mr. Tremlett made no reply to this conclusive answer, the lady concluded the day was her own, and proceeded to relate her grievances in a more subdued tone. 'I was always very partial to children,' she continued, 'particularly boys, although I never had any of my own; that is, I never have had any,' she said, as if she meant to convey the meaning that she might have had, if she had been so disposed. I always liked boys much better than little girls, they are so interesting; and when I was president of the Good Samaritan Society, there is no end to the jackets and trowsers I used to make for them, the little darlings !' 'Ah, I dare say,' said Mr. Tremlett. 'Yes, that I did,' continued Mrs. Swazey; and there is no knowing what I would'nt have done for this little villain, if he had behaved himself with the least similitude of respect toward me.' 'Pray in what manner did he abuse you?' asked Mr. Tremlett. 'I declare I am afraid to tell you for fear you will throw him into the street.' 'O, no, I will not use any violence toward him, I promise you.' Then I will tell,' said Mrs. Swazey, 'let the consequences be what they may. After Bridget had combed his hair and washed his face, he looked so fresh and so beautiful, and reminded me so much of my sister's eldest boy, who died three-and-twenty years ago, that I could not help wanting to kiss him; and when I made known my wishes to him, instead of holding up his lips to be kissed, he ran away, and said he did n't love to kiss old women!' 'Ŏ! O!' said Mr. Tremlett, 'I shall certainly pull his ears.' 'I gave them a good smart box, myself,' said Mrs. Swazey; but not so much for his imperdence to me, as for calling you by the most awful name.' 'Ah! indeed! and pray what did he call me?' inquired Mr. Tremlett, while a slight blush covered his cheek He called you the old covey,' said Mrs. Swazey, speaking in as solemn a tone as she could. 'The old covey,' exclaimed Mr. Tremlett; and pray how did it happen that he called me so ?' Bridget is a silly, ignorant creature,' replied Mrs. Swazey, and she is so wain that she is always fishing after compliments from every body. 'She don't care who they come from, if she only gets them. So, while she was washing the boy's face, she asked him who he loved-expecting, of course, that he would say her; but he said the old covey up stairs,' meaning you; but I gave him such a box on the ears, that he will not say so again in a hurry, I'll warrant. Although Mrs. Swazey had never seen the merchant manifest any very angry feelings, yet judging from her own passions, as some foolish persons will do, she expected to see him fly into a great rage, and throw the young outcast into the street, at the very least; her astonishment, therefore, may well be conceived to have been very great, when Mr. Tremlett rose up from table, as soon as he had swallowed his coffee, and going into the kitchen, patted the head of the little vagabond, with a look in which love and compassion seemed to vie with each other. 'I declare he is a pretty creature,' said Bridget, who felt herself at liberty to be as loquacious as she pleased in the kitchen, although she could not have been prevailed upon to open her lips before her employer in any other place. The boy looked up with a confident and good-natured smile into the face of the merchant, but it soon subsided, and gave place to an expression of awe, as if he was astonished at finding himself an object |