died o' Wednesday." My resolution was made

up.

Sae I gat paper in a blink,

An' down gaed stumpie in the ink,

and, in another minute, away went the following appeal to the tender heart of my publisher. Had I waited another post, I have no doubt he would have taken measures to spare me the trouble.

"Dear Sir,

"It is with deep regret that I feel myself under the necessity of resigning my high and honourable post, which requires qualifications to which I have no pretensions; for I have neither the quills of the porcupine nor the hide of the rhinoceros. Should the gentleman whom you may be pleased to appoint as my successor be desirous of any hints descriptive of the community over which he is destined to preside, I shall have great pleasure in gratifying him; it will also be a heart-felt satisfaction to turn over to him a large pile of contributions, which I trust will suit his purpose, for I really have not nerve to send them back to

their owners. If any one should inquire for me at your house, pray be good enough to have him bound over to keep the peace. The state of my health renders it absolutely necessary that I should go to some retired watering-place, where I may enjoy, without molestation, the benefits of sea-bathing and ass's milk.

Believe me, dear sir,

THE MOORISH BARQUE.

LICOSA, 'tis a lovely thought

That roams thy rocky steep,

Where palms and wild pomegranates wrought

Sweet shades for summer sleep; And blossom'd aloes rear'd the head

Like guardians of the grove, To shield it from intrusive tread Of any step but love.

I dream upon the dawn serene,
When on thy seaward crag reclined,

I saw by cleft and rude ravine

Thy bird-nets waving in the wind, And weary wings far o'er the sea

From burning suns and barren sands,

Faint flutter to a worse decree
In cruel captor's hands.

I would I could recall as well
The latent urchin's lay-

The long wild lay, that rose and fell
As came the fitful prey-
'Twas but the tale so often told
Of maiden fair and lover bold,
Rich in all gifts excepting gold,
And hopeless as the hearts of old;
But yet so wild the strain,
That lingering memory still would hold
The fragments that remain.

Bold peasant youth, fair vintage maid,
Their love was laid in Fortune's shade,
That thing so pure might never fade,
Nor lose the simple pride,
Whenever task romantic fell,

By vine-clad rock, or orange dell,
Of toiling side by side.

'Twas eve; and one had gained his prayer Of toil to take the double share

Beneath the sultry ray;

And one had chased the lonely hour
With love-songs in her mossy bower,
Fair beetling o'er the bay.

'Twas gentle eve, the task was done, And now, like wild-dove on the wing, He sought the smile his pains had won, Beside the star-lit spring,

And swifter still his course he took,
For ne'er those pains had been
So distant from the lovely look,

Such weary hours unseen

And as he went he thought how oft,

When waves were calm, and zephyrs soft, The stranger sail would linger there

For water from the fountain fair,

And fancy wilder grew

On all that savage hands might dare,
And all that love might rue;
When hovering on the outward breeze,
Beneath the mountain dark,

Behold the falcon of the seas-
Behold the Moorish barque!

A moment, and he reached the grot

Where she had lain, but lay not now; And broken wreath, and true love knot, And footmarks by the fountain plot, Full plainly spoke the maiden's lot The prize of yonder prow!

His thrill was like the lightning shock,
His thought the bolt in flight:
A bound, and he hath cleared the rock,

Like sea-bird swooping from the sight;

And o'er the tide behold him take

His pathway in the pirate's wake.