But answer made it none. Yet once, methought

It lifted up its head, and did address

Itself to motion, like as it would speak:

But, even then, the morning cock crew loud;
And, at the sound, it shrunk in haste away,
And vanished from our sight.

Hor. As I do live, my honored lord, 't is true; And we did think it writ down in our duty

To let you know of it.

Ham. Indeed, indeed, sir, but this troubles me. Hold you the watch to-night?

Ham. Then saw you not his face?

Hor. O, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up.
Ham. What, looked he frowningly?

Hor. A countenance more

In sorrow than in anger.
Ham. Pale, or red?

Hor. Nay, very pale.
Ham.

And fixed his eyes upon you?

I would I had been there!

Hor. Most constantly.

Ham.

Hor. It would have much amazed you.

Ham. Very like, very like. Staid it long?

Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. Ham. His beard was grizzled ?-no?

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life,

A sable silvered.

Ham.

I will watch to-night;

Perchance 't will walk again.

I warrant 't will.

Hor.
Ham. If it assume my noble father's person,
I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape,
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you, sir,

If you have hitherto concealed this sight,
Let it be tenable in your silence still ;
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night,
Give it an understanding, but no tongue;
I will requite your love: so fare you well.
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,
I'll visit you.

SHAKSPEARE.

XCIV.-APPEAL FOR STARVING IRELAND.

TH

HERE lies upon the other side of the wide Atlantic a beautiful island, famous in story and in song. Its area is not so great as that of the State of Louisiana, while its population is almost half that of the Union. It has given to the world more than its share of genius and of greatness. It has been prolific in statesmen, warriors, and poets. Its brave and generous sons have fought successfully all battles but their own. In wit and humor it has no equal; while its harp, like its history, moves to tears by its sweet but melancholy pathos.

2. Into this fair region God has seen fit to send the most terrible of all those fearful ministers that fulfil his inscrutable decrees. The earth has failed to give her increase. The common mother has forgotten her offspring, and she no longer affords them their accustomed nourishment. Famine, gaunt and ghastly Famine, has seized a nation with its strangling grasp. Unhappy Ireland, in the sad woes of the present, forgets, for a moment, the gloomy history of the past.

3. Oh! it is terrible that, in this beautiful world, which the good God has given us, and in which there is plenty for all, men should die of starvation! When a man dies of disease, he, it is true, endures the pain. But around his pillow are gathered sympathizing friends, who, if they cannot keep back the deadly messenger, cover his face, and conceal the horrors of his visage, as he delivers his stern

mandate. In battle, in the fullness of his pride and strength, little recks the soldier whether the hissing bullet sings his sudden requiem, or the cords of life are severed by the sharp steel.

4. But he who dies of hunger, wrestles alone, day after day, with his grim and unrelenting enemy. He has nc friends to cheer him in the terrible conflict; for, if he had friends, how could he die of hunger? He has not the hot blood of the soldier to maintain him; for his foe, vampirelike, has exhausted his veins. Famine comes not up, like a brave enemy, storming, by a sudden onset, the fortress that resists. Famine besieges. He draws his lines round the doomed garrison. He cuts off all supplies. He never summons to surrender, for he gives no quarter.

5. Alas! for poor human nature, how can it sustain this fearful warfare? Day by day the blood recedes; the flesh deserts; the muscles relax, and the sinews grow powerless. At last the mind, which at first had bravely nerved itself against the contest, gives way, under the mysterious influences which govern its union with the body. Then the victim begins to doubt the existence of an overruling Providence. He hates his fellow-men, and glares upon them with the longing of a cannibal; and, it may be, dies blaspheming.

6. This is one of the cases in which we may, without impiety, assume, as it were, the function of Providence. Who knows but that one of the very objects of this calamity is to test the benevolence and worthiness of us, upon whom unlimited abundance is showered? In the name, hen, of common humanity, I invoke your aid in behalf of starving Ireland. He who is able, and will not aid in such a cause, is not a man, and has no right to wear the form. He should be sent back to Nature's mint, and reissued as a counterfeit on humanity, of Nature's baser metal.

S. S. PRENTISS.

XCV. THE TEAR OF REPENTANCE.

I.

NE morn a Peri at the gate

ONE

Of Eden stood, disconsolate;
And as she listened to the springs

Of life within, like music flowing,
And caught the light upon her wings
Through the half-open portal glowing,
She wept to think her recreant race
Should e'er have lost that glorious place!

II.

"How happy," exclaimed this child of air, "Are the holy spirits who wander there,

'Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall! Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea, One blossom of heaven outblooms them all!"

III..

The glorious angel who was keeping
The gates of light, beheld her weeping;
And, as he nearer drew and listened,
A tear within his eyelids glistened.—
"Nymph of a fair but erring line!"
Gently he said, "one hope is thine.
"Tis written in the book of fate,

The Peri yet may be forgiven,

Who brings to this eternal gate

The gift that is most dear to Heaven!

Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin;

'Tis sweet to let the pardoned in!"

IV.

Rapidly as comets run

To the embraces of the sun,

Down the blue vault the Peri flies,
And lighted earthward by a glance
That just then broke from morning's eyes,
Hung hovering o'er our world's expanse.

V.

Over the vale of Baalbec winging,
The Peri sees a child at play,
Among the rosy wild-flowers singing,
As rosy and as wild as they;
Chasing, with eager hands and eyes,
The beautiful blue damsel-flies

That fluttered round the jasmine stems,
Like winged flowers or flying gems:
And near the boy, who, tired with play,
Now nestling 'mid the roses lay,
She saw a wearied man dismount

From his hot steed, and on the brink Of a small temple's rustic fount Impatient fling him down to drink.

VI.

Then swift his haggard brow he turned
To the fair child, who fearless sat-
Though never yet hath day-beam burned
Upon a brow more fierce than that-
Sullenly fierce-a mixture dire,'
Like thunder-clouds of gloom and fire,
In which the Peri's eye could read
Dark tales of many a ruthless deed.

VII.

Yet tranquil now that man of crime
(As if the balmy evening-time
Softened his spirit) looked and lay,
Watching the rosy infant's play;
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance
Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance
Met that unclouded, joyous gaze,
As torches that have burnt all night
Encounter morning's glorious rays.

VIII.

But hark! the vesper call to prayer,
As slow the orb of daylight sets,

Is rising sweetly on the air

From Syria's thousand minarets!