"By his strong, round, tail-less buttocks, Ánd his flat claws you may knów him Éven were he not so like me

That we might pass fór twin brothers."

"Nów we see him," said the ángels; "Hów is 't possible wé o'erlooked him? Hé 's indeed your véry image

Ónly less strong and wise loóking."

"Só I hope the mystery 's cleared up,"
Said God with much selfcomplácence,
"Ánd you are no longer púzzled

What I've been about these six days."

"Éven th' Almighty," said the angels,
"Máy be proúd of such chef-d'oeuvre,
Súch magníficént and crówning
Íssue of a six days' lábor."

Hére a deep sigh rent God's bosom,
Ánd a sháde came o'er God's features:
"Áh," he cried, "were yé but honest
Ánd no traítor stoód amongst ye!

"Thén indeed this wére a great work,
Thén indeed I were too happy ;

Áh! it's too bad, dównright too bad,
Bút I'll shall I? yés, I'll let you;

"There he is, my nóblest, best work;
Táke him, dó your pleasure with him.
After áll perhaps I'll find some
Meáns to pátch my broken saúcer.

"Nów begone! don't lét me see you
Hére agaín till í send for you;
I'm tired working, and intend to
Rést my weáry bónes tomorrow."

Só God láy late on the next day
Ánd the whole day lóng did nothing
Bút reflect upón his íll luck

Ánd the great spite of the ángels.

Ánd he said:

"Because I've résted

All this seventh day, and done nothing,
Eách seventh day shall bé kept hóly
And a day of rest for ever."

And as Gód said and commanded

Só it is now, and still sháll be:

Áll hard work done on the seventh day,
To the first day áll respéct shown.

DALKEY LODGE, DALKEY (IRELAND), Jan. 21, 1855.

a

DÍRE Ambition úp hill toiling,
Straining évery nerve and sínew,
Sweating, pánting, táking nó rest,
Dire Ambition, listen to me.

Highest climbers gét the worst falls,
Ón the hill-top stórms blow fiercest,
Lightning óftenest strikes the summits,
Dire Ambition, túrn and cóme down.

in the valley hére it 's shéltered,
Eásy, safe and súre and pleásant;

Ón those steép heights thére 's scarce foóting,
í grow dizzy tó look at thee.

Higher still thou climb'st and higher,
Léndest nó ear, loók'st not once down;
Álmost in the clouds I see thee,

Fár above the reách of my words.

Fare thee well then ónly fall not-
And as happy bé above there,

Íf thou canst, as Í belów here

Ín the cálm, sequéstered válley.

DALKEY LODGE, DALKEY (IRELAND), April 4, 1855.

IVY LEAF.

Ívy leáf, come, i will praise thee,

Just because thou 'rt únpreténding
Ánd hast seldom hád the fortune
Tó be praised as thoú desérvest.

Summer's váriegated, gáy leaves,
Frightened át th' approach of winter,
Lóng agó have fléd and left me
Tó thy néver-failing shelter.

Ón this bleák Novémber mórning
Ín thou peépest át my window
With as kindly, friendly greéting
Ás though we were still in Júly.

Yesterday I asked the rédbreast
Thát from yonder báre spray cárols:
"Whére, my prétty sérenáder,

Ón these cold nights findest shélter?"

"In the ivy," answered Robin,
"Underneath your bedroom window,
Néstling cózy, Í care little

For the bleák nights of Novémber."

alkin

2-1

Cónquering Bácchus, from the Indies
Driving in triúmphal cháriot,

Twined his Thýrsus, crówned his témples,
With thy green branch and black bérries.

From that day down to the présent,
Round the wine cup and the tankard
Wind harmóniously together
Clústering grápe, and ivy bránches.

Clearer, sweéter fár the honey
Í 've each morning át my breakfast
Thán the hóney thẻ Athénians

Brought from Hýbla ánd Hyméttus;

Why? because all the long summer
Mý bees riot in thy blossoms,
Ánd who éver heard of ivy

Ón Mount Hýbla ór Hyméttus?

When I'm dead and o'ér my ashes

Ríses thé cold márble cólumn,

Shroúd it, ívy, with thy green leaves;

Áll too late the paltry tribute.

Walking from FONTAINE L'EVEQUE to BASÉCLES, HAINAULT (Belgium); Nov. 12-13, 1854.