I sink--I faint beneath the bare conception!

[_Awakes._] Darkness? Where am I? I remember, now, This is a bag of ducats--'tis no dream-- No dream! The trap-door fell, and here am I Immured with my dear gold--my candle out-- All gloom--all silence--all despair! What, ho!

Friends! Friends? I have no friends. What right have I To use the name? These money-bags have been The only friends I've cared for--and for these I've toiled, and pinched, and screwed--shutting my heart To charity, humanity and love!

Detested traitors! Since I gave you all-- Aye, gave my very soul--can ye do naught For me in this extremity? Ho! Without there!

A thousand ducats for a loaf of bread!

Ten thousand ducats for a gla.s.s of water!

A pile of ingots for a helping hand!

Was that a laugh? Aye, 'twas a fiend that laughed To see a miser in the grip of death.

Offended Heaven, have mercy! I will give In alms all this vile rubbish; aid me thou In this most dreadful strait! I'll build a church-- A hospital! Vain, vain! Too late, too late!

Heaven knows the miser's heart too well to trust him!

Heaven will not hear! Why should it? What have I Done to enlist Heaven's favor--to help on Heaven's cause on earth, in human hearts and homes?

Nothing! G.o.d's kingdom will not come the sooner For any work or any prayer of mine.

But must I die here--in my own trap caught?

Die--die? and then! Oh, mercy! Grant me time-- Thou who canst save--grant me a little time, And I'll redeem the past--undo the evil That I have done--make thousands happy with This h.o.a.rded treasure--do Thy will on earth As it is done in Heaven--grant me but time!

Nor man nor G.o.d will heed my shrieks! All's lost!

SHE WOULD BE A MASON.

ANONYMOUS.

The funniest story I ever heard, The funniest thing that ever occurred, Is the story of Mrs. Mehitable Byrde, Who wanted to be a Mason.

Her husband, Tom Byrde, is a Mason true, As good a Mason as any of you; He is tyler of lodge Cerulian Blue, And tyles and delivers the summons due, And she wanted to be a Mason too-- This ridiculous Mrs. Byrde.

She followed him round, this inquisitive wife, And nabbed and teased him half out of his life; So to terminate this unhallowed strife, He consented at last to admit her.

And first to disguise her from bonnet to shoon, The ridiculous lady agreed to put on His breech--ah! forgive me--I meant pantaloon; And miraculously did they fit her.

The Lodge was at work on the Master's Degree; The light was ablaze on the letter G; High soared the pillars J. and B.; The officers sat like Solomon, wise; The brimstone burned amid horrid cries; The goat roamed wildly through the room; The candidate begged 'em to let him go home; And the devil himself stood up in the east, As proud as an alderman at a feast;-- When in came Mrs. Byrde.

Oh, horrible sounds! oh, horrible sight!

Can it be that Masons take delight In spending thus the hours of night?

Ah! could their wives and daughters know The unutterable things they say and do, Their feminine hearts would burst with woe; But this is not all my story, For those Masons joined in a hideous ring, The candidate howling like everything, And thus in tones of death they sing (The Candidate's name was Morey): "Blood to drink and bones to crack, Skulls to smash and lives to take, Hearts to crush and souls to burn-- Give old Morey another turn, And make him all grim and gory."

Trembling with horror stood Mrs. Byrde, Unable to speak a single word; She staggered and fell in the nearest chair, On the left of the Junior Warden there, And scarcely noticed, so loud the groans, That the chair was made of human bones.

Of human bones! on grinning skulls That ghastly throne of horror rolls-- Those skulls, the skulls that Morgan bore!

Those bones the bones that Morgan wore!

His scalp across the top was flung, His teeth around the arms were strung-- Never in all romance was known Such uses made of human bone.

The brimstone gleamed in lurid flame, Just like a place we will not name; Good angels, that inquiring came From blissful courts, looked on with shame And tearful melancholy.

Again they dance, but twice as bad, They jump and sing like demons mad; The tune is Hunkey Dorey-- "Blood to drink," etc., etc.

Then came a pause--a pair of paws Reached through the floor, up sliding doors, And grabbed the unhappy candidate!

How can I without tears relate The lost and ruined Morey's fate?

She saw him sink in a fiery hole, She heard him scream, "My soul! my soul!"

While roars of fiendish laughter roll, And drown the yells of mercy!

"Blood to drink," etc., etc.

The ridiculous woman could stand no more-- She fainted and fell on the checkered floor, 'Midst all the diabolical roar.

What then, you ask me, did befall Mehitable Byrde? Why, nothing at all-- _She had dreamed_ she'd been in the Masons' hall.

SAMBO'S DILEMMA.

"Midas, I want to s'posen a case to you, an' I want you to gim me the gospel truth on your 'pinion 'bout de matter."

That's the manner in which one of Washington's dusky damsels put it to her adorer last evening.

"Now, Midas, you knows you'se tole me more times 'an you'se got fingers an' toes, as you lubbed me harder 'an a marble-top washstand, an' 'at I'se sweeter to you 'an buckwheat cakes and 'la.s.sas foreber.

Midas, this am only s'posen case, but I wants you to s'posen jus' as if'n 'twas a shunuff one.

"S'posen me an' you was goin' on a scursion down de riber!"

"Yas," broke in Midas, "down to Mount Vernon."

"Anywha's 'tall, down the riber. Midas, can you swim?"

"No, Luce, I's sorry to 'form you dat de only d'reckshon what I kin circ.u.mstanshiate fru de water am de bottom."

"Well, den, as I was 'latin'. S'posen we was on de boat, glidin'

lubingly an' harmunly down de bussum ob der riber's stream, de moon was lookin' shiningly down pon de smoke-stack, an' you wos sottin'

rite up to me (jus' slide up here closer, an' lem me show you how), dats de way."

"Yah, yah! but wouldn't dat be scrumptuous?" interrupted Midas.

"S'posen," continued Lucy, "you had jest put your arm roun' my wai'

(dat's it), der wasn't n.o.body 'bout, you was a squeezin' me up, an'

was jest gwine to gimme de lubinest kind ob a kiss, an'--an'--an' de biler would bust!"

"Oh, de debbil!" said the disappointed Midas.

"Now, Midas, I is s'posen dis case, an' I wants you to mind de words what I am a speakin'. S'posen when dat biler busted we bof went up in de air, come down in de ribber, an' when we arrive in de water we found de only thing lef' of dat boat was one piece ob board dat wasn't big enough to hole us bof, but we bof grab at it; now, Midas, wud you let go dat board, or would you put me off an' took it all y'self?

Dat's de question what I'm s'posen."

"Luce, can you swim?" he asked, after hesitating a few moments.

"No, Midas, ob course not. You know I can't swim."

"Well den, Luce, my conchenshus 'pinion ob de whole matter am dat we won't go on no scursions."

PAT AND THE FOX.

SAMUEL LOVER.

"Paddy," said the squire, "perhaps you would favor the gentleman with that story you told me once about a fox?"

"Indeed and I will, plaze yer honor," said Paddy, "though I know full well the divil a one word iv it you b'lieve, nor the gintlemen won't either, though you're axin' me for it--but only want to laugh at me, and call me a big liar when my back's turned."