One day as he stood at his two-story casement,

To observe what might cause either mirth or amazement, There chanced to pass by with a step light and nimble, As pretty a lass as e'er wielded a thimble;

And onward she tripped, so fantastic and airy:
'Egad," muttered he, “ she's an angel or fairy."
His wits flew about him in a contrary direction,
For his mind was employed in unusual reflection,
And each former thought to a new one gave place,
And marriage and love stared him full in the face.
The expense on one hand, Fannie's charms on the other,
No wonder poor Peter was thrown in a bother.
At last on this point he determined to tarry,

If a wife wouldn't eat much, I think I might marry!
Peter's heart of its bumping had got somewhat better,
When it was nearly renewed by the sight of a letter:
But when on the back he had read the appellative,
The writing convinced him it came from a relative.
Though letters he hated as bad as the gallows,
He reluctantly opened and read it as follows,—
"Dear cousin, I hope this will find you quite hearty,
As it comes to request you to honor our party.

We shall have what will warrant an evening's amusement,
And several fair girls as a stronger inducement.
Our party, perhaps, may amount to a dozen.
At present, no more, your affectionate cousin."
Excuse me for cutting a long story short,
The guests all assembled, resolved upon sport;
Among them was seen Mr. Longpocket's phiz,
For no one could doubt but this visage was his.
Miss Fannie was there, too, as fresh as a rose,
With eyes sparkling bright and as jetty as sloes;
Peter soon recollected he'd seen her before,

And his heart sat to work with its bumping once more.
Now 'midst a second confusion of Babel,

The ladies and gentlemen sat down to the table.
Cousin Peter sit here, or perhaps you'll sit there,

Step up to the head, and take that arm chair."

Miss Fannie step round to the opposite side." Yes, madam," with diffidence Fannie replied. Peter drew great respect, for quite near the top he sat, And the blushing young Fannie directly opposite. "Shall I help you to this? Shall I help you to that? Choose coffee or tea, Miss? Choose lean, Miss, or fat?" "I've no choice, I thank you. 'Tis quite immaterial." Help yourselves, ladies, I can't be near you all.”

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Miss Fannie," says Peter, "what would you prefer?” "Oh, la!" exclaimed cousin, "you need not help her;" "What! not help Miss Fannie ?" cried he with surprise, “I scarce ever eat, sir," Miss Fannie replies;

"Dear me! now that's strange."

true,

"But," says cousin, "'tis

And indeed I don't wonder it seems strange to you,
Cousin Peter. I've known her almost from a child,

She was always so delicate, modest and mild.

And for a twelve month or so, or I think some such matter, She consumed but two biscuits and one glass of water." Says Peter, "the thing is confoundedly queer,

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And yet she looks hearty, and buxom, and fair,"
And he thought to himself, “ If her living's so small
She might soon learn to live on nothing at all."
So he began in good earnest his courting career,
And Fannie soon saw his intention quite clear;
To his own satisfaction his wishes he carried,

She heard him, then blushed, and shed tears, and then married.

The wedding passed over as most weddings do,

They had excellent fare, though the guests were but few, The third morning came, he was sitting at home, Dreaming of transport and rapture to come;

When in tones somewhat shrill, was heard the good lady,
"Come, my dear Longpocket, your breakfast is ready."
"I'm coming, my dear," said he in the door,

When a sight struck him stiff in the midst of the floor;
Two fine looking hams of a good clever size,

Were the objects that caused such excessive surprise;
Quite tempting they looked, just fresh from the pot,
Well cooked, I dare say, and smoking, and hot.

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Why, Fannie, my dear,” cried he in great haste,
"What means this unheard of extravagant waste?"
"What means this, indeed?" cried she in a huff,
"It means I am hungry; I've starved long enough;
So sit down, my dear, don't take it amiss,

If you can eat that one, I'm able for this."
"Distraction!" cried Peter, what! eat a whole ham!
I'm ruined, undone, what a beggar I am!

Is it possible, madam, you can eat all that meat?
You told me it was not your practice to eat."
"Is it possible? Yes, to be sure," she replied,
"Eat all that and more too, if I had it, beside."
"That and more if I had it. Oh! gluttony, sure,
In a week such a woman would make a man poor."
The shock so completely disordered his head,
That he fell in a fit and was carried to bed;
The doctors were called his complaints to allay,
"That and more if I had it," was all he could say;
"That and more if I had it," was still on his tongue;
"That and more if I had it," re-echoed and rung;
And then quite exhausted, he gave up the ghost,
And in another hour he was as still as a post.

But who shall describe the fond widow's distress?
It was grief that no language can ever express.
With sobbings she nearly exhausted her breath,
And bewailed her poor husband's sad, tragical death;
And explained to the gossips, who offered relief,
The reason she had for indulging in grief:
Says he, "My dear Fannie, I'm hastening away,
I have only a few fleeting moments to stay,

All my property is yours, (oft he 'd said it before,)
And I wish, for your sake, it was twice as much more;”
And then, quite exhausted, in anguish he lay,
"That and more if I had it," was all he could say.
"Even now his kind expressions I hear,

'Tis a sad thing to lose a kind husband; O, dear!
How I miss to my wishes his thoughtful attention!"
And now in a broad fronted elegant mansion,
Lives Mrs. Longpocket, a widow of twenty,
With riches and friends, and admirers in plenty.

A ROYAL PRINCESS.--CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI.

I, a princess, king-descended, decked with jewels, gilded, drest,

Would rather be a peasant with her baby at her breast,
For all I shine so like the sun, and am purple like the west.

Two and two my guards behind, two and two before,
Two and two on either hand, they guard me evermore;
Me, poor dove, that must not coo,-eagle, that must not soar.
All my fountains cast up perfumes, all my gardens grow
Scented woods and foreign spices, with all flowers in blow
That are costly, out of season as the seasons go..

All my walls are lost in mirrors, whereupon I trace
Self to right hand, self to left hand, self in every place,
Self-same solitary figure, self-same seeking face.

Then I have an ivory chair high to sit upon,

Almost like my father's chair, which is an ivory throne; There I sit uplift and upright, there I sit alone.

Alone by day, alone by night, alone days without end;

My father and my mother give me treasures, search and

spend

O my father! O my mother! have you ne'er a friend?

As I am a lofty princess, so my father is

A lofty king, accomplished in all kingly subtleties,

Holding in his strong right hand world-kingdoms' balances.

He has quarreled with his neighbors, he has scourged his
foes;
Vassal counts and princes follow where his pennon goes,
Long-descended valiant lords whom the vulture knows.

On whose track the vulture swoops, when they ride in state
To break the strength of armies and topple down the great;
Each of these my courteous servant, none of these my mate.
My father counting up his strength sets down with equal pen
So many head of cattle, head of horses, head of men;
These for slaughter, these for breeding, with the how and
when.

Some to work on roads, canals; some to man his ships;
Some to smart in mines beneath sharp overseers' whips;
Some to trap fur-beasts in lands where utmost winter nips.

Once it came into my heart and whelmed me like a flood, That these, too, are men and women, human flesh and blood;

Men with hearts and men with souls, though trodden down like mud.

Our feasting was not glad that night, our music was not gay;
On my mother's graceful head I marked a thread of gray,
My father frowning at the fare seemed every dish to weigh.

I sat beside them sole princess in my exalted place,
My ladies and my gentlemen stood by me on the dais:
A mirror showed me I looked old and haggard in the face;

It showed me that my ladies all are fair to gaze upon, Plump, plenteous-haired, to every one love's secret lore is known,

They laugh by day, they sleep by night; ah me, what is a throne?

The singing men and women sang that night as usual,
The dancers danced in pairs and sets, but music had a fall,
A melancholy windy fall as at a funeral.

Amid the toss of torches to my chamber back we swept;
My ladies loosed my golden chain; meantime I could have

went

To think of some in galling chains whether they waked or slept.

I took my bath of scented milk, delicately waited on,
They burned sweet things for my delight, cedar and cin-

namon,

They lit my shaded silver lamp and left me there alone.

A day went by, a week went by. One day I heard it said: "Men are clamoring, women, children, clamoring to be fed; Men like famished dogs are howling in the streets for bread."

So two whispered by my door, not thinking I could hear, Vulgar, naked truth, ungarnished for a royal ear;

Fit for cooping in the background, not to stalk so near.

But I strained my utmost sense to catch this truth, and mark: "There are families out grazing like cattle in the park."

A pair of peasants must be saved even if we build an ark." A merry jest, a merry laugh, each strolled upon his way; One was my page, a lad I reared and bore with day by day; One was my youngest maid, as sweet and white as cream in May.

Other footsteps followed softly with a weightier tramp; Voices said: "Picked soldiers have been summoned from

the camp

- To quell these base-born ruffians who make free to howl and stamp."

"Howl and stamp?" one answered: "They made free to hurl a stone

At the minister's state coach, well aimed and stoutly thrown.” "There's work, then, for the soldiers, for this rank crop must be mown."

"One I saw, a poor old fool with ashes on his head,

Whimpering because a girl had snatched his crust of bread: Then he dropped; when some one raised him, it turned out he was dead.'

"After us the deluge," was retorted with a laugh:

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"If bread 's the staff of life, they must walk without a staff." While I've a loaf they're welcome to my blessing and the chaff."

These passed. The king: stand up. Said my father with a smile:

"Daughter mine, your mother comes to sit with you awhile, She's sad to-day, and who but you her sadness can beguile?" He, too, left me. Shall I touch my harp now while I wait,— (I hear them doubling guard below before our palace gate,-)

Or shall I work the last gold stitch into my veil of state;

Or shall my woman stand and read some unimpassioned scene,

There's music of a lulling sort in words that pause between; Or shall she merely fan me while I wait here for the queen?