Cawnpore."

Here the trumpet, sounding for morning drill, put a stop to the
colloquy.--_Englishman's Magazine._

* * * * *


THE MISER'S GRAVE.

BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD.


Here's a lesson for the earth-born worm,
So deep engraven on the meagre platen
Of human frailty, so debased in hue,
That he who dares peruse it needs but blush
For his own nature. The poor shrivell'd wretch,
For whose lean carcass yawns this hideous pit,
Had naught that he desired in earth or heaven--
No God, no Saviour, but that sordid pelf,
O'er which he starved and gloated. I have seen him
On the exchange, or in the market-place
When money was in plenteous circulation,
Gaze after it with such Satanic looks
Of eagerness, that I have wonder'd oft
How he from theft and murder could refrain.
'Twas cowardice alone withheld his hands,
For they would grasp and grapple at the air,
When his grey eye had fixed on heaps of gold,