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"He carries weight! he rides a race! 'Tis for a thousand pound!"

And still, as fast as he drew near,

'Twas wonderful to view
How in a trice the turnpike-men
Their gates wide open threw.

And now, as he went bowing down
His reeking head full low,
The bottles twain behind his back
Were shatter'd at a blow.

Down ran the wine into the road,
Most piteous to be seen,

Which made his horse's flanks to smoke
As they had basted been.

But still he seem'd to carry weight,

With leathern girdle braced,
For all might see the bottle necks
Still dangling at his waist.

Thus all through merry Islington
These gambols he did play,
Until he came unto the Wash
Of Edmonton so gay;

And there he threw the wash about

On both sides of the way, Just like unto a trundling mop,

Or a wild goose at play.

At Edmonton his loving wife

From the balcony spied

Her tender husband, wondering much

To see how he did ride.

Stop, stop, John Gilpin! Here's the house,"

They all aloud did cry;

"The dinner waits, and we are tired: "

Said Gilpin "So am I."

But yet his horse was not a whit

Inclined to tarry there;

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The calender, amazed to see

His neighbor in such trim,

Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate
And thus accosted him:

"What news? what news? your tidings tell;
Tell me you must and shall-
Say why bareheaded you are come,
Or why you come at all!"

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"I came because your horse would come;
And, if I well forbode,

My hat and wig will soon be here,-
They are upon the road."

The calender, right glad to find
His friend in merry pin,

Returned him not a single word,

But to the house went in;

Whence straight he came with hat and wig:

A wig that flowed behind,

A hat not much the worse for wear

Each comely in its kind.

He held them up, and in his turn

Thus showed his ready wit—

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Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw
Her husband posting down

Into the country far way,

She pulled out half a crown;

And thus unto the youth she said
That drove them to the Bell,

"This shall be yours when you bring back My husband safe and well."

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From "The Fable for Critics."-Lowell.

What! Irving? thrice welcome, warm heart and fine brain,

You bring back the happiest spirit from Spain,

And the gravest sweet humor, that ever was there
Since Cervantes met death in his gentle despair;
Nay, don't be embarrassed, nor look so beseeching,
I shan't run directly against my own preaching,
And, having just laughed at their Raphaels and Dantes,
Go to setting you up beside matchless Cervantes;
But allow me to speak what I honestly feel, -

To a true-poet heart add the fun of Dick Steele,

Throw in all of Addison, minus the chill,

With the whole of that partnership's stock and good-will,
Mix well, and while stirring, hum o'er, as a spell,

The fine old English Gentleman, simmer it well,
Sweeten just to your own private liking, then strain

That only the finest and clearest remain,

Let it stand out of doors till a soul it receives

From the warm lazy sun loitering down through green leaves, And you'll find a choice nature, not wholly deserving

A name either English or Yankee, —just Irving.


From "The Queen's Wake." -James Hogg.

They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away,
And she walked in the light of a sunless day;
The sky was a dome of crystal bright,
The fountain of vision, and fountain of light;
The emerald fields were of dazzling glow,

And the flowers of everlasting blow.

Then deep in the stream her body they laid,

That her youth and beauty never might fade;

And they smiled on heaven when they saw her lie
In the stream of life that wanders by.

And she heard a song - she heard it sung,
She kend not where; but sae sweetly it rung,
It fell on her ear like a dream of the morn-
"Oh! blest be the day Kilmeny was born!

Now shall the land of the spirits see,
Now shall it ken what a woman may be!
The sun that shines on the world sae bright,
A borrowed gleid frae the fountain of light;
And the moon that sleeks the sky sae dun,
Like a gouden bow, or a beamless sun-

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