Thus, from station on to station, Right along through each plantation, This great Iron Horse goes rushing, With his fiery face all flushing— Every thing before him crushing— Sometimes faster, sometimes slower, Sometimes higher, sometimes lower— As if Time, the great world-mover, Had come down for his last reaping Of the harvest ripe, in keeping, Of the nations waiting, weeping— While the engine, overteeming, Spits his vengeance out in steaming With excruciating screaming— While the wheels are whirling under, Like the chariot-wheels of thunder, When the lightning rends asunder All the clouds that steam from Ocean, When he pays the Moon devotion— With a grinding rhythmic motion— Till the frightened sheep are scattered, Like the clouds by lightning tattered, And the gates of day are battered With the clitta, clatta, clatter— Still repeating clatta, clatter, Clitta, clatta, clatta, clatter, As if something was the matter— While the woodlands all are ringing, And the birds forget their singing. And away to heaven go winging Of their flight to hear the clatter, Clitta, clatta, clatta, clatter, Which continues so, till coming To a straight line, when the humming Is so mixed up with the strumming, That the cars begin to rattle, And the springs go tittle-tattle— Frightening off the grazing cattle— Like Hell’s thunder-river roaring, Over Death’s dark mountain pouring Into space, forever boring Through th’ abysmal depths, with clatter Clitta, clatta, clatta, clatter, And a clinking, and a clanking, And a clanking, and a clinking— Then returns to clatta, clatter, Clitta, clatta, clatta, clatter, Like the devil beating batter Down below in iron platter— Which subsides into a clunky, And a clinky, and a clanky, And a clinky, clanky, clanky, And a clanky, clinky, clanky; And the song that I now offer For Apollo’s Golden Coffer— With the friendship that I proffer— Is for Riding on a Rail. * * * * * CHARLOTTE CORDAY. BY JULIA KAVANAGH. Amongst the women of the French Revolution, there is one who stands essentially apart: a solitary episode of the eventful story. She appears for a moment, performs a deed—heroic as to the intention, criminal as to the means—and disappears for ever; lost in the shadow of time—an unfathomed mystery.