The other night as I lay musing, and my weary brain confusing o’er the topics of the day, suddenly I heard the rattling, as of serious hosts a-battling, as they mingled in the fray. “What’s that?” I cried, upstarting, and into the darkness darting, slap! I ran against the door. “Oh, ’tis “naught,” young _Hornet_ grumbled, as o’er a huge arm-chair, I stumbled,” ’tis a flea, and nothing more.” “Then,” said I, my anger rising, for I thought it so surprising that a flea should thus offend, “do you think a small insect, sir, thus would all the air infect, sir? No, ’tis not a flea, my friend.” Now becoming sorely frightened, round my waist my pants I tightened, and put on my coat and hat, and into the darkness peering, I saw, with trembling and much fearing, the glaring eyes of Thomas Cat, Esq. With astonishment and wonder I gazed upon this son of thunder, as he sat upon the floor, when resolution taking, a rapid movement making, lo! I opened wide the door. “Now clear out,” I hoarsely shouted, as o’er my head my boot I flouted; take your presence from my floor!” Then, with air and mien majestic, this creature, called domestic, made his exit through the door. Made his exit without growling, neither was his voice heard howling, not a single word he said.――And with feelings much elated, to escape a doom so fated, I went back to my bed. _The Hornsey Hornet_, October, 1866. ―――――――― THE END OF “THE RAVEN.” You’ll remember that a Raven in my study found a haven On a plaster bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-door; And that with no sign of flitting, he persisted there in sitting Till, I’m not above admitting, that I found that bird a bore. Found him, as he sat and watched me, an indubitable bore, With his dreary “Never more.” But it was, in fact, my liver caused me so to shake and shiver, And to think a common Raven supernatural influence bore; I in truth had, after dining, been engaged some hours in “wining”―― To a grand old port inclining――which its date was ’44! And it was this crusted vintage, of the season ’44, Which had muddled me so sore. But next morn my “Eno” taking, for my head was sadly aching, I descended to my study, and a wicker cage I bore. There the Raven sat undaunted, but I now was disenchanted, And the sable fowl I taunted as I “H-s-s-h-d!” him from my door, As I took up books and shied them till he flew from off my door, Hoarsely croaking, “Never more!” “Now, you stupid bird!” I muttered, as about the floor it fluttered. “Now you’re sorry p’raps you came here from where’er you lived before?” Scarcely had I time to ask it, when, upsetting first a casket, My large-size waste-paper basket he attempted to explore, Tore the papers with his beak, and tried its mysteries to explore, Whilst I ope’d the cage’s door.