"The world is dull," I cried in my despair: "Its myths and fables are no longer fair. "Roll back thy centuries, O Father Time. To Greece transport me in her golden prime. "Give back the beautiful old Gods again-- The sportive Nymphs, the Dryad's jocund train, "Pan piping on his reeds, the Naiades, The Sirens singing by the sleepy seas. "Nay, show me but a Gorgon and I'll dare To lift mine eyes to her peculiar hair "(The fatal horrors of her snaky pate, That stiffen men into a stony state) "And die--erecting, as my soul goes hence, A statue of myself, without expense." Straight as I spoke I heard the voice of Fate: "Look up, my lad, the Gorgon sisters wait." Raising my eyes, I saw Medusa stand, Stheno, Euryale, on either hand. I gazed unpetrified and unappalled-- The girls had aged and were entirely bald! CONTENTMENT. Sleep fell upon my senses and I dreamed Long years had circled since my life had fled. The world was different, and all things seemed Remote and strange, like noises to the dead. And one great Voice there was; and something said: "Posterity is speaking--rightly deemed Infallible:" and so I gave attention, Hoping Posterity my name would mention. "Illustrious Spirit," said the Voice, "appear! While we confirm eternally thy fame, Before our dread tribunal answer, here, Why do no statues celebrate thy name, No monuments thy services proclaim? Why did not thy contemporaries rear To thee some schoolhouse or memorial college? It looks almighty queer, you must acknowledge." Up spake I hotly: "That is where you err!" But some one thundered in my ear: "You shan't Be interrupting these proceedings, sir; The question was addressed to General Grant." Some other things were spoken which I can't Distinctly now recall, but I infer, By certain flushings of my cheeks and forehead, Posterity's environment is torrid. Then heard I (this was in a dream, remark) Another Voice, clear, comfortable, strong, As Grant's great shade, replying from the dark, Said in a tone that rang the earth along, And thrilled the senses of the Judges' throng: "I'd rather you would question why, in park And street, my monuments were not erected Than why they were." Then, waking, I reflected. THE NEW ENOCH. Enoch Arden was an able Seaman; hear of his mishap-- Not in wild mendacious fable, As 't was told by t' other chap; For I hold it is a youthful Indiscretion to tell lies, And the writer that is truthful Has the reader that is wise. Enoch Arden, able seaman, On an isle was cast away, And before he was a freeman Time had touched him up with gray. Long he searched the fair horizon, Seated on a mountain top; Vessel ne'er he set his eyes on That would undertake to stop.