That year in Killingworth the Autumn came Without the light of his majestic look, The wonder of the falling tongues of flame, The illumined pages of his Doom's-Day Book. A few lost leaves blushed crimson with their shame, And drowned themselves despairing in the brook, While the wild wind went moaning everywhere, Lamenting the dead children of the air. But the next Spring a stranger sight was seen, A sight that never yet by bard was sung,-- As great a wonder as it would have been, If some dumb animal had found a tongue: A wagon, overarched with evergreen, Upon whose boughs were wicker cages hung, All full of singing-birds, came down the street, Filling the air with music wild and sweet. From all the country round these birds were brought, By order of the town, with anxious quest, And, loosened from their wicker prisons, sought In woods and fields the places they loved best, Singing loud canticles, which many thought Were satires to the authorities addressed, While others, listening in green lanes, averred Such lovely music never had been heard. But blither still and louder carolled they Upon the morrow, for they seemed to know It was the fair Almira's wedding-day, And everywhere, around, above, below, When the Preceptor bore his bride away, Their songs burst forth in joyous overflow, And a new heaven bent over a new earth Amid the sunny farms of Killingworth. * * * * * LITERARY LIFE IN PARIS. THE GARRET.