good looks, and, as I intimated, he will never, probably, be the Windship of his race; but he has found his appetite, he is free from acute disease, he runs about with the rest, under-sized, but bright, happy, and enterprising, and is therefore a well-spring of pleasure. Indeed, in view of the fact that I have unquestionably saved his life, we talk seriously of opening a _Hotel des Invalides_, a kind of Chicken's Home, that the benefits which he has received may be extended to all his unfortunate brethren who stand in need. FOOTNOTES: [D] I say _sit_ out of regard to the proprieties of the occasion; but I do not expose myself to ridicule by going about among the neighbors and talking of a _sitting_ hen! Everywhere, but in the "Atlantic," hens _set_. HARPOCRATES. "The rest is silence."--HAMLET. I. The message of the god I seek In voice, in vision, or in dream,-- Alike on frosty Dorian peak, Or by the slow Arcadian stream: Where'er the oracle is heard, I bow the head and bend the knee; In dream, in vision, or in word, The sacred secret reaches me. II. Athwart the dim Trophonian caves, Bat-like, the gloomy whisper flew; The lisping plash of Paphian waves Bathed every pulse in fiery dew: From Phoebus, on his cloven hill, A shaft of beauty pierced the air, And oaks of gray Dodona still Betrayed the Thunderer's presence there. III. The warmth of love, the grace of art, The joys that breath and blood express, The desperate forays of the heart Into an unknown wilderness,-- All these I know: but sterner needs Demand the knowledge which must dower The life that on achievement feeds, The grand activity of power. IV. What each reveals the shadow throw Of something unrevealed behind; The Secret's lips forever close To mock the secret undivined: Thence late I come, in weary dreams The son of Isis to implore, Whose temple-front of granite gleams Across the Desert's yellow floor. V. Lo! where the sand, insatiate, drinks The steady splendor of the air, Crouched on her heavy paws, the Sphinx Looks forth with old, unwearied stare! Behind her, on the burning wall, The long processions flash and glow: The pillared shadows of the hall Sleep with their lotus-crowns below. VI. A square of dark beyond, the door Breathes out the deep adytum's gloom: I cross the court's deserted floor, And stand within the awful room. The priests repose from finished rite; No echo rings from pavements trod; And sits alone, in swarthy light, The naked child, the temple's god. VII.