would be quite impossible to do justice to their feelings, the attempt must be modestly refrained from. The gig was immediately purchased for twenty-five guineas, and orders were given to Jerry for the building of two more on an exactly similar plan. As for Duggin, he was so subdued in spirit by the loss of his reputation as a crack oarsman, that he never after that day was known to try his fortune on the course, and neither visited Ring to woo Miss Sullivan, nor to make good his threat on the body of the victorious William. It has been since whispered among the gossips of the village that old Jerry Sullivan, though much surprised at hearing of the mutual love of William and Sally, finally gave his blessing and consent to their union. Need it be told that the well-won silver cup was ever looked on as an honoured vessel, and that Sally prized it nearly as much as William himself did? J. F. M. A RIDE WITH DEATH. I saw him pass by, while the east-wind blew, And the vernal blooms from the branches flew; Lo! there he speeds, that old skeleton-man, With his frame all bleached, all withered and wan; His eye-balls are gone, and his cheek-bones bare, And he rides a pale horse through the cold humid air! Now he resteth himself ’neath an old dry tree, Where the moss hath grown for a century: He feeds his steed with grass that grew rank On the field where warriors in battle sank; Bedabbled with blood, it thick grew, and strong, And to Death’s pale horse doth of right belong! Gone is the beauty from violet blue, For the look of Death hath pierced it through; And the crocus that bloomed near the old dry tree, Hath faded away, such a sight to see; And the grass where he sat, that was bright and green, Turned pale as the blades where a stone hath been. Ha! ha! old pilgrim! may I go with thee, Thy doings fearful and strange to see? He nodded his head; not a word said Death, For he had little need to waste his breath: A man of short speech, he speaks in his brow; He looks what he means, when he says “Come thou!” We paused near a maiden with rosy cheek, A lovely maiden, with blue eye meek; But her youthful bloom, how it faded away! Her heart was in heaven, she might not stay: And we looked at an infant that lay on the breast, A mother’s pride, and it sank to rest! We stood by the cot of a widowed dame; Life’s feeble embers gave out their last flame: At the hut of a slave we stepped gently in; With pity Death looked on his frame so thin, And his face, as he watched at the old man’s bed, Said “Peacefully let him be one with the dead!”