HE comes with stealthy step and restless eye, Meagre and wan--a living skeleton-- To where his god, his golden treasures lie, He comes to feast (his only meal) thereon: 'Rich! rich!' he cries--' I am as Croesus rich!' Poor, poor he is!--not Lazarus more poor; Envy him not, thou houseless, wandering wretch, Who beg'st for charity from door to door; It is gaunt Avarice! If he could feed His famished body through his greedy eye, Or carry to the grave his gold--indeed! Envied on earth he'd live, and envied die; But he is like the wave which covers o'er Gems unenjoyed, it leaves, in ebbing from the shore. ANACREONTIC. I. STRIKE, strike the golden strings, And to their glorious sound, Fill, fill the red wine high, And let the toast go round: To woman, dearest woman, Quaff we the generous wine; Give me thy hand, my brother, Here's to thy love and mine, Thy love and mine! II. Strike, strike the harp, that ever Thrilled to dear woman's praise; Of all the themes the brightest May win a poet's lays: To woman, dearest woman, Quaff the warm blood of the vine; And hand in hand, my brother, Drink we to thine and mine, To thine and mine! A. A. M. OLLAPODIANA. NUMBER XXI. WE parted, good my reader, last at the Catskills--no? 'It was a summer's evening;' and with my shadow on the mountain mist, I ween, vanished in your thoughts the memory of me. Well, that was natural. A hazy, dream-like idea of my whereabout may have haunted you for a moment--but it passed. I cannot allow you to escape so easily. 'Lend us the loan' of your eye, for some twenty minutes; and if you are a home-bred and untravelled person, 'tis likely, as the valet says in Cinderella, that 'I may chance to make you stare!' * * * * *