that pleasant face gradually fade and lose
distinctness, and that full clear voice grow to sound
monotonous and far off, and the words it spoke
to become unintelligible; how I forced myself
back every now and then into semi-consciousness,
and tried to remember and take up the thread of
the discourse, and talked egregious nonsense.

But the explanation that I had got up early
sufficed to set matters all right with one, who
never appears till the day is well aired, and who
holds that it is inconsistent with the dignity of
man to show himself before the world till his
intellects are thoroughly awake, which, unless he
puts them asleep at sundown, they can't be
expected to be before a certain hour in the day.

That wise creature suggests that we shall
take a turn in the garden this lovely night, and
when once fairly out of the drawing-room, says:

"Now go to bed; there's nothing else for it,
and take my advice and don't be induced, under
any pretext short of direst necessity, to get up
early. It's the destruction of mind and body;
no constitution can stand up against it."

Dear Wisdom, it was of you that the story
was related how, when your father, a worthy
man but infected with ancient prejudices, knocked
at your door, black in the morning, bidding you
remember that the early bird got the early worm,
you turned on your shoulder, replying, "Serve
the worm right for being up first!" and went to
sleep again.

So I go to bed; I undress, leisurely, soberly;
I luxuriate in the thought that I have nothing
to hurry me, nothing to put me out of my own
beloved and tranquil routine. I am now, in the
prospect of coming rest, just tired and sleepy
enough to make it delightful to dawdle, and dream,
and watch the waving of the white curtain by
the open window, and the sailing moon, and to
follow the course of a ghostly moth flitting
past, just visible when the light of my lamp falls
on it, then again silently swallowed up in the
darkness from which it momentarily emerges.

Then to bed— so sleepy— so sweetly, happily,
luxuriously, childishly sleepy! Good night! I
forgive everybody— even the woman with—
who?— ah, yes, with the gums— good night—
I am ne-ever going to get up early any more.

                           THE GOLDEN BEE.
                                  PART I.

                                        I.
LADEN with precious merchandise, the growth of
        Chinese toil,
And costly work of Chinese hands, the patient wealth
        of toil,
Over the wave with outspread sails, like white-winged
        bird at sea,
Swiftly, gaily, homeward bound, sped on the Golden
        Bee.

                                       II.
Stored with such peachy-textured silks as shimmer
         in the sun,
With countless rainbow-tinted gleams and never
        keep to one—
Silks to burnish Beauty's self with a new resplendent
        ray,
Silks an English queen might wear on her coronation
        day.

                                       III.
She had chests of fragrant tea-leaves to make social
        household boards,
Or to be the one sweet luxury of widows' scanty
        hoards;
With grotesque and dainty ivories, carved by coarse-grained
        hands,
For idle money-spenders in rich European lands.

                                       IV.
Cloudless the sky— fresh blew the breeze— the Captain's
        heart was light,
As on the deck he lingered late and watched the
         coming night;
If sweet the journey homeward from an unpropitious
         sail,
'Tis sweeter still where Fortune smiles in port and sea
and gale.

                                       V.
Blithe was the Captain's gallant heart, for things
        had prospered well,
Soon should he reach his home on shore with much
        good news to tell;
Good news for his Parsee merchants, and for the fair
        young wife,
Whose sweet affection made the joy and beauty of
        his life.

                                       VI.
Soon should he kiss his bonnie boy, and hold him on
        his knee,
Awhile he'd listen eager-eyed to stories of the sea;
Soon should he kiss his latest-born, and then the
        Captain smiled,
Smiled father-like to think of her, his little unseen
        child.

                                       VII.
A tear ran down his sunburnt cheek, a mild joy lit
        his eye—
So sweet were thoughts of love and home— so near
        they seemed to lie;
Whilst through his great, rough heart diffused such
        pure and soft delight,
As like an even song of praise went up to heaven's
        height.

                                       VIII.
One by one upon the waves twinkled every rising
         star,
And Dian trailed her golden hair over the deep afar;
Whilst lonely o'er the vastness of that solitary sea,
Glided, as on feathered feet, the good ship Golden
        Bee.

                                       IX.
Hark! what terrific cry was that of horror and
        affright,
Which broke like some tempestuous sound the stillness
        of the night,
Rousing the crew from rest and sleep to tremble with
         dismay,
Waking the Captain's sunny dreams of harbour far
        away?

                                       X.
Oh, Captain, wake! 'Tis but a dream— the harbour
        is not won,
Thou dost not clasp thy Mary's hand, or kiss thy
        little son;
Thy baby sweetly sleeps ashore— that shore is far
         from thee—
Oh, Captain, wake! for none but God can save thy
        Golden Bee.