I cannot deem thee dead--like the perfumes
Arising from Judea's vanished shrines
Thy voice still floats around me--nor can tombs
A thousand, from my memory hide the lines
Of beauty, on thine aspect which abode,
Like streaks of sunshine pictured there by God.

She shall be mine," continued he in the same strain. "Prose and verse
shall woo her for my lady-love; and she shall blush and hang her head in
modest joy, even as the rose when listening to the music of her beloved
bulbul beneath the stars of night."

These amorous effusions, and the tone of insufferable affectation with
which they were uttered, roused my corruption to its utmost pitch, and I
exclaimed aloud, "Think not, thou revivification of Falstaff--thou
enlarged edition of Lambert--thou folio of humanity--thou Titan--thou
Briareus--thou Sphynx--thou Goliath of Gath, that I shall bend beneath thy
ponderous insolence?" The Mountain was amazed at my courage; I was amazed
at it myself; but what will not Jove, inspired by brandy, effect?

"No," continued I, seeing the impression my words had produced upon him,
"I despise thee, and defy thee, even as Hercules did Antaeus, as Sampson
did Harapha, as Orlando did Ferragus. 'Bulk without spirit vast,' I fear
thee not; come on." So saying, I rushed onward to the Mountain, who arose
from his seat to receive me. The following passage from the Agonistes of
Milton will give some idea of our encounter:

"As with the force of winds and water pent,
When mountains tremble, these two massy pillars,
With horrible convulsion to and fro,
He tugged, he shook, till down they came, and drew
The whole roof after them, with burst of thunder,
Upon the heads of all who sat beneath."

"Psha!" said Julia, blushing modestly, "can't you let me go?" Sweet Julia,
I had got her in my arms.

"But where," said I, "is Mr. Tims?"

"Mr. who?" said she.

"The Man-Mountain."

"Mr. Tims!--Man-Mountain!" resumed Julia, with unfeigned surprise. "I know
of no such persons. How jocular you are to-night--not to say how ill-bred,
for you have been asleep for the last five minutes!"

"Sweet, sweet Julia!"

A MODERN PYTHAGOREAN.

_Blackwood's Magazine_.

* * * * *

SONG.

BY T. CAMPBELL.

'Tis now the hour--'tis now the hour
To bow at Beauty's shrine;
Now whilst, our hearts confess the power
Of woman, wit, and wine;
And beaming eye