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POETRY.

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POETRY. THE OLD HAT. I had a hat—it was not all a hat, Part of the brim was gone,-yet still I wore It on, and people wondered as I passed. Some turned to gaze—others just cast an eye And soon withdrew it, as 'twere in contempt. But still my hat, although so fashionless In complement extern, had that within Surpassing show—my head continued warm In Being sheltered from the weather, spite of all The want (as has been said before) of brim. A change came o'er the colour of my hat. That which was black grew brown—and then men stared With both their eyes (they stared with one before)- The wonder now was twofold --and it seemed Strange that a thing so torn and old should still Be worn by one who might—but let that pass I had my reasons, which might be revealed But for some counter-reasons, far more strong, Which tied my tongue to silence. Time passed on. Green spring, and flowery summer—autumn brown And frosty winter came,—and went,'and came, And still through all the seasons of two years, In park, in city, yea, at routs and balls, The hat was worn and borne. Then folks grew wild With curiosity, and whispers rose, And questions passed about—how one so trim In coats, boots, pumps, gloves, trowsers, could insconce His caput in a covering so vile. A change came o'er the nature of my hat. Grease-spots appeared-but still in silence, on I wore it—and then family and friends Glared madly at each other. There was one Who said-but hold—no matter what was said A time may come when I-away, away— Not till the season's ripe can I reveal Thoughts that do lie too deep for common minds- Till then the world shall not pluck out the heart Of this my mystery. When I will—I will!— The hat was greasy now, and old, and torn- But torn, old, greasy, still I wore it on. A change came o'er the business of this hat. Women, and men, and children, scowled at me- My company was shunned—I was alone None would associate with such a hat- Friendship itself proved faithless for a hat. She that I loved, within whose gentle breast I treasured up my heart, looked cold as death- Love's fires went out-extinguished by a hat. Of those who knew me best, some turned aside And scudded down dark lanes one man did place His finger on his nose's side, and jeered Others in horrid mockery laughed outright;—■ Yea, dogs, deceived by instinct's dubious ray, Fixing their swart glare on my ragged hat, Mistook me for a beggar, and they barked. Thus women, men, friends, strangers, lover, dogs- One thought prevaded all-it was my hat. A change, it was the last, came o'er this hat. For lo at length, the circling months went round The period was accomplished—and one day This tattered, brown, old, greasy, coverture (Time had endeared its vileness) was transferred To the possessfon of a wandering son Of Israel's fated race-and friends once more Greeted my digits with the wonted squeeze Once more I went my way along, along, And plucked no wondering gaze the hand of scorn With its annoying finger, men, and dogs, Once more grew pointless, jokeless, laughless, growlless- And at last, not least of rescued blessings, love, Love smiled on me again, when I assumed A bran new beaver of the Andre mould And then the laugh was mine for then out came The secret of this strangeness—'twas a bet. Moods and Tenses.

[No title]

IMTSRCLIANJ)- I

THE SCENERY OF THE CLYDE.