CONTENTS: A PILGRIMAGE TO PENSHURST.by C. A. ALEXANDER IDYLL.IN IMITATION OF THEOCRITUS, by WILLIAM CHIDDON THE LEGEND OF DON RODERICK.NUMBER TWO. STANZAS TO E--. BELISARIUS.by MARY GARDINER A VERITABLE GHOST STORY.by G. R. V. REVES ET SOUVENIRS. A FIRST NIGHT OF RACINE.FROM DE JOUY'S 'HERMITE' OF THE FOURTH OF JANUARY, EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWELVE.by 'Hernouville' STANZAS TO MARY.by M. E. HEWITT ON RIVERS AND OTHER THINGS.JOHN WATERS TO A CERTAIN BOUQUET.by HORACE APOSTROPHE TO TIME.by M.G. REMINISCENCES OF A DARTMOOR PRISONER.NUMBER TWO. FRAGMENTS FROM THE GREEK.G. H. H. AN ALLIGATORICAL SKETCH.NUMBER TWO OF LIFE IN FLORIDA. AN EPITAPH. THE CHURCH BELL.by J. O. W. THE QUOD CORRESPONDENCE.by HARRY HARSON LITERARY NOTICES:Narrative of the Texan Santa Fe Expedition By George Wilkins KendallAddress and Poem, delivered before the Mechanic Apprentice's Library AssociationDrawings and Tintings. By Alfred B. StreetMr. Cheever's Lectures on the Pilgrim's Progress, and on the Life and Times of John Bunyan EDITOR'S TABLE:The Inner Life of Man.A Brace of Pellets from 'Julian.' Gossip with Readers and Correspondents. SONNET. OUR OLD MEETING-HOUSE. *** excerpt from the EDITOR'S TABLE:'P. S.-Whoop! hurrah! Light upon the world again! Where are you, my fine Editor? I say Sir, I was an ass-do you hear?-an ass, premature, wise before my time, a brute, a blockhead! Did I talk of dust and ashes? Oh! Sir, I lied multitudinously. Every nerve, every muscle that didn't try to strangle me in that utterance, lied. No, Sir; let me tell you it's a great world; glorious-magnificent; a world that can't be beat! Talk of the stars and a better world, but don't invite me there yet. Make my regrets, my apology to Death, but say that I can't come; 'positive engagement; happy some other time, but not now.' Oh, no; this morning is quite too beautiful to leave; and beside, I would rather stay, if only to thank God a little longer for this glorious light, this pure air that can echo back my loudest hurrah. And then, my boy--But haven't I told you? Why Sir, I've got a boy!-a boy-ha, ha! I shout it out to you-a Boy; fourteen pounds, and the mother a great deal better than could be expected! And I say, Mr. Editor, it's mine! hurrah and hallelujah forever! Oh, Sir! such legs, and such arms, and such a head!-and Oh my God! he has his mother's lips! I can kiss them forever! And then, Sir, look at his feet, his hands, his chin, his eyes, his every thing, in fact-so 'perfectly O. K.!' Give me joy, Sir; no you needn't either. I am full now; I run over; and they say that I ran over a number of old women, half killed the mother, pulled the doctor by the nose, and upset a 'pothecary-shop in the corner; and then didn't I ring the tea-bell? Didn't I blow the horn? Didn't I dance, shout, laugh, and cry altogether? The women say they had to tie me up. I don't believe that; but who is going to shut his mouth when he has a live baby? You should have heard his lungs, Sir, at the first mouthful of fresh air-such a burst!