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THE LAST BOTTLE.

An' if it be the last bottle, Death is quite wel-come; for then Life hath run to very dregs andlees, and there is nothing more in it which can becalled enjoyment. Ah, whither have ye sped, yejovial Hours, which on bright-winged glasses, fardifferent from yon sandy remembrancer, floatedaway so blissfully; as the bird poised high in air,the trouble of the ascent over, glides without effortor motion, through the brilliant pleasures of yield-ing space. How ye sparkled and ran on, likegay creatures of the element gifted with more thanmagic powers. Beautiful and slight ephemera,fragile as you seemed, what mighty loads of caresdid you easily bear off in your aerial flight! Pon-derous debts which might weigh nations down;the griefs of many loves, enow to drown a world;the falsehoods of friends, the malice of enemies ;o2