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And so, although, of course, I know It's too late to transfer again ; Still, when you trace a human face Please don't let this occur again. THE ASTUTE HEATHEN. Alas ! how frequently the Hard Is io;ced, by duty's strangely hard Inexorable codes, To quit all bright siml-eheering verse, And make bis jibbing muse rehearse Most gloomy episodes. Yet ever, from his earliest youth, The Bard has worshipped abstract truth, So for the common weal He now sets forth, without disguise. This tale of misplaced enterprise, And false religious zeal. Some years ago, from Africa's strand A gruesome story came to hand About a savage chief, — A man whose darkened state bad hurled The Iralk of the religious world In agonies of grief. /■ LOCAL LYRICS. It seemed this sad old nigger boy His leisure moments would employ