12.  The hands of the old clock upon the mantel that ticked off the hours when Charlie sighed and when Charlie died, draw on toward midnight.  The shadows that the fireflame makes grow dimmer and dimmer.  And thus it is, that Home,—­boy home, passes away forever,—­like the swaying of a pendulum,—­like the fading of a shadow on the floor.

Definitions.—­l.  In-ex’or-a-ble, not to be changed. 4.  Wont’ed, accustomed.  Ad-mo-ni’tion (pro. ad-mo’nish’un), counseling against fault or error. 13.  Pon’der-ous, very heavy.  Quaint (pro. kwant), odd and antique. 7.  In-cred’i-ble, impossible to be believed.  Dot’-ing, loving to excess. 9.  Vague (pro. vag), indefinite.  Pre-sumed’, pushed upon or intruded in an impudent manner.

XCVIII.  THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS.

Thomas Moore (b. 1779. d. 1852) was born in Dublin, Ireland, and he was educated at Trinity College in that city.  In 1799, he entered the Middle Temple, London, as a student of law.  Soon after the publication of his first poetical productions, he was sent to Bermuda in an official capacity.  He subsequently visited the United States.  Moore’s most famous works are:  “Lalla Rookh,” an Oriental romance, 1817; “The Loves of the Angels,” 1823; and “Irish Melodies,” 1834; a “Life of Lord Byron,” and “The Epicurean, an Eastern Tale.”  “Moore’s excellencies,” says Dr. Angus, “consist in the gracefulness of his thoughts, the wit and fancy of his allusions and imagery, and the music and refinement of his versification.”

1.  Oft in the stilly night
     Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,
   Fond memory brings the light
     Of other days around me: 
       The smiles, the tears
       Of boyhood’s years,
     The words of love then spoken;
       The eyes that shone,
       Now dimmed and gone,
     The cheerful hearts now broken! 
   Thus in the stilly night
     Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,
   Sad memory brings the light
     Of other days around me.

2.  When I remember all
     The friends so linked together
   I’ve seen around me fall
     Like leaves in wintry weather,
       I feel like one
       Who treads alone
     Some banquet hall deserted,
       Whose lights are fled
       Whose garlands dead,
     And all but he departed. 
   Thus in the stilly night
     Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,
   Sad memory brings the light
     Of other days around me.

XCIX.  A CHASE IN THE ENGLISH CHANNEL.