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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Universal Reciter, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Universal Reciter
+       81 Choice Pieces of Rare Poetical Gems
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: July 21, 2009 [EBook #29477]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNIVERSAL RECITER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Lesley Halamek, Jason Isbell, Afra Ullah and
+the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+There are a few pieces which contain some dialect. All dialect, period
+spelling, etc., has been preserved.
+
+The remainder of the TN is at the end of the book.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+When the voice is weak, it should be strengthened by frequent
+practice, by exercising it in the open air, and upon all convenient
+occasions.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Universal Reciter,
+
+
+CONTAINING
+
+
+81 Choice Pieces.
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It is necessary not only to practise a little, but to practise a great
+deal. In this way ease, grace, and fluency are acquired.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+  OH! TELL ME, I SAID, RAPID STREAM OF THE VALLEY,
+    THAT BEAR'ST IN THY COURSE THE BLUE WATERS AWAY,
+  CAN THE JOYS OF LIFE'S MORNING AWAKE BUT TO VANISH,
+    CAN THE FEELINGS OF LOVE BE ALL DOOM'D TO DECAY?
+      AN ECHO REPEATED--"ALL DOOM'D TO DECAY."
+
+]
+
+
+
+
+THE
+
+UNIVERSAL RECITER,
+
+A
+
+LITERARY BOUQUET,
+
+CONTAINING
+
+81 CHOICE PIECES
+
+OF RARE POETICAL GEMS, FINE SPECIMENS OF
+ORATORY, THRILLING SENTIMENT,
+ELOQUENCE, TENDER PATHOS, AND SPARKLING
+HUMOR.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+LONDON:
+
+WILLIAM NICHOLSON AND SONS,
+20, WARWICK SQUARE PATERNOSTER ROW, AND
+ALBION WORKS, WAKEFIELD.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+                                                             PAGE.
+A Horse Car Incident                                          194
+
+A love of a Bonnet                                             87
+
+An Eruption of Mount Vesuvius                                 100
+
+A Plea for the Ox                                             103
+
+A Pleasure Exertion                                           203
+
+A Precious Pickle                                             125
+
+A Psalm of Life                                               231
+
+Bell of the "Atlantic"                                        243
+
+Big Oyster, The                                               122
+
+Black Regiment, The                                           162
+
+Boy Archer, The                                                72
+
+David and Goliath                                             109
+
+David's lament over Absalom                                    71
+
+Drafted                                                        98
+
+Dying Hebrew, The                                              41
+
+Enlisting as Army Nurse                                       139
+
+Falstaff's Boasting                                            64
+
+Forging of the Anchor                                         148
+
+Flowers, The                                                  246
+
+Give me back my Husband                                        44
+
+Graves of a Household                                         249
+
+Green Goose, The                                              175
+
+Gridiron, The                                                 144
+
+Here she goes, and there she goes                             105
+
+How we hunted a Mouse                                          38
+
+Hypochondriac, The                                            247
+
+Ignorance is bliss                                             58
+
+Injured Mother, The                                            50
+
+Juvenile Pugilists                                            221
+
+Knife Grinder, The                                            191
+
+Last Man, The                                                 232
+
+Lord Dundreary at Brighton                                    151
+
+Mantle of St. John De Matha, The                              234
+
+Mariner's Wife, The                                            11
+
+Menagerie, The                                                 56
+
+Migratory Bones                                               177
+
+Mills of God, The                                              55
+
+Miser's Fate, The                                              16
+
+Miss Maloney on the Chinese Question                          119
+
+Murdered Traveller, The                                        70
+
+My Mother's Bible                                             138
+
+My Friend's Secret                                            156
+
+One Hoss Shay, The                                             46
+
+Only Sixteen                                                  143
+
+On to Freedom                                                  68
+
+On the Shores of Tennessee                                    159
+
+Owl, The                                                      245
+
+Pat and the Fox                                                22
+
+Pat-ent Gun                                                   229
+
+Patrick's Colt                                                 34
+
+Paul Revere's Ride                                            200
+
+Pauper's Death Bed                                            193
+
+Pledge with Wine                                              250
+
+Polish Boy, The                                               237
+
+Preaching to the Poor                                         192
+
+Rain Drops, The                                               172
+
+Red Chignon                                                   180
+
+Sambo's Dilemma                                                20
+
+San Francisco Auctioneer                                      227
+
+Satan's Address to the Sun                                     32
+
+Scolding Old Dame                                             174
+
+Shamus O'Brien                                                214
+
+She would be a Mason                                           18
+
+Snyder's Nose                                                  13
+
+Socrates Snooks                                               198
+
+That Hired Girl                                               241
+
+There's but one pair of Stockings to mend to night             85
+
+Thief of Time, The                                            164
+
+The Old Man in the Stylish Church                             223
+
+The Old Man in the Model Church                               225
+
+The World for Sale                                             37
+
+To my Mother                                                   27
+
+Two Weavers, The                                              117
+
+Vain Regrets                                                  158
+
+Ventriloquist on a Stage Coach                                 76
+
+Voices at the Throne                                          155
+
+Vulture of the Alps, The                                       62
+
+What ailed "Ugly Sam"                                          29
+
+Which am de Mightiest                                         219
+
+Widow Bedott's Poetry                                         112
+
+Wilkins on Accomplishments
+                                      7
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+THE
+
+UNIVERSAL RECITER.
+
+
+
+
+WILKINS ON ACCOMPLISHMENTS.
+
+  A DUOLOGUE.
+
+  JOHN QUILL.
+
+
+MR. WILKINS. Mrs. Wilkins, of all the aggravating women I ever came
+across, you are the worst. I believe you'd raise a riot in the cemetry
+if you were dead, you would. Don't you ever go prowling around any
+Quaker meeting, or you'll break it up in a plug muss. You? Why you'd
+put any other man's back up until he broke his spine. Oh! you're too
+annoying to live; I don't want to bother with you. Go to sleep.
+
+MRS. WILKINS. But, Wilkins dear, just listen a minute. We must have
+that piano, and--
+
+MR. W. Oh! don't "dear" me; I won't have it. You're the only dear
+thing around here--you're dear at any price. I tell you once for
+all that I don't get any new piano, and Mary Jane don't take singing
+lessons as long as I'm her father. There! If you don't understand that
+I'll say it over again. And now stop your clatter and go to sleep; I'm
+tired of hearing you cackle.
+
+MRS. W. But, Wilk--
+
+MR. W. Now don't aggravate me. I say Mary Jane shan't learn to sing
+and plant another instrument of torture in this house, while I'm boss
+of the family. Her voice is just like yours; it's got a twang to it
+like blowing on the edge of a piece of paper.
+
+MRS. W. Ain't you ashamed, Wilk--
+
+MR. W. It's disgrace enough to have _you_ sitting down and pretending
+to sing, and trying to deafen people, without having the children
+do it. The first time I heard you sing I started round to the
+station-house and got six policemen, because I thought there was a
+murder in your house, and they were cutting you up by inches. I wish
+somebody would! I wouldn't go for any policeman now, not much!
+
+MRS. W. I declare, you are a perfect brute!
+
+MR. W. Not much, I wouldn't! But Smith, he told me yesterday that his
+family were kept awake half the night by the noise you made; and he
+said if I didn't stop those dogs from yowling in my cellar, he'd be
+obliged to complain to the board of health.
+
+MRS. W. What an awful story, Mr. Wilk--
+
+MR. W. Then I told him it was you, and you thought you could sing;
+and he advised me as a friend to get a divorce, because he said no
+man could live happily with any woman who had a voice like a cross-cut
+saw. He said I might as well have a machine-shop with a lot of files
+at work in my house as that, and he'd rather any time.
+
+MRS. W. Phugh! I don't care what Smith says.
+
+MR. W. And you a-talking about a new piano! Why, haven't we got
+musical instruments enough in the house? There's Holofernes Montgomery
+been blowing away in the garret for ten days with that old key bugle,
+until he got so black in the face that he won't get his colour back
+for a month, and then he only gets a spurt out of her every now and
+then. He's blown enough wind in her to get up a hurricane, and I
+expect nothing else but he'll get the old machine so chock full that
+she'll blow back at him some day and burst his brains out, and all
+along of your tomfoolery. You're a pretty mother, you are! You'd
+better go and join some asylum for feeble-minded idiots, you had.
+
+MRS. W. Wilkins! I declare you're too bad, for--
+
+MR. W. Yes--and there's Bucephalus Alexander, he's got his head full
+of your sentimental nonsense, and he thinks he's in love with a girl
+round the corner, and he meanders about and tries to sigh, and won't
+eat his victuals, and he's got to going down into the cellar and
+trying to sing "No one to love" in the coal-bin; and he like to scared
+the hired girl out of her senses, so that she went upstairs and had a
+fit on the kitchen door-mat, and came near dying on my hands.
+
+MRS. W. That's not true, Mr. Wil--
+
+MR. W. And never came to until I put her head under the hydrant. And
+then what does Bucephalus Alexander do but go round, night before
+last, and try to serenade the girl, until the old man histed up the
+sash and cracked away at Bucephalus Alexander with an old boot, and
+hit him in the face and blacked his eye, because he thought it was two
+cats a-yelping. Hang such a mother as you are! You go right to work to
+ruin your offspring.
+
+MRS. W. You're talking nonsense, Wilk--
+
+MR. W. You're about as fit to bring up children as a tadpole is to run
+a ferry boat, you are! But while I'm alive Mary Jane takes no singing
+lessons. Do you understand? It's bad enough to have her battering away
+at that piano like she had some grudge against it, and to have her
+visitors wriggle around and fidget and look miserable, as if they had
+cramp colic, while you make her play for them and have them get up and
+lie, and ask what it was, and say how beautiful it is, and steep their
+souls in falsehood and hypocrisy all on account of you. You'll have
+enough sins to answer for, old woman, without that.
+
+MRS. W. I never did such a thing, and you--
+
+MR. W. Yes--and you think Mary Jane can play, don't you? You think she
+can sit down and jerk more music than a whole orchestra, don't you?
+But she can't. You might about as well set a crowbar to opening
+oysters as set her to playing on that piano. You might, indeed!
+
+MRS. W. You talk like a fool, Wilkins!
+
+MR. W. Play! She play? Pshaw! Why, she's drummed away at that polka
+for six months and she can't get her grip on it yet. You might as well
+try to sing a long-metre hymn to "Fisher's Hornpipe," as to undertake
+to dance to that polka. It would jerk your legs out at the sockets,
+certain, or else it would give you St. Vitus' dance, and cripple you
+for life.
+
+MRS. W. Mr. Wilkins, I'm going to tell you a secret.
+
+MR. W. Oh! I don't want to hear your secrets--keep them to yourself.
+
+MRS. W. It's about Mary Jane's singing.
+
+MR. W. What?
+
+MRS. W. Mary Jane, you know--her singing.
+
+MR. W. I don't know, and I don't want to; she shan't take lessons, so
+dry up.
+
+MRS. W. But she shall take them!
+
+MR. W. I say she shan't!
+
+MRS. W. She shall, and you can't help it.
+
+MR. W. By George! What do you mean? I'm master in this house I'd like
+you to know.
+
+MRS. W. Yes--but she's been taking lessons for a whole quarter, while
+you were down town, and I paid the bill out of the market money.
+
+MR. W. Well! I hope I may be shot! You don't mean to say that? Well,
+if you ain't a perfectly abandoned wretch, hang me! Farewell, Mrs.
+Wilkins, farewell! I'm off by the first express-train for the
+West! I'll stop at Chicago, where the cars wait fifteen minutes for
+refreshments and a divorce--I'll take the divorce, that will be
+indeed refreshing! Farewell! F-a-r-e-well! Fare-r-r-r-r-r-r-well! Mrs.
+Wil-l-l-l-l-l-l-kins!
+
+
+
+
+THE MARINERS WIFE.
+
+WM. JULIUS MICKLE.
+
+THIS WAS A FAVOURITE RECITATION OF THE LATE CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN.
+
+
+  And are ye sure the news is true?
+    And are ye sure he's weel?
+  Is this a time to think o' wark?
+    Make haste, lay by your wheel;
+  Is this a time to spin a thread,
+    When Colin's at the door?
+  Reach down my cloak, I'll to the quay,
+    And see him come ashore.
+
+  For there's nae luck about the house,
+    There's nae luck at a';
+  There's little pleasure in the house
+    When our gudeman's awa'.
+
+  And gie to me my bigonet,
+    My bishop's satin gown;
+  For I maun tell the baillie's wife,
+    That Colin's in the town.
+  My Turkey slippers maun gae on,
+    My stockings pearly blue;
+  It's a' to pleasure our gudeman,
+    For he's baith leal and true.
+
+  Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside,
+    Put on the mukle pot;
+  Gie little Kate her button gown
+    And Jock his Sunday coat;
+  And mak their shoon as black as slaes,
+    Their hose as white as snaw;
+  It's a' to please my own gudeman,
+    For he's been long awa.
+
+  There's twa fat hens upo' the coop,
+    Been fed this month and mair;
+  Mak haste and thraw their necks about,
+    That Colin weel may fare;
+  And mak our table neat and clean,
+    Let everything look braw,
+  For wha can tell how Colin fared
+    When he was far awa?
+
+  Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech,
+    His breath like caller air;
+  His very foot has music in't
+    As he comes up the stair.
+  And shall I see his face again?
+    And shall I hear him speak?
+  I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
+    In troth I'm like to greet!
+
+  The cold blasts o' the winter wind,
+    That thirled through my heart,
+  They're a' blown by, I hae him safe,
+    'Till death we'll never part;
+  But what puts parting in my head?
+    It may be far awa!
+  The present moment is our ain,
+    The neist we never saw.
+
+  Since Colin's weel, and weel content,
+    I hae nae mair to crave;
+  And gin I live to keep him sae,
+    I'm blest aboov the lave.
+  And will I see his face again?
+    And will I hear him speak?
+  I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
+    In troth I'm like to greet.
+  For there's nae luck about the house,
+    There's nae lack at a';
+  There's little pleasure in the house
+    When our gudeman's awa.
+
+
+
+
+SNYDER'S NOSE.
+
+"OUR FAT CONTRIBUTOR."
+
+
+Snyder kept a beer saloon some years ago "over the Rhine." Snyder
+was a ponderous Teuton of very irascible temper--"sudden and quick
+in quarrel"--get mad in a minute. Nevertheless his saloon was a great
+resort for "the boys"--partly because of the excellence of his beer,
+and partly because they liked to chafe "Old Snyder," as they called
+him; for, although his bark was terrific, experience had taught them
+that he wouldn't bite.
+
+One day Snyder was missing; and it was explained by his "frau," who
+"jerked" the beer that day, that he had "gone out fishing mit der
+poys." The next day one of the boys, who was particularly fond
+of "roasting" old Snyder, dropped in to get a glass of beer, and
+discovered Snyder's nose, which was a big one at any time, swollen and
+blistered by the sun, until it looked like a dead-ripe tomato.
+
+"Why, Snyder, what's the matter with your nose?" said the caller.
+
+"I peen out fishing mit der poys," replied Snyder, laying his finger
+tenderly against his proboscis; "the sun it pese hot like ash never
+vas, und I purns my nose. Nice nose, don't it?" And Snyder viewed it
+with a look of comical sadness in the little mirror back of his bar.
+It entered at once into the head of the mischievous fellow in front of
+the bar to play a joke upon Snyder; so he went out and collected half
+a dozen of his comrades, with whom he arranged that they should drop
+in at the saloon one after another, and ask Snyder, "What's the matter
+with that nose?" to see how long he would stand it. The man who put
+up the job went in first with a companion, and seating themselves at
+a table called for beer. Snyder brought it to them, and the new-comer
+exclaimed as he saw him, "Snyder, what's the matter with your nose?"
+
+"I yust dell your friend here I peen out fishin' mit der poys, unt de
+sun he purnt 'em--zwi lager--den cents--all right."
+
+Another boy rushes in. "Halloo, boys, you're ahead of me this time;
+s'pose I'm in, though. Here, Snyder, bring me a glass of lager and
+a pret"--(appears to catch a sudden glimpse of Snyder's nose, looks
+wonderingly a moment and then bursts out laughing)--"ha! ha! ha! Why,
+Snyder--ha!--ha!--what's the matter with that nose?"
+
+Snyder, of course, can't see any fun in having a burnt nose or having
+it laughed at; and he says, in a tone sternly emphatic:
+
+"I peen out fishin' mit der poys, unt de sun it yust ash hot ash
+blazes, unt I purnt my nose; dat ish all right."
+
+Another tormentor comes in, and insists on "setting 'em up" for the
+whole house. "Snyder," says he, "fill up the boys' glasses, and take
+a drink yourse----ho! ho! ho! ho! ha! ha! ha! Snyder, wha--ha!
+ha!--what's the matter with that nose?"
+
+Snyder's brow darkens with wrath by this time, and his voice grows
+deeper and sterner:
+
+"I peen out fishin' mit der poys on the Leedle Miami. De sun pese hot
+like ash--vel, I burn my pugle. Now that is more vot I don't got to
+say. Vot gind o' peseness? Dat ish all right; I purn my _own_ nose,
+don't it?"
+
+"Burn your nose--burn all the hair off your head for what I care; you
+needn't get mad about it."
+
+It was evident that Snyder wouldn't stand more than one tweak at that
+nose; for he was tramping about behind his bar, and growling like an
+exasperated old bear in his cage. Another one of his tormentors walks
+in. Some one sings out to him, "Have a glass of beer, Billy?"
+
+"Don't care about any beer," says Billy, "but, Snyder, you may give
+me one of your best ciga--Ha-a-a! ha! ha! ha! ho! ho! ho! he! he! he!
+ah-h-h-ha! ha! ha! ha! Why--why--Snyder--who who--ha-ha! ha! what's
+the matter with that nose?"
+
+Snyder was absolutely fearful to behold by this time; his face was
+purple with rage, all except his nose, which glowed like a ball of
+fire. Leaning his ponderous figure far over the bar, and raising his
+arm aloft to emphasize his words with it, he fairly roared:
+
+"I peen out fishin' mit ter poys. The sun it pese hot like ash never
+was. I purnt my nose. Now you no like dose nose, you yust take dose
+nose unt wr-wr-wr-wring your mean American finger mit 'em. That's the
+kind of man vot I am!" And Snyder was right.
+
+
+
+
+THE MISER'S FATE.
+
+OSBORNE.
+
+
+    In the year 1762 a miser, of the name of Foscue, in France,
+    having amassed enormous wealth by habits of extortion and
+    the most sordid parsimony, was requested by the government
+    to advance a sum of money as a loan. The miser demurred,
+    pretending that he was poor. In order to hide his gold
+    effectually, he dug a deep cave in his cellar, the descent
+    to which was by a ladder, and which was entered by means of a
+    trap-door, to which was attached a spring-lock.
+
+    He entered this cave one day to gloat over his gold, when the
+    door fell upon him, and the spring-lock, the key to which he
+    had left on the outside, snapped, and held him a prisoner in
+    the cave, where he perished miserably. Some months afterwards
+    a search was made, and his body was found in the midst of his
+    money-bags, with a candlestick lying beside it on the floor.
+    In the following lines the miser is supposed to have just
+    entered his cave, and to be soliloquizing.
+
+  So, so! all safe! Come forth, my pretty sparklers--
+  Come forth, and feast my eyes! Be not afraid!
+  No keen-eyed agent of the government
+  Can see you here. They wanted me, forsooth,
+  To lend you, at the lawful rate of usance,
+  For the state's needs. Ha, ha! my shining pets,
+  My yellow darlings, my sweet golden circlets!
+  Too well I loved you to do that--and so
+  I pleaded poverty, and none could prove
+  My story was not true.
+  Ha! could they see
+  These bags of ducats, and that precious pile
+  Of ingots, and those bars of solid gold,
+  Their eyes, methinks, would water. What a comfort
+  Is it to see my moneys in a heap
+  All safely lodged under my very roof!
+  Here's a fat bag--let me untie the mouth of it.
+  What eloquence! What beauty! What expression!
+  Could Cicero so plead? Could Helen look
+  One-half so charming?              [_The trap-door falls._]
+  Ah! what sound was that?
+  The Trap-door fallen--and the spring-lock caught!
+  Well, have I not the key? Of course I have.
+  'Tis in this pocket. No. In this? No. Then
+  I left it at the bottom of the ladder.
+  Ha! 'tis not there. Where then? Ah! mercy, Heaven!
+  'Tis in the lock outside!
+  What's to be done?
+  Help, help! Will no one hear? Oh, would that I
+  Had not discharged old Simon! but he begged
+  Each week for wages--would not give me credit.
+  I'll try my strength upon the door. Despair!
+  I might as soon uproot the eternal rocks
+  As force it open. Am I here a prisoner,
+  And no one in the house? no one at hand,
+  Or likely soon to be, to hear my cries?
+  Am I entombed alive? Horrible fate!
+  I sink--I faint beneath the bare conception!
+  [_Awakes._]  Darkness? Where am I? I remember, now,
+  This is a bag of ducats--'tis no dream--
+  No dream! The trap-door fell, and here am I
+  Immured with my dear gold--my candle out--
+  All gloom--all silence--all despair! What, ho!
+  Friends! Friends? I have no friends. What right have I
+  To use the name? These money-bags have been
+  The only friends I've cared for--and for these
+  I've toiled, and pinched, and screwed--shutting my heart
+  To charity, humanity and love!
+  Detested traitors! Since I gave you all--
+  Aye, gave my very soul--can ye do naught
+  For me in this extremity? Ho! Without there!
+  A thousand ducats for a loaf of bread!
+  Ten thousand ducats for a glass of water!
+  A pile of ingots for a helping hand!
+  Was that a laugh? Aye, 'twas a fiend that laughed
+  To see a miser in the grip of death.
+  Offended Heaven, have mercy! I will give
+  In alms all this vile rubbish; aid me thou
+  In this most dreadful strait! I'll build a church--
+  A hospital! Vain, vain! Too late, too late!
+  Heaven knows the miser's heart too well to trust him!
+  Heaven will not hear! Why should it? What have I
+  Done to enlist Heaven's favor--to help on
+  Heaven's cause on earth, in human hearts and homes?
+  Nothing! God's kingdom will not come the sooner
+  For any work or any prayer of mine.
+  But must I die here--in my own trap caught?
+  Die--die? and then! Oh, mercy! Grant me time--
+  Thou who canst save--grant me a little time,
+  And I'll redeem the past--undo the evil
+  That I have done--make thousands happy with
+  This hoarded treasure--do Thy will on earth
+  As it is done in Heaven--grant me but time!
+  Nor man nor God will heed my shrieks! All's lost!
+
+
+
+
+SHE WOULD BE A MASON.
+
+ANONYMOUS.
+
+
+  The funniest story I ever heard,
+      The funniest thing that ever occurred,
+  Is the story of Mrs. Mehitable Byrde,
+      Who wanted to be a Mason.
+  Her husband, Tom Byrde, is a Mason true,
+  As good a Mason as any of you;
+  He is tyler of lodge Cerulian Blue,
+  And tyles and delivers the summons due,
+  And she wanted to be a Mason too--
+      This ridiculous Mrs. Byrde.
+  She followed him round, this inquisitive wife,
+  And nabbed and teased him half out of his life;
+  So to terminate this unhallowed strife,
+      He consented at last to admit her.
+  And first to disguise her from bonnet to shoon,
+  The ridiculous lady agreed to put on
+  His breech--ah! forgive me--I meant pantaloon;
+      And miraculously did they fit her.
+  The Lodge was at work on the Master's Degree;
+  The light was ablaze on the letter G;
+  High soared the pillars J. and B.;
+  The officers sat like Solomon, wise;
+  The brimstone burned amid horrid cries;
+  The goat roamed wildly through the room;
+  The candidate begged 'em to let him go home;
+  And the devil himself stood up in the east,
+  As proud as an alderman at a feast;--
+      When in came Mrs. Byrde.
+  Oh, horrible sounds! oh, horrible sight!
+  Can it be that Masons take delight
+  In spending thus the hours of night?
+  Ah! could their wives and daughters know
+  The unutterable things they say and do,
+  Their feminine hearts would burst with woe;
+      But this is not all my story,
+  For those Masons joined in a hideous ring,
+  The candidate howling like everything,
+  And thus in tones of death they sing
+      (The Candidate's name was Morey):
+  "Blood to drink and bones to crack,
+  Skulls to smash and lives to take,
+  Hearts to crush and souls to burn--
+  Give old Morey another turn,
+      And make him all grim and gory."
+  Trembling with horror stood Mrs. Byrde,
+  Unable to speak a single word;
+  She staggered and fell in the nearest chair,
+  On the left of the Junior Warden there,
+  And scarcely noticed, so loud the groans,
+  That the chair was made of human bones.
+  Of human bones! on grinning skulls
+  That ghastly throne of horror rolls--
+  Those skulls, the skulls that Morgan bore!
+  Those bones the bones that Morgan wore!
+  His scalp across the top was flung,
+  His teeth around the arms were strung--
+  Never in all romance was known
+  Such uses made of human bone.
+  The brimstone gleamed in lurid flame,
+  Just like a place we will not name;
+  Good angels, that inquiring came
+  From blissful courts, looked on with shame
+      And tearful melancholy.
+  Again they dance, but twice as bad,
+  They jump and sing like demons mad;
+      The tune is Hunkey Dorey--
+  "Blood to drink," etc., etc.
+  Then came a pause--a pair of paws
+  Reached through the floor, up sliding doors,
+  And grabbed the unhappy candidate!
+  How can I without tears relate
+  The lost and ruined Morey's fate?
+  She saw him sink in a fiery hole,
+  She heard him scream, "My soul! my soul!"
+  While roars of fiendish laughter roll,
+      And drown the yells of mercy!
+  "Blood to drink," etc., etc.
+  The ridiculous woman could stand no more--
+  She fainted and fell on the checkered floor,
+  'Midst all the diabolical roar.
+  What then, you ask me, did befall
+  Mehitable Byrde? Why, nothing at all--
+  _She had dreamed_ she'd been in the Masons' hall.
+
+
+
+
+SAMBO'S DILEMMA.
+
+
+"Midas, I want to s'posen a case to you, an' I want you to gim me the
+gospel truth on your 'pinion 'bout de matter."
+
+That's the manner in which one of Washington's dusky damsels put it to
+her adorer last evening.
+
+"Now, Midas, you knows you'se tole me more times 'an you'se got
+fingers an' toes, as you lubbed me harder 'an a marble-top washstand,
+an' 'at I'se sweeter to you 'an buckwheat cakes and 'lassas foreber.
+Midas, this am only s'posen case, but I wants you to s'posen jus' as
+if'n 'twas a shunuff one.
+
+"S'posen me an' you was goin' on a scursion down de riber!"
+
+"Yas," broke in Midas, "down to Mount Vernon."
+
+"Anywha's 'tall, down the riber. Midas, can you swim?"
+
+"No, Luce, I's sorry to 'form you dat de only d'reckshon what I kin
+circumstanshiate fru de water am de bottom."
+
+"Well, den, as I was 'latin'. S'posen we was on de boat, glidin'
+lubingly an' harmunly down de bussum ob der riber's stream, de moon
+was lookin' shiningly down pon de smoke-stack, an' you wos sottin'
+rite up to me (jus' slide up here closer, an' lem me show you how),
+dats de way."
+
+"Yah, yah! but wouldn't dat be scrumptuous?" interrupted Midas.
+
+"S'posen," continued Lucy, "you had jest put your arm roun' my wai'
+(dat's it), der wasn't nobody 'bout, you was a squeezin' me up, an'
+was jest gwine to gimme de lubinest kind ob a kiss, an'--an'--an' de
+biler would bust!"
+
+"Oh, de debbil!" said the disappointed Midas.
+
+"Now, Midas, I is s'posen dis case, an' I wants you to mind de words
+what I am a speakin'. S'posen when dat biler busted we bof went up
+in de air, come down in de ribber, an' when we arrive in de water we
+found de only thing lef' of dat boat was one piece ob board dat wasn't
+big enough to hole us bof, but we bof grab at it; now, Midas, wud
+you let go dat board, or would you put me off an' took it all y'self?
+Dat's de question what I'm s'posen."
+
+"Luce, can you swim?" he asked, after hesitating a few moments.
+
+"No, Midas, ob course not. You know I can't swim."
+
+"Well den, Luce, my conchenshus 'pinion ob de whole matter am dat we
+won't go on no scursions."
+
+
+
+
+PAT AND THE FOX.
+
+SAMUEL LOVER.
+
+
+"Paddy," said the squire, "perhaps you would favor the gentleman with
+that story you told me once about a fox?"
+
+"Indeed and I will, plaze yer honor," said Paddy, "though I know full
+well the divil a one word iv it you b'lieve, nor the gintlemen won't
+either, though you're axin' me for it--but only want to laugh at me,
+and call me a big liar when my back's turned."
+
+"Maybe we wouldn't wait for your back being turned, Paddy, to honor
+you with that title."
+
+"Oh, indeed, I'm not sayin' that you wouldn't do it as soon foreninst
+my face, yer honor, as you often did before, and will agin, plaze God,
+and welkim."
+
+"Well, Paddy, say no more about that, but let's have the story."
+
+"Sure I'm losing no time, only telling the gintlemen beforehand that
+it's what they'll be callin' it, a lie--and indeed it's ancommon, sure
+enough; but you see, gintlemen, you must remimber that the fox is the
+cunnin'est baste in the world, barrin' the wran----"
+
+Here Paddy was questioned why he considered the wren as cunning a
+_baste_ as the fox.
+
+"Why, sir, bekase all the birds build their nest wid one hole to it
+only, excep'n the wran; but the wran builds two holes to the nest, and
+so that if any inimy comes to disturb it upon one door it can go out
+an the other. But the fox is cute to that degree that there's many
+mortial a fool to him--and, by dad, the fox could by and sell many a
+Christian, as you'll soon see by-and-by, when I tell you what happened
+to a wood-ranger that I knew wanst, and a dacent man he was, and
+wouldn't say the thing in a lie.
+
+"Well, you see, he kem home one night mighty tired--for he was out wid
+a party in the domain cock-shootin' that day; and whin he got back
+to his lodge he threw a few logs o' wood an the fire to make himself
+comfortable, and he tuk whatever little matther he had for his
+supper--and afther that he felt himself so tired that he wint to bed.
+But you're to understand that, though he wint to bed, it was more for
+to rest himself like, than to sleep, for it was airly; and so he jist
+wint into bed, and there he divarted himself lookin' at the fire, that
+was blazin' as merry as a bonfire an the hearth.
+
+"Well, as he was lyin' that-a-way, jist thinkin' o' nothin' at all,
+what should come into the place but a fox. But I must tell you, what
+I forgot to tell you, before, that the ranger's house was on the
+bordhers o' the wood, and he had no one to live wid him but
+himself, barrin' the dogs that he had the care iv, that was his only
+companions, and he had a hole cut an the door, with a swingin' boord
+to it, that the dogs might go in or out accordin' as it plazed thim;
+and, by dad, the fox kem in as I told you, through the hole in the
+door, as bould as a ram, and walked over to the fire, and sat down
+foreninst it.
+
+"Now it was mighty provokin' that all the dogs was out; they wor
+rovin' about the wood, you see, lookin for to catch rabbits to ate, or
+some other mischief, and so it happened that there wasn't as much as
+one individual dog in the place; and, by gor, I'll go bail the fox
+knew that right well before he put his nose inside the ranger's lodge.
+
+"Well, the ranger was in hopes some o' the dogs id come home and ketch
+the chap, and he was loath to stir hand or fut himself, afeared o'
+frightenin' away the fox, but by gor, he could hardly keep his timper
+at all at all, whin he seen the fox take his pipe aff o' the hob where
+he left it afore he wint to bed, and puttin' the bowl o' the pipe into
+the fire to kindle it (it's as thrue as I'm here), he began to smoke
+foreninst the fire, as nath'ral as any other man you ever seen.
+
+"'Musha, bad luck to your impidence, you long-tailed blackguard,' says
+the ranger, 'and is it smokin' my pipe you are? Oh, thin, by this and
+by that, iv I had my gun convaynient to me, it's fire and smoke of
+another sort, and what you wouldn't bargain for, I'd give you,' says
+he. But still he was loath to stir, hopin the dogs id come home; and
+'By gor, my fine fellow,' says he to the fox, 'if one o' the dogs
+comes home, saltpethre wouldn't save you, and that's a sthrong
+pickle.'
+
+"So with that he watched antil the fox wasn't mindin' him, but was
+busy shakin' the cindhers out o' the pipe whin he was done wid it, and
+so the ranger thought he was goin' to go immediately afther gettin an
+air o' the fire and a shough o' the pipe; and so, says he, 'Faix, my
+lad, I won't let you go so aisy as all that, as cunnin' as you think
+yourself;' and with that he made a dart out o' bed, and run over to
+the door, and got betune it and the fox, 'And now,' says he, 'your
+bread's baked, my buck, and maybe my lord won't have a fine run out
+o' you, and the dogs at your brish every yard, you morodin' thief, and
+the divil mind you,' says he, 'for your impidence--for sure, if you
+hadn't the impidence of a highwayman's horse it's not into my very
+house, undher my nose, you'd daar for to come:' and with that he began
+to whistle for the dogs; and the fox, that stood eyein' him all the
+time while he was spakin', began to think it was time to be joggin'
+whin he heard the whistle--and says the fox to himself, 'Troth,
+indeed, you think yourself a mighty great ranger now,' says he, 'and
+you think you're very cute, but upon my tail, and that's a big oath,
+I'd be long sorry to let such a mallet-headed bog-throtter as yourself
+take a dirty advantage o' me, and I'll engage,' says the fox, 'I'll
+make you lave the door soon and suddint,'--and with that he turned
+to where the ranger's brogues was lyin' hard by beside the fire, and,
+what would you think, but the fox tuk one o' the brogues, and wint
+over to the fire, and threw it into it.
+
+"'I think that'll make you start,' says the fox.
+
+"'Divil resave the start,' says the ranger--'that won't do, my buck,'
+says he, 'the brogue may burn to cindhers,' says he, 'but out o' this
+I won't stir;' and thin, puttin' his fingers into his mouth, he gev a
+blast of a whistle you'd hear a mile off, and shouted for the dogs.
+
+"'So that won't do,' says the fox--'well, I must thry another offer,'
+says he, and with that he tuk up the other brogue, and threw it into
+the fire too.
+
+"'There, now,' says he, 'you may keep the other company,' says
+he; 'and there's a pair o' you now, as the divil said to his
+knee-buckles.'
+
+"'Oh, you thievin' varment,' says the ranger, 'you won't lave me a
+tack to my feet; but no matter,' says he, 'your head's worth more
+nor a pair o' brogues to me any day, and by the Piper of Blessintown,
+you're money in my pocket this minit,' says he: and with that, the
+fingers was in his mouth agin, and he was goin' to whistle, whin, what
+would you think, but up sets the fox on his hunkers, and puts his two
+fore-paws into his mouth, makin' game o' the ranger--(bad luck to the
+lie I tell you.)
+
+"'Well, the ranger, and no wondher, although in a rage as he was,
+couldn't help laughin' at the thought o' the fox mockin' him, and, by
+dad, he tuk sitch a fit o' laughin' that he couldn't whistle--and that
+was the 'cuteness o' the fox to gain time; but whin his first laugh
+was over, the ranger recovered himself, and gev another whistle; and
+so says the fox, 'By my soul,' says he, 'I think it wouldn't be good
+for my health to stay here much longer, and I mustn't be triflin'
+with that blackguard ranger any more,' says he, 'and I must make
+him sensible that it is time to let me go, and though he hasn't
+understandin' to be sorry for his brogues, I'll go bail I'll make him
+lave that,' says he, 'before he'd say _sparables_'--and with that what
+do you think the fox done? By all that's good--and the ranger himself
+told me out iv his own mouth, and said he would never have b'lieved
+it, ownly he seen it--the fox tuk a lighted piece iv a log out o' the
+blazin' fire, and run over wid it to the ranger's bed, and was goin'
+to throw it into the sthraw, and burn him out of house and home; so
+when the ranger seen that he gev a shout out iv him--
+
+"'Hillo! hillo! you murtherin' villain,' says he, 'you're worse nor
+Captain Rock; is it goin' to burn me out you are, you red rogue iv
+a Ribbonman?" and he made a dart betune him and the bed, to save
+the house from bein' burnt,--but, my jew'l, that was all the fox
+wanted--and as soon as the ranger quitted the hole in the door that
+he was standin' foreninst, the fox let go the blazin' faggit, and made
+one jump through the door and escaped.
+
+"But before he wint, the ranger gev me his oath that the fox turned
+round and gev him the most contemptible look he ever got in his life,
+and showed every tooth in his head with laughin', and at last he put
+out his tongue at him, as much as to say--'You've missed me like your
+mammy's blessin',' and off wid him, like a flash o' lightnin'."
+
+
+
+
+TO MY MOTHER.
+
+FORRESTER.
+
+
+    [It is hardly necessary to say that too much tenderness cannot
+    be imparted to the voice while reading these beautiful lines.
+    The heart that recalls a departed mother's memory will be the
+    best monitor.]
+
+  Give me my old seat, mother,
+    With my head upon thy knee;
+  I've passed through many a changing scene,
+    Since thus I sat by thee.
+  Oh! let me look into thine eyes;
+    Their meek, soft, loving light
+  Falls like a gleam of holiness,
+    Upon my heart, to-night.
+
+  I've not been long away, mother;
+    Few suns have risen and set,
+  Since last the tear-drop on thy cheek,
+    My lips in kisses met.
+  'Tis but a little time, I know,
+    But very long it seems;
+  Though every night I came to thee,
+    Dear mother, in my dreams.
+
+  The world has kindly dealt, mother,
+    By the child thou lov'st so well;
+  The prayers have circled round her path;
+    And 'twas their holy spell
+  Which made that path so dearly bright;
+    Which strewed the roses there;
+  Which gave the light, and cast the balm
+    On every breath of air.
+
+  I bear a happy heart, mother;
+    A happier never beat;
+  And, even now, new buds of hope
+    Are bursting at my feet.
+  Oh! mother! life may be a dream;
+    But if such _dreams_ are given,
+  While at the portals thus we stand,
+    What are the _truths_ of Heaven?
+
+  I bear a happy heart, mother!
+    Yet, when fond eyes I see,
+  And hear soft tones and winning words,
+    I ever think of thee.
+  And then, the tears my spirit weeps
+    Unbidden fill my eye;
+  And, like a houseless dove, I long
+    Unto thy breast to fly.
+
+  _Then_ I am very sad, mother,
+    I'm very sad and lone:
+  O! there's no heart whose inmost fold
+    Opes to me like thine own!
+  Though sunny smiles wreath blooming lips,
+    While love-tones meet my ear;
+  My mother, one fond glance of thine
+    Were thousand times more dear.
+
+  Then with a closer clasp, mother,
+    Now hold me to thy heart:
+  I'll feel it beating 'gainst my own,
+    Once more before we part.
+  And mother, to this love-lit spot,
+    When I am far away,
+  Come oft--_too oft_ thou canst not come!
+    And for thy darling pray.
+
+
+
+
+WHAT AILED "UGLY SAM."
+
+DETROIT FREE PRESS.
+
+
+He had been missing from the "Potomac" for several days, and Cleveland
+Tom, Port Huron Bill, Tall Chicago, and the rest of the boys who were
+wont to get drunk with him, couldn't make out what had happened. They
+hadn't heard that there was a warrant out for him, had never known of
+his being sick for a day, and his absence from the old haunts puzzled
+them. They were in the Hole-in-the-Wall saloon yesterday morning,
+nearly a dozen of them, drinking, smoking, and playing cards, when in
+walked Ugly Sam.
+
+There was a deep silence for a moment as they looked at him. Sam had
+a new hat, had been shaved clean, had on a clean collar and a white
+shirt, and they didn't know him at first. When they saw that it was
+Ugly Sam, they uttered a shout and leaped up.
+
+"Cave in that hat!" cried one.
+
+"Yank that collar off!" shouted another.
+
+"Let's roll him on the floor!" screamed a third.
+
+There was something in his look and bearing which made them hesitate.
+The whiskey-red had almost faded from his face, and he looked sober
+and dignified. His features expressed disgust and contempt as he
+looked around the room, and then revealed pity as his eyes fell upon
+the red eyes and bloated faces of the crowd before him.
+
+"Why, what ails ye, Sam?" inquired Tall Chicago, as they all stood
+there.
+
+"I've come down to bid ye good-bye, boys!" he replied, removing his
+hat and drawing a clean handkerchief from his pocket.
+
+"What! Hev ye turned preacher?" they shouted in chorus.
+
+"Boys, ye know I can lick any two of ye; but I hain't on the fight any
+more, an' I've put down the last drop of whiskey which is ever to go
+into my mouth! I've switched off. I've taken an oath. I'm going to be
+decent!"
+
+"Sam, be you crazy?" asked Port Huron Bill, coming nearer to him.
+
+"I've come down here to tell ye all about it," answered Sam. "Move the
+cha'rs back a little and give me room. Ye all know I've been rough,
+and more too. I've been a drinker, a fighter, a gambler, and a loafer.
+I can't look back and remember when I've earned an honest dollar. The
+police hez chased me around like a wolf, and I've been in jail and the
+work-house, and the papers has said that Ugly Sam was the terror of
+the Potomac. Ye all know this, boys, but ye didn't know I had an old
+mother."
+
+The faces of the crowd expressed amazement.
+
+"I never mentioned it to any of ye, for I was neglecting her," he went
+on. "She was a poor old body living up here in the alley, and if the
+neighbours hadn't helped her to fuel and food, she'd have been found
+dead long ago. I never helped her to a cent--didn't see her for weeks
+and weeks, and I used to feel mean about it. When a feller goes back
+on his old mother, he's a-gittin' purty low, and I know it. Well,
+she's dead--buried yesterday! I was up there afore she died. She sent
+for me by Pete, and when I got there I seen it was all day with her."
+
+"Did she say anything?" asked one of the boys, as Sam hesitated.
+
+"That's what ails me now," he went on. "When I went she reached out
+her hand to me, and says she, 'Samuel, I'm going to die, and I know'd
+you'd want to see me afore I passed away!' I sat down, feeling
+queer like. She didn't go on and say as how I was a loafer, and had
+neglected her, and all that, but says she, 'Samuel, you'll be all
+alone when I'm gone. I've tried to be a good mother to you, and have
+prayed for you hundreds o' nights and cried about you till my old
+heart was sore!' Some o' the neighbours had dropped in, and the women
+were crying, and I tell you, boys, I felt weak."
+
+He paused for a moment, and then continued:
+
+"And the old woman said she'd like to kiss me afore death came, and
+that broke me right down. She kept hold of my hand, and by-and-by she
+whispered; 'Samuel, you are throwing your life away. You've got it in
+you to be a man if you will only make up your mind, I hate to die
+and feel that my only son and the last of our family may go to the
+gallows. If I had your promise that you'd turn over a new leaf and try
+and be good, it seems as if I'd die easier. Won't you promise me,
+my son?' And I promised her, boys, and that's what ails me! She died
+holding my hand, and I promised to quit this low business and go to
+work. I came down to tell ye, and now you won't see me on the Potomac
+again. I've bought an axe, and am going up in Canada to Winter."
+
+There was a dead silence for a moment, and then he said:
+
+"Well, boys, I'll shake hands with ye all around afore I go. Good-by,
+Pete--good-by, Jack--Tom--Jim. I hope you won't fling any bricks at
+me, and I shan't never fling any at any of ye. It's a dying promise,
+ye see, and I'll keep it if it takes a right arm!"
+
+The men looked reflectively at each other after he had passed out, and
+it was a long time before any one spoke. Then Tall Chicago flung his
+clay pipe into a corner, and said:
+
+"I'll lick the man who says Ugly Sam's head isn't level!"
+
+"So'll I!" repeated the others.
+
+
+
+
+SATAN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN.
+
+MILTON.
+
+
+    This famous speech affords opportunity for the grandest
+    declamation. It is studded with points--anger, hate, scorn,
+    admiration and defiance. The student should read, and re-read
+    and ponder over every line, until he catches the exact meaning
+    intended to be conveyed--then, following the examples already
+    given, he should declaim it repeatedly:
+
+  O thou, that, with surpassing glory crown'd,
+  Look'st from thy sole dominion like the God
+  Of this new world; at whose sight all the stars
+  Hide their diminish'd heads; to thee I call,
+  But with no friendly voice, and add thy name,
+  O Sun! to tell thee how I hate thy beams,
+  That bring to my remembrance from what state
+  I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere;
+  Till pride and worse ambition threw me down
+  Warring in Heaven against Heaven's matchless king:
+  Ah, wherefore! he deserved no such return
+  From me, whom he created what I was
+  In that bright eminence, and with his good
+  Upbraided none; nor was his service hard.
+  What could be less than to afford him praise,
+  The easiest recompense, and pay him thanks,
+  How due! yet all his good proved ill in me,
+  And wrought but malice; lifted up so high
+  I 'sdain'd subjection, and thought one step higher
+  Would set me highest, and in a moment quit
+  The debt immense of endless gratitude
+  So burdensome still paying, still to owe:
+  Forgetful what from him I still received,
+  And understood not that a grateful mind
+  By owing owes not, but still pays, at once
+  Indebted and discharged; what burden then?
+  O, had his powerful destiny ordain'd
+  Me some inferior angel, I had stood
+  Then happy; no unbounded hope had raised
+  Ambition! Yet why not? some other Power
+  As great might have aspired, and me, though mean,
+  Drawn to his part; but other Powers as great
+  Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within
+  Or from without, to all temptations arm'd.
+  Hadst thou the same free will and power to stand?
+  Thou hadst: whom hast thou then or what to accuse
+  But Heaven's free love dealt equally to all?
+  Be then his love accursed, since love or hate,
+  To me alike, it deals eternal woe.
+  Nay, cursed be thou; since against his thy will
+  Chose freely what it now so justly rues.
+  Me miserable! which way shall I fly
+  Infinite wrath and infinite despair?
+  Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell;
+  And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep
+  Still threat'ning to devour me opens wide,
+  To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.
+  O then at last relent: Is there no place
+  Left for repentance, none for pardon left?
+  None left but by submission; and that word
+  Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame
+  Among the spirits beneath, whom I seduced
+  With other promises and other vaunts
+  Than to submit, boasting I could subdue
+  The Omnipotent. Ah me! they little know
+  How dearly I abide that boast so vain,
+  Under what torments inwardly I groan,
+  While they adore me on the throne of hell.
+  With diadem and sceptre high advanced,
+  The lower still I fall, only supreme
+  In misery! Such joy ambition finds.
+  But say I could repent, and could obtain
+  By act of grace, my former state; how soon
+  Would height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay
+  What faint submission swore? Ease would recant
+  Vows made in pain, as violent and void.
+  For never can true reconcilement grow,
+  Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep:
+  Which would but lead me to a worse relapse
+  And heavier fall; so should I purchase dear
+  Short intermission bought with double smart.
+  This knows my Punisher; therefore as far
+  From granting he, as I from begging, peace;
+  All hope excluded thus, behold, instead
+  Of us outcast, exiled, his new delight,
+  Mankind created, and for him this world,
+  So farewell, hope; and with hope, farewell, fear;
+  Farewell, remorse! all good to me is lost;
+  Evil, be thou my good; by thee at least
+  Divided empire with Heaven's King I hold,
+  By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign;
+  As man, ere long, and this new world shall know.
+
+
+
+
+PATRICK'S COLT.
+
+ANONYMOUS.
+
+
+  Patrick O'Flanigan, from Erin's isle
+  Just fresh, thinking he'd walk around a while,
+  With open mouth and widely staring eyes,
+  Cried "Och!" and "Whist!" at every new surprise.
+  He saw some labourers in a field of corn;
+  The golden pumpkins lit the scene with glory;
+  Of all that he had heard since being born,
+  Nothing had equaled this in song or story.
+  "The holy mither! and, sirs, would ye plaise
+  To be a tellin' me what might be these?
+  An' sure I'm thinkin' that they're not pratees,
+  But mebbe it's the way you grow your chase."
+  "Ah, Patrick, these are mare's eggs," said the hand,
+  Giving a wink to John, and Jim, and Bill;
+  "Just hatch it out, and then you have your horse;
+  Take one and try it; it will pay you well."
+  "Faith an' that's aisy sure; in dear ould Ireland
+  I always had my Christmas pig so nate,
+  Fatted on buttermilk, and hard to bate;
+  But only gintlemen can own a horse.
+  Ameriky's a great counthry indade,
+  I thought that here I'd kape a pig, of coorse,
+  Have me own land, and shanty without rent,
+  An' have me vote, an' taxes not a cint;
+  But sure I niver thought to own a baste.
+  An' won't the wife and childer now be glad?
+  A thousand blissings on your honor's head!
+  But could ye tell by lookin' at the egg
+  What colour it will hatch? It's to me taste
+  To have a dapple gray, with a long tail,
+  High in the neck, and slinder in the leg,
+  To jump a twel' feet bog, and niver fail,
+  Like me Lord Dumferline's at last year's races--"
+  Just then the merry look on all their faces
+  Checked Patrick's flow of talk, and with a blush
+  That swept his face as milk goes over mush,
+  He added, "Sure, I know it is no use
+  To try to tell by peering at an egg
+  If it will hatch a gander or a goose;"
+  Then looked around to make judicious choice.
+  "Pick out the largest one that you can hide
+  Out of the owner's sight there by the river;
+  Don't drop and break it, or the colt is gone;
+  Carry it gently to your little farm,
+  Put it in bed, and keep it six weeks warm."
+  Quickly Pat seized a huge, ripe, yellow one,
+  "Faith, sure, an' I'll do every bit of that
+  The whole sax wakes I'll lie meself in bed,
+  An' kape it warrum, as your honour said;
+  Long life to yees, and may you niver walk,
+  Not even to your grave, but ride foriver;
+  Good luck to yees," and without more of talk
+  He pulled the forelock 'neath his tattered hat,
+  And started off; but plans of mice and men
+  Gang oft agley, again and yet again.
+  Full half a mile upon his homeward road
+  Poor Patrick toiled beneath his heavy load.
+  A hilltop gained, he stopped to rest, alas!
+  He laid his mare's egg on some treacherous grass;
+  When down the steep hillside it rolled away,
+  And at poor Patrick's call made no delay.
+  Gaining momentum, with a heavy thump,
+  It struck and split upon a hollow stump,
+  In which a rabbit lived with child and wife,
+  Frightened, the timid creature ran for life.
+  "Shtop, shtop my colt!" cried Patrick, as he ran
+  After his straying colt, but all in vain.
+  With ears erect poor Bunny faster fled
+  As "Shtop my colt!" in mournful, eager tones
+  Struck on those organs, till with fright half dead
+  He hid away among some grass and stones.
+  Here Patrick searched till rose the harvest moon,
+  Braying and whinnying till he was hoarse,
+  Hoping to lure the colt by this fond cheat;
+  "For won't the young thing want his mither soon,
+  And come to take a bit of something t'eat?"
+  But vain the tender accents of his call--
+  No colt responded from the broken wall;
+  And 'neath the twinkling stars he plodded on,
+  To tell how he had got and lost his horse.
+  "As swate a gray as iver eyes sat on,"
+  He said to Bridget and the children eight,
+  After thrice telling the whole story o'er,
+  "The way he run it would be hard to bate;
+  So little, too, with jist a whisk o' tail,
+  Not a pin-feather on it as I could see,
+  For it was hatched out just sax weeks too soon!
+  An' such long ears were niver grown before
+  On any donkey in grane Ireland!
+  So little, too, you'd hold it in your hand;
+  Och hone! he would have made a gray donkey."
+  So all the sad O'Flanigans that night
+  Held a loud wake over the donkey gone,
+  Eating their "pratees" without milk or salt,
+  Howling between whiles, "Och! my little colt!"
+  While Bunny, trembling from his dreadful fright,
+  Skipped home to Mrs. B. by light of moon,
+  And told the story of his scare and flight;
+  And all the neighbouring rabbits played around
+  The broken mare's egg scattered on the ground.
+
+
+
+
+THE WORLD FOR SALE.
+
+REV. RALPH HOYT.
+
+
+The world for sale! Hang out the sign; call every traveler here to me:
+who'll buy this brave estate of mine, and set this weary spirit free?
+'Tis going! yes, I mean to fling the bauble from my soul away; I'll
+sell it, whatsoe'er it bring: the world's at auction here to-day! It
+is a glorious sight to see--but, ah! it has deceived me sore; it is
+not what it seems to be. For sale! it shall be mine no more. Come,
+turn it o'er and view it well; I would not have you purchase dear.
+'Tis going! going! I must sell! Who bids! who'll buy this splendid
+Tear? Here's Wealth, in glittering heaps of gold; who bids? But let me
+tell you fair, a baser lot was never sold! Who'll buy the heavy heaps
+of Care? and, here, spread out in broad domain, a goodly landscape
+all may trace; hall, cottage, tree, field, hill and plain:--who'll
+buy himself a burial place? Here's Love, the dreamy potent spell that
+Beauty flings around the heart; I know its power, alas! too well; 'tis
+going! Love and I must part! Must part? What can I more with Love? all
+o'er is the enchanter's reign. Who'll buy the plumeless, dying dove--a
+breath of bliss, a storm of pain? And Friendship, rarest gem of earth;
+who e'er has found the jewel his? Frail, fickle, false, and little
+worth! who bids for Friendship--as it is? 'Tis going! going! hear the
+call; once, twice and thrice, 'tis very low! 'Twas once my hope,
+my stay, my all, but now the broken staff must go! Fame! hold the
+brilliant meteor high; how dazzling every gilded name! Ye millions!
+now's the time to buy. How much for Fame? how much for Fame? Hear
+how it thunders! Would you stand on high Olympus, far renowned, now
+purchase, and a world command!--and be with a world's curses crowned.
+Sweet star of Hope! with ray to shine in every sad foreboding breast,
+save this desponding one of mine--who bids for man's last friend, and
+best? Ah, were not mine a bankrupt life, this treasure should my
+soul sustain! But Hope and Care are now at strife, nor ever may unite
+again. Ambition, Fashion, Show and Pride, I part from all forever now;
+Grief, in an overwhelming tide, has taught my haughty heart to bow. By
+Death, stern sheriff! all bereft, I weep, yet humbly kiss the rod; the
+best of all I still have left--my Faith, My Bible, and my GOD.
+
+
+
+
+HOW WE HUNTED A MOUSE.
+
+JOSHUA JENKINS.
+
+
+I was dozing comfortably in my easy-chair, and dreaming of the good
+times which I hope are coming, when there fell upon my ears a most
+startling scream. It was the voice of my Maria Ann in agony. The voice
+came from the kitchen and to the kitchen I rushed. The idolized form
+of my Maria was perched on a chair, and she was flourishing an iron
+spoon in all directions, and shouting "shoo," in a general manner,
+at everything in the room. To my anxious inquiries as to what was
+the matter, she screamed, "O Joshua! a mouse, shoo--wha--shoo--a
+great--ya, shoo--horrid mouse, and--she--ew--it ran right out of the
+cupboard--shoo--go away--O Lord--Joshua--shoo--kill it, oh, my--shoo."
+
+All that fuss, you see, about one little harmless mouse. Some women
+are so afraid of mice. Maria is. I got the poker and set myself to
+poke that mouse, and my wife jumped down, and ran off into another
+room. I found the mouse in a corner under the sink. The first time
+I hit it I didn't poke it any on account of getting the poker all
+tangled up in a lot of dishes in the sink; and I did not hit it any
+more because the mouse would not stay still. It ran right toward me,
+and I naturally jumped, as anybody would; but I am not afraid of mice,
+and when the horrid thing ran up inside the leg of my pantaloons,
+I yelled to Maria because I was afraid it would gnaw a hole in my
+garment. There is something real disagreeable about having a mouse
+inside the leg of one's pantaloons, especially if there is nothing
+between you and the mouse. Its toes are cold, and its nails are
+scratchy, and its fur tickles, and its tail feels crawly, and there is
+nothing pleasant about it, and you are all the time afraid it will try
+to gnaw out, and begin on you instead of on the cloth. That mouse
+was next to me. I could feel its every motion with startling and
+suggestive distinctness. For these reasons I yelled to Maria, and as
+the case seemed urgent to me I may have yelled with a certain degree
+of vigor; but I deny that I yelled fire, and if I catch the boy who
+thought that I did, I shall inflict punishment on his person.
+
+I did not loose my presence of mind for an instant. I caught the mouse
+just as it was clambering over my knee, and by pressing firmly on the
+outside of the cloth, I kept the animal a prisoner on the inside. I
+kept jumping around with all my might to confuse it, so that it would
+not think about biting, and I yelled so that the mice would not hear
+its squeaks and come to its assistance. A man can't handle many mice
+at once to advantage.
+
+Maria was white as a sheet when she came into the kitchen and asked
+what she should do--as though I could hold the mouse and plan a
+campaign at the same time. I told her to think of something, and she
+thought she would throw things at the intruder; but as there was no
+earthly chance for her to hit the mouse, while every shot took effect
+on me, I told her to stop, after she had tried two flat-irons and
+the coal-scuttle. She paused for breath; but I kept bobbing around.
+Somehow I felt no inclination to sit down anywhere. "O Joshua," she
+cried, "I wish you had not killed the cat." Now I submit that the wish
+was born of the weakness of woman's intellect. How on earth did she
+suppose a cat could get where that mouse was?--rather have the mouse
+there alone, anyway, than to have a cat prowling around after it.
+I reminded Maria of the fact that she was a fool. Then she got the
+tea-kettle and wanted to scald the mouse. I objected to that process,
+except as a last resort. Then she got some cheese to coax the mouse
+down, but I did not dare to let go, for fear it would run up. Matters
+were getting desperate. I told her to think of something else, and I
+kept jumping. Just as I was ready to faint with exhaustion, I tripped
+over an iron, lost my hold, and the mouse fell to the floor, very
+dead. I had no idea a mouse could be squeezed to death so easy.
+
+That was not the end of the trouble, for before I had recovered
+my breath a fireman broke in one of the front windows, and a whole
+company followed him through, and they dradged hose around, and mussed
+things all over the house, and then the foreman wanted to thrash me
+because the house was not on fire, and I had hardly got him pacified
+before a policeman came in and arrested me. Some one had run down and
+told him I was drunk and was killing Maria. It was all Maria and I
+could do, by combining our eloquence, to prevent him from marching
+me off in disgrace, but we finally got matters quieted and the house
+clear.
+
+Now when mice run out of the cupboard I go outdoors, and let Maria
+"shoo" them back again. I can kill a mouse, but the fun don't pay for
+the trouble.
+
+
+
+
+THE DYING HEBREW.
+
+KIMBIE.
+
+
+    The following poem, a favourite with the late Mr. Edwin
+    Forrest, was composed by a young law student, and first
+    published in Boston in 1858.
+
+  A Hebrew knelt in the dying light,
+    His eye was dim and cold;
+  The hairs on his brow were silver white,
+    And his blood was thin and old!
+  He lifted his look to his latest sun,
+    For he knew that his pilgrimage was done;
+  And as he saw God's shadow there,
+    His spirit poured itself in prayer!
+  "I come unto death's second birth
+    Beneath a stranger air,
+  A pilgrim on a dull, cold earth,
+    As all my fathers were!
+  And men have stamped me with a curse,
+    I feel it is not Thine;
+  Thy mercy, like yon sun, was made
+    On me, as them, to shine;
+  And therefore dare I lift mine eye
+    Through that to Thee before I die!
+  In this great temple, built by Thee,
+    Whose pillars are divine,
+  Beneath yon lamp, that ceaselessly
+    Lights up Thine own true shrine,
+  Oh take my latest sacrifice--
+    Look down and make this sod
+  Holy as that where, long ago,
+    The Hebrew met his God.
+  I have not caused the widow's tears,
+    Nor dimmed the orphan's eye;
+  I have not stained the virgin's years,
+    Nor mocked the mourner's cry.
+  The songs of Zion in mine ear
+    Have ever been most sweet,
+  And always, when I felt Thee near,
+    My shoes were off my feet.
+  I have known Thee in the whirlwind,
+    I have known Thee on the hill,
+  I have loved Thee in the voice of birds,
+    Or the music of the rill;
+  I dreamt Thee in the shadow,
+    I saw Thee in the light;
+  I blessed Thee in the radiant day,
+    And worshiped Thee at night.
+  All beauty, while it spoke of Thee,
+    Still made my soul rejoice,
+  And my spirit bowed within itself
+    To hear Thy still, small voice!
+  I have not felt myself a thing,
+    Far from Thy presence driven,
+  By flaming sword or waving wing
+    Shut off from Thee and heaven.
+  Must I the whirlwind reap because
+    My fathers sowed the storm?
+  Or shrink, because another sinned,
+    Beneath Thy red, right arm?
+  Oh much of this we dimly scan,
+    And much is all unknown;
+  But I will not take my curse from man--
+    I turn to Thee alone!
+  Oh bid my fainting spirit live,
+    And what is dark reveal,
+  And what is evil, oh forgive,
+    And what is broken heal.
+  And cleanse my nature from above,
+    In the dark Jordan of Thy love!
+  I know not if the Christian's heaven
+    Shall be the same as mine;
+  I only ask to be forgiven,
+    And taken home to Thine.
+  I weary on a far, dim strand,
+    Whose mansions are as tombs,
+  And long to find the Fatherland,
+    Where there are many homes.
+  Oh grant of all yon starry thrones,
+    Some dim and distant star,
+  Where Judah's lost and scattered sons
+    May love Thee from afar.
+  Where all earth's myriad harps shall meet
+    In choral praise and prayer,
+  Shall Zion's harp, of old so sweet,
+    Alone be wanting there?
+  Yet place me in Thy lowest seat,
+    Though I, as now, be there,
+  The Christian's scorn, the Christian's jest;
+    But let me see and hear,
+  From some dim mansion in the sky,
+    Thy bright ones and their melody."
+  The sun goes down with sudden gleam,
+    And--beautiful as a lovely dream
+  And silently as air--
+    The vision of a dark-eyed girl,
+  With long and raven hair,
+    Glides in--as guardian spirits glide--
+  And lo! is kneeling by his side,
+    As if her sudden presence there
+  Were sent in answer to his prayer.
+    (Oh say they not that angels tread
+  Around the good man's dying bed?)
+    His child--his sweet and sinless child--
+  And as he gazed on her
+    He knew his God was reconciled,
+  And this the messenger,
+    As sure as God had hung on high
+  The promise bow before his eye--
+    Earth's purest hopes thus o'er him flung,
+  To point his heavenward faith,
+    And life's most holy feeling strung
+  To sing him into death;
+    And on his daughter's stainless breast
+  The dying Hebrew found his rest!
+
+
+
+
+GIVE ME BACK MY HUSBAND.
+
+
+Not many years since, a young married couple from the far
+"fast-anchored isle" sought our shores with the most sanguine
+anticipations of happiness and prosperity. They had begun to realize
+more than they had seen in the visions of hope, when, in an evil hour,
+the husband was tempted "to look upon the wine when it is red," and
+to taste of it, "when it giveth its colour in the cup." The charmer
+fastened round its victim all the serpent-spells of its sorcery, and
+he fell; and at every step of his degradation from the man to
+the brute, and downward, a heartstring broke in the bosom of his
+companion.
+
+Finally, with the last spark of hope flickering on the altar of her
+heart, she threaded her way into one of those shambles where man is
+made such a thing as the beasts of the field would bellow at. She
+pressed her way through the bacchanalian crowd who were revelling
+there in their own ruin. With her bosom full of "that perilous stuff
+that preys upon the heart," she stood before the plunderer of her
+husband's destiny, and exclaimed in tones of startling anguish, "_Give
+me back my husband!_"
+
+"There's your husband," said the man, as he pointed toward the
+prostrate wretch.
+
+"_That my husband?_ What have you done to him? _That my husband?_ What
+have you done to that noble form that once, like the great oak,
+held its protecting shade over the fragile vine that clung to it for
+support and shelter? _That my husband?_ With what torpedo chill have
+you touched the sinews of that manly arm? What have you done to that
+once noble brow, which he wore high among his fellows, as if it bore
+the superscription of the Godhead? _That my husband?_ What have you
+done to that eye, with which he was wont to look erect on heaven, and
+see in his mirror the image of his God? What Egyptian drug have you
+poured into his veins, and turned the ambling fountains of the heart
+into black and burning pitch? Give me back my husband! Undo your
+basilisk spells, and give me back the _man_ that stood with me by the
+altar!"
+
+The ears of the rumseller, ever since the first demijohn of that
+burning liquid was opened upon our shores, have been saluted, at every
+stage of the traffic, with just such appeals as this. Such wives, such
+widows, and mothers, such fatherless children, as never mourned in
+Israel at the massacre of Bethlehem or at the burning of the temple,
+have cried in his ears, morning, night, and evening, "_Give me back my
+husband! Give me back my boy! Give me back my brother! Give me back my
+sister! Give me back my wife!_"
+
+But has the rumseller been confounded or speechless at these appeals?
+No! not he. He could show his credentials at a moment's notice with
+proud defiance. He always carried in his pocket a written absolution
+for all he had done and could do in his work of destruction. _He
+had bought a letter of indulgence_--I mean a _license!_--a precious
+instrument, signed and sealed by an authority stronger and more
+respectable than the pope's. _He_ confounded? Why, the whole artillery
+of civil power was ready to open in his defence and support. Thus
+shielded by the law, he had nothing to fear from the enemies of
+his traffic. He had the image and superscription of Caesar on his
+credentials, and unto Caesar he appealed; and unto Caesar, too, his
+_victims_ appealed, and _appealed in vain_.
+
+
+
+
+THE ONE-HOSS SHAY; OR, THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE.
+
+A LOGICAL STORY.
+
+O.W. HOLMES.
+
+
+  Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay,
+  That was built in such a logical way
+  It ran a hundred years to a day,
+  And then of a sudden, it--ah, but stay,
+  I'll tell you what happened without delay,
+  Scaring the parson into fits,
+  Frightening people out of their wits,--
+  Have you ever heard of that, I say?
+
+  Seventeen hundred and fifty-five.
+  _Georgius Secundus_ was then alive,--
+  Snuffy old drone from the German hive.
+  That was the year when Lisbon town
+  Saw the earth open and gulp her down,
+  And Braddock's army was done so brown,
+  And left without a scalp to its crown.
+  It was on the terrible Earthquake-day
+  That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay.
+
+  Now in building of chaises, I tell you what,
+  There is always _somewhere_ a weakest spot,--
+  In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill,
+  In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill,
+  In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace,--lurking still,
+  Find it somewhere you must and will,--
+  Above or below, or within or without,--
+  And that's the reason beyond a doubt,
+  A chaise _breaks down_, but doesn't _wear out_.
+
+  But the Deacon swore, (as Deacons do,
+  With an "I dew vum," or an "I tell _yeou_,")
+  He would build one shay to beat the taown
+  'n' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun';
+  --"Fur," said the Deacon, "'t 's mighty plain
+  Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain;
+  'n' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain,
+                  Is only jest
+  T' make that place uz strong uz the rest."
+
+  So the Deacon inquired of the village folk
+  Where he could find the strongest oak,
+  That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke,--
+  That was for spokes and floor and sills;
+  He sent for lancewood to make the thills;
+  The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees;
+  The panels of whitewood, that cut like cheese,
+  But lasts like iron for things like these;
+  The hubs of logs from the "Settler's ellum,"--
+  Last of its timber,--they couldn't sell 'em,
+  Never an axe had seen their chips,
+  And the wedges flew from between their lips,
+  Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips;
+  Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw,
+  Spring, tire, axle and linchpin too,
+  Steel of the finest, bright and blue;
+  Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide;
+  Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide
+  Found in the pit when the tanner died.
+  That was the way he "put her through."--
+  "There!" said the Deacon, "naow she'll dew!"
+
+  Do! I tell you, I rather guess
+  She was a wonder, and nothing less!
+  Colts grew horses, beards turned gray,
+  Deacon and deaconess dropped away,
+  Children and grandchildren,--where were they?
+  But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay
+  As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake day!
+
+  EIGHTEEN HUNDRED;--it came and found
+  The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound.
+  Eighteen hundred increased by ten;--
+  "Hahnsum kerridge" they called it then.
+  Eighteen hundred and twenty came;--
+  Running as usual; much the same.
+  Thirty and forty at last arrive,
+  And then come fifty, and FIFTY-FIVE.
+
+  Little of all we value here
+  Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year
+  Without both feeling and looking queer.
+  In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth,
+  So far as I know, but a tree and truth.
+  (This is a moral that runs at large;
+  Take it.--You're welcome.--No extra charge.)
+
+  FIRST OF NOVEMBER,--the Earthquake-day,--
+  There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay,
+  A general flavor of mild decay,
+  But nothing local as one may say.
+  There couldn't be,--for the Deacon's art
+  Had made it so like in every part
+  That there wasn't a chance for one to start.
+  For the wheels were just as strong as the thills,
+  And the floor was just as strong as the sills,
+  And the panels just as strong as the floor,
+  And the whippletree neither less nor more,
+  And the back crossbar as strong as the fore,
+  And spring and axle and hub _encore_.
+  And yet, _as a whole_, it is past a doubt
+  In another hour it will be _worn out!_
+
+  First of November, 'Fifty-five!
+  This morning the parson takes a drive.
+  Now, small boys, get out of the way!
+  Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay,
+  Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay.
+  "Huddup!" said the parson.--Off went they.
+  The parson was working his Sunday's text,--
+  Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed
+  At what the--Moses--was coming next.
+  All at once the horse stood still,
+  Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill.
+  --First a shiver, and then a thrill,
+  Then something decidedly like a spill,--
+  And the parson was sitting upon a rock,
+  At half-past nine by the meet'n'-house clock,--
+  Just the hour of the Earthquake shock!
+  --What do you think the parson found,
+  When he got up and stared around?
+  The poor old chaise in a heap or mound,
+  As if it had been to the mill and ground!
+  You see, of course, if you're not a dunce,
+  How it went to pieces all at once,--
+  All at once, and nothing first,--
+  Just as bubbles do when they burst.
+
+  End of the wonderful one-hoss shay.
+  Logic is logic. That's all I say.
+
+
+
+
+THE INJURED MOTHER.
+
+From the Rev. JOHN BROWN'S tragedy of BARBAROSSA.
+
+
+CHARACTERS:
+
+  BARBAROSSA, _an Usurper_,
+  OTHMAN, _an officer_,
+  ZAPHIRA, _the Widowed Queen_.
+
+    [This play has many passages of splendid diction, well
+    calculated for bold declamation. The plot of the piece runs
+    thus: _Barbarossa_ having killed, and then usurped the throne
+    of his friend and master, tries to obtain the hand of Zaphira,
+    the late monarch's widow--having previously destroyed, (as is
+    supposed) her son, _Selim_. The following scene represents the
+    interviews between the unhappy queen and her faithful Othman,
+    and of the queen with Barbarossa.
+
+    COSTUMES.--_Barbarossa_ green velvet robe, scarlet satin
+    shirt, white trousers, russet boots, and turban. _Othman_,
+    scarlet fly, yellow satin shirt, white slippers, turban white,
+    scarlet cashmere vest. _Zaphira_, white dress, embroidered
+    with silver, turban, and Turkish shoes.
+
+    NOTE.--A little taste will enable any smart young lady to make
+    up these dresses. They are mostly loose, and the embroidery
+    may be of tinsel--while cheap velveteen looks as well as the
+    best velvet on the stage.]
+
+SCENE I.--_An apartment, with sofa._
+
+_Enter_ ZAPHIRA, R.
+
+  ZAP. (C.) When shall I be at peace? O, righteous heaven
+  Strengthen my fainting soul, which fain would rise
+  To confidence in thee! But woes on woes
+  O'erwhelm me. First my husband, now my son--
+  Both dead--both slaughter'd by the bloody hand
+  Of Barbarossa! What infernal power
+  Unchain'd thee from thy native depth of hell,
+  To stalk the earth with thy destructive train,
+  Murder and lust! To wake domestic peace,
+  And every heart-felt joy!
+
+_Enter_ OTHMAN, L.
+
+  O, faithful Othman!
+  Our fears were true; my Selim is no more!
+
+  OTH. Has, then, the fatal secret reach'd thine ear? Inhuman tyrant!
+
+  ZAP. Strike him, heav'n with thunder,
+  Nor let Zaphira doubt thy providence!
+
+  OTH. 'Twas what we fear'd. Oppose not heav'n's high will,
+  Nor struggle with the ten-fold chain of fate,
+  That links thee to thy woes. O, rather yield,
+  And wait the happier hour, when innocence
+  Shall weep no more. Rest in that pleasing hope,
+  And yield thyself to heaven, my honor'd queen.
+  The king----
+
+  ZAP. Whom stylest thou king?
+
+  OTH. 'Tis Barbarossa.
+
+  ZAP. Does he assume the name of king?
+
+  OTH. He does.
+
+  ZAP. O, title vilely purchas'd!--by the blood
+  Of innocence--by treachery and murder!
+  May heav'n, incens'd, pour down its vengeance on him,
+  Blast all his joys, and turn them into horror
+  Till phrensy rise, and bid him curse the hour
+  That gave his crimes their birth!--My faithful Othman,
+  My sole surviving prop, canst thou devise
+  No secret means, by which I may escape
+  This hated palace?
+
+  OTH. That hope is vain. The tyrant knows thy hate;
+  Hence, day and night, his guards environ thee.
+  Rouse not, then, his anger:
+  Let soft persuasion and mild eloquence
+  Redeem that liberty, which stern rebuke
+  Would rob thee of for ever.
+
+  ZAP. An injur'd queen
+  To kneel for liberty!--And, oh! to whom!
+  E'en to the murd'rer of her lord and son!
+  O, perish first, Zaphira! Yes, I'll die!
+  For what is life to me? My dear, dear lord--
+  My hapless child--yes, I will follow you!
+
+  OTH. Wilt thou not see him, then?
+
+  ZAP. I will not, Othman;
+  Or, if I do, with bitter imprecation
+  More keen than poison shot from serpents' tongues,
+  I'll pour my curses on him.
+
+  OTH. Will Zaphira
+  Thus meanly sink in woman's fruitless rage,
+  When she should wake revenge?
+
+  ZAP. Revenge!--O, tell me--
+  Tell, me but how?--What can a helpless woman?
+
+  OTH. (C.). Gain but the tyrant's leave, and seek thy father;
+  Pour thy complaints before him; let thy wrongs
+  Kindle his indignation to pursue
+  This vile usurper, till unceasing war
+  Blast his ill-gotten pow'r.
+
+  ZAP. (L.C.). Ah! say'st thou, Othman?
+  Thy words have shot like lightning through my frame,
+  And all my soul's on fire!--thou faithful friend!
+  Yes, with more gentle speech I'll soothe his pride;
+  Regain my freedom; reach my father's tents;
+  There paint my countless woes. His kindling rage
+  Shall wake the valleys into honest vengeance;
+  The sudden storm shall pour on Barbarossa,
+  And ev'ry glowing warrior steep his shaft
+  In deadlier poison, to revenge my wrongs! (_crosses to_ R.)
+
+  OTH. (C.). There spoke the queen.--But, as thou lov'st thy freedom,
+  Touch not on Selim's death. Thy soul will kindle,
+  And passion mount in flames that will consume thee.
+
+  ZAP. (R.). My murder'd son!--Yes, to revenge thy death,
+  I'll speak a language which my heart disdains.
+
+  OTH. Peace, peace,!--the tyrant comes. Now, injur'd Queen,
+  Plead for thy freedom, hope for just revenge,
+  And check each rising passion.       [_Exit_ OTHMAN, R.
+
+_Enter_ BARBAROSSA, L.
+
+  BAR. (L.). Hail sovereign fair! in whom
+  Beauty and majesty conspire to charm:
+  Behold the conqu'ror.
+
+  ZAP. (R.C.) O, Barbarossa,
+  No more the pride of conquest e'er can charm
+  My widow'd heart. With my departed lord
+  My love lies buried!
+  Then turn thee to some happier fair, whose heart
+  May crown thy growing love with love sincere;
+  For I have none to give.
+
+  BAR. Love ne'er should die:
+  'Tis the soul's cordial--'tis the font of life;
+  Therefore should spring eternal in the breast.
+  One object lost, another should succeed,
+  And all our life be love.
+
+  ZAP. Urge me no more.--Thou mightst with equal hope
+  Woo the cold marble, weeping o'er a tomb,
+  To meet thy wishes. But, if generous love (_approaches him._)
+  Dwell in thy breast, vouchsafe me proof sincere:
+  Give me safe convoy to the native vales
+  Of dear Mutija, where my father reigns.
+
+  BAR. O, blind to proffer'd bliss!--What! fondly quit
+  This pomp
+  Of empire for an Arab's wand'ring tent,
+  Where the mock chieftain leads his vagrant tribes
+  From plain to plain, and faintly shadows out
+  The majesty of kings!--Far other joys
+  Here shall attend thy call:
+  Submissive realms
+  Shall bow the neck; and swarthy kings and Queens,
+  From the far-distant Niger and the Nile,
+  Drawn captive at my conqu'ring chariot wheels,
+  Shall kneel before thee.
+
+  ZAP. Pomp and pow'r are toys,
+  Which e'en the mind at ease may well disdain:
+  But oh! what mockery is the tinsel pride
+  Of splendour, when the mind
+  Lies desolate within!--Such, such is mine!
+  O'erwhelm'd with ills, and dead to ev'ry joy;
+  Envy me not this last request, to die
+  In my dear father's tents.
+
+  BAR. Thy suit is vain.
+
+  ZAP. Thus, kneeling at thy feet--(_kneels._)
+
+  BAR. Thou thankless fair! (_raises_ ZAPHIRA.)
+  Thus to repay the labours of my love!
+  Had I not seiz'd the throne when Selim died,
+  Ere this thy foes had laid Algiers in ruin.
+  I check'd the warring pow'rs, and gave you peace,
+  Make thee but mine,
+  I will descend the throne, and call thy son
+  From banishment to empire.
+
+  ZAP. O, my heart!
+  Can I bear this?
+  Inhuman tyrant!--curses on thy head!
+  May dire remorse and anguish haunt thy throne,
+  And gender in thy bosom fell despair,--
+  Despair as deep as mine! (_crosses to_ L.)
+
+  BAR. (R.C.). What means Zaphira?
+  What means this burst of grief?
+
+  ZAP. (L.). Thou fell destroyer!
+  Had not guilt steel'd thy heart, awak'ning conscience
+  Would flash conviction on thee, and each look,
+  Shot from these eyes, be arm'd with serpent horrors,
+  To turn thee into stone!--Relentless man!
+  Who did the bloody deeds--O, tremble, guilt,
+  Where'er thou art!--Look on me; tell me, tyrant,
+  Who slew my blameless son?
+
+  BAR. What envious tongue
+  Hath dar'd to taint my name with slander?
+  Thy Selim lives; nay, more, he soon shall reign,
+  If thou consent to bless me.
+
+  ZAP. Never, O, never!--Sooner would I roam
+  An unknown exile through the torrid climes
+  Of Afric--sooner dwell with wolves and tigers,
+  Than mount with thee my murder'd Selim's throne!
+
+  BAR. Rash queen, forbear; think on thy captive state,
+  Remember, that within these palace walls
+  I am omnipotent. Yield thee, then;
+  Avert the gath'ring horrors that surround thee,
+  And dread my pow'r incens'd.
+
+  ZAP. Dares thy licentious tongue pollute mine ear
+  With that foul menace? Tyrant! dread'st thou not
+  Th' all-seeing eye of heav'n, its lifted thunder,
+  And all the red'ning vengeance which it stores
+  For crimes like thine?--Yet know, Zaphira scorns thee.
+          [_crosses to_ R.
+  Though robb'd by thee of ev'ry dear support,
+  No tyrant's threat can awe the free-born soul,
+  That greatly dares to die.      [_Exit_ ZAPHIRA, R.
+
+  BAR. (C.). Where should she learn the tale of Selim's death?
+  Could Othman dare to tell it?--If he did,
+  My rage shall sweep him swifter than the whirlwind,
+  To instant death!          [_Exit._
+
+(R.) Right. (L.) Left. (C.) Centre. (R.C.) Right Centre. (L.C.) Left
+Centre.
+
+
+
+
+THE MILLS OF GOD.
+
+DUGANNE.
+
+    Apart from the noble sentiments of these verses, and their
+    exquisite diction--in which every word is the best that could
+    possibly be used--as in a piece of faultless mosaic every
+    minute stone is so placed as to impart strength, brilliancy,
+    and harmony--they afford an excellent example of lofty,
+    dignified recitation:
+
+
+  Those mills of God! those tireless mills!
+  I hear their ceaseless throbs and thrills:
+  I see their dreadful stones go round,
+  And all the realms beneath them ground;
+  And lives of men and souls of states,
+  Flung out, like chaff, beyond their gates.
+
+  And we, O God! with impious will,
+  Have made these Negroes turn Thy mill!
+  Their human limbs with chains we bound,
+  And bade them whirl Thy mill-stones round;
+  With branded brow and fettered wrist,
+  We bade them grind this Nation's grist!
+
+  And so, like Samson--blind and bound--
+  Our Nation's grist this Negro ground;
+  And all the strength of Freedom's toil,
+  And all the fruits of Freedom's soil,
+  And all her hopes and all her trust,
+  From Slavery's gates were flung, like dust.
+
+  With servile souls this mill we fed,
+  That ground the grain for Slavery's bread;
+  With cringing men, and grovelling deeds,
+  We dwarfed our land to Slavery's needs;
+  Till all the scornful nations hissed,
+  To see us ground with Slavery's grist.
+
+  The mill grinds on! From Slavery's plain,
+  We reap great crops of blood-red grain;
+  And still the Negro's strength we urge,
+  With Slavery's gyve and Slavery's scourge;
+  And still we crave--on Freedom's sod--
+  That Slaves shall turn the mills of God!
+
+  The Mill grinds on! God lets it grind!
+  We sow the seed--the sheaves we bind:
+  The mill-stones whirl as we ordain;
+  Our children's bread shall test the grain!
+  While Samson still in chains we bind,
+  The mill grinds on! God lets it grind!
+
+
+
+
+THE MENAGERIE.
+
+J. HONEYWELL.
+
+
+  Did you ever! No, I never!
+    Mercy on us, what a smell!
+  Don't be frightened, Johnny, dear!
+    Gracious! how the jackals yell!
+  Mother, tell me, what's the man
+    Doing with that pole of his?
+  Bless your little precious heart,
+    He's stirring up the beastesses!
+
+  Children! don't you go so near!
+    Hevings! there's the Afric cowses!
+  What's the matter with the child?
+    Why, the monkey's tore his trowses!
+  Here's the monstrous elephant,--
+    I'm all a tremble at the sight;
+  See his monstrous tooth-pick, boys!
+    Wonder if he's fastened tight?
+
+  There's the lion!--see his tail!
+    How he drags it on the floor!
+  'Sakes alive! I'm awful scared
+    To hear the horrid creatures roar!
+  Here's the monkeys in their cage,
+    Wide awake you are to see 'em;
+  Funny, ain't it? How would you
+    Like to have a tail and be 'em?
+
+  Johnny, darling, that's the bear
+    That tore the naughty boys to pieces;
+  Horned cattle!--only hear
+    How the dreadful camel wheezes!
+  That's the tall giraffe, my boy,
+    Who stoops to hear the morning lark;
+  'Twas him who waded Noah's flood,
+    And scorned the refuge of the ark.
+
+  Here's the crane,--the awkward bird!
+    Strong his neck is as a whaler's,
+  And his bill is full as long
+    As ever met one from the tailor's.
+  Look!--just see the zebra there,
+    Standing safe behind the bars;
+  Goodness me! how like a flag,
+    All except the corner stars!
+
+  There's the bell! the birds and beasts
+    Now are going to be fed;
+  So my little darlings, come,
+    It 's time for you to be abed.
+  "Mother, 't is n't nine o'clock!
+    You said we need n't go before;
+  Let us stay a little while,--
+    Want to see the monkeys more!"
+
+  Cries the showman, "Turn 'em out!
+    Dim the lights!--there, that will do;
+  Come again to-morrow, boys;
+    Bring your little sisters, too."
+  Exit mother, half distraught,
+    Exit father, muttering "bore?"
+  Exit children, blubbering still,
+    "Want to see the monkeys more!"
+
+
+
+
+IGNORANCE IS BLISS
+
+
+CHARACTERS.
+
+  FRED BROWN.
+  JOHNNY GRAY.
+  NED WHITE.
+
+SCENE.--_Recitation-Room at a Public School._
+
+_Enter_ FRED.
+
+_Fred._ A pretty task Master Green has given me this time! He calls me
+to his desk, and says, "Brown, those boys, Gray and White, have
+been very inattentive during the music lesson: take them into the
+recitation-room, and keep them there until they can sing four stanzas
+of 'The Battle-cry of Freedom.'" A nice music-master I am! I can't
+read, sing, or growl a note, and I don't know a single line of "The
+Battle-cry of Freedom." But I must not let them know that. Here they
+are. (_Enter_ GRAY _and_ WHITE; _they get in a corner of the stage, and
+whisper together._) Now, what conspiracy is hatching? Hem! Here, you
+fellows, do you know what you came here for?
+
+_Gray._ To take a music lesson, I suppose.
+
+_Fred._ Well, you had better commence.
+
+_White._ Certainly, after you.
+
+_Fred._ After me! What do you mean?
+
+_White._ I believe it's the custom of all music-masters to first sing
+the song they wish to teach. (_Aside to_ GRAY.) He can't sing a note.
+
+_Gray._ (_Aside to_ WHITE.) He can't? good! Let's plague him.
+(_Aloud._) Come, singing-master, proceed.
+
+_Fred._ No matter about me. You two can sing, and when you make a
+mistake I will correct it.
+
+_Gray._ You'll correct it! That's good. With what, pray?
+
+_Fred._ With this. (_Producing a ratten from under his jacket._)
+
+_White._ O, dear, I don't like that sort of tuning-fork.
+
+_Fred._ You'll get it if you don't hurry. Come, boys, "The Battle-cry
+of Freedom."
+
+_Gray._ (_Aside to_ WHITE.) Ned, do you know the song?
+
+_White._ (_Aside._) I know just one line.
+
+_Gray._ (_Aside._) O, dear, we're in a scrape. (_Aloud._) Master Fred,
+will you please give me the first line? I've forgotten it.
+
+_Fred._ Certainly. Let me see. "Rock me to sleep, mother." No, that
+isn't it.
+
+_White._ (_Aside._) He's split on that rock.
+
+_Fred._ Hem! ah! "Dear father, dear father, come home." O, bother!
+
+_Gray._ (_Aside._) It'll bother him to "come home" with that line.
+
+_Fred._ "Give me a cot."--O, pshaw! I tell you what, boys, I didn't
+come here to talk, but to listen: now you two sing away at once, or
+down comes the ratten.
+
+_Gray._ (_Aside._) I say, Ned, Brown doesn't know it? here's fun. Now
+you just keep quiet, and ring in your line when I snap my fingers.
+
+_White._ (_Aside._) All right. I understand. When you snap, I sing.
+
+_Fred._ Come, come! Strike up, or I shall strike down.
+
+_Gray._ (_Sings to the tune of the Battle-cry of Freedom_,)--
+
+  "Mary had a little lamb;
+  Its fleece was white as snow."
+
+        (_Snaps his fingers._)
+
+_White._ (_Very loud._)
+
+"Shouting the battle-cry of freedom."
+
+_Gray._ (_Sings._)
+
+  "And everywhere that Mary went
+  The lamb was sure to go." (_Snaps._)
+
+_White._ "Shouting the battle-cry of freedom."
+
+_Fred._ Capital! Perfectly correct, perfectly correct. Sing again.
+
+_Gray._ (_Sings._)
+
+  "It followed her to school one day;
+  It was against the rule." (_Snaps._)
+
+_White._ "Shouting the battle-cry of freedom."
+
+_Gray._ (_Sings._)
+
+  "It made the children laugh and play
+  To see a lamb at school." (_Snaps._)
+
+_White._ "Shouting the battle-cry of freedom."
+
+_Fred._ Beautiful! beautiful! I couldn't do it better myself.
+
+_Gray._ (_Aside._) I should think not.
+
+_White._ Come, Mr. Singing-master, you try a stanza.
+
+_Fred._ What, sir! do you want to shirk your task? Sing away.
+
+_Gray._ (_Sings._)
+
+  "And so the teacher turned him out;
+  Yet still he lingered near."    (_Snaps._)
+
+_White._ "Shouting the battle-cry of freedom."
+
+_Gray._
+
+  "And waited patiently about,
+  Till Mary did appear."    (_Snaps._)
+
+_White._ "Shouting the battle-cry of freedom."
+
+_Fred._ Glorious! Why, boys, it's a perfect uproar.
+
+_White._ There's enough, isn't there?
+
+_Fred._ No, sir, four stanzas. Come, be quick.
+
+_Gray._ I don't know any more.
+
+_White._ I'm sure I don't.
+
+_Fred._ Yes you do, you're trying to shirk; but I won't have it. You
+want a taste of the rattan. Come, be lively.
+
+_Gray._ (_Sings._)
+
+  "'What makes the lamb love Mary so?'
+  The eager children cry." (_Snaps._)
+
+_White._ "Shouting the battle-cry of freedom."
+
+_Gray._
+
+  "'Why, Mary loves the lamb, you know,'
+  The teacher did reply." (_Snaps._)
+
+_White._ "Shouting the battle-cry of freedom."
+
+_Fred._ There, boys, I knew you could sing. Now come in, and I will
+tell Master Green how capitally you have done--that I couldn't do
+better myself.
+
+[_Exit._
+
+_White._ Well, Johnny, we got out of that scrape pretty well.
+
+_Gray._ Yes, Ned; but it's a poor way. I must pay a little more
+attention to my singing.
+
+_White._ And so must I, for we may not always have a teacher on whom
+the old saying fits so well.
+
+_Gray._ Old saying? What's that?
+
+_White._ "Where ignorance is bliss--"
+
+_Gray._ O, yes, "'Twere folly to be wise."
+
+[_Exeunt._
+
+
+
+
+THE VULTURE OF THE ALPS.
+
+ANONYMOUS.
+
+    [The following stirring poem is highly dramatic. The reader
+    should, as far as possible, realize the feelings of the
+    shepherd-parent as he sees "the youngest of his babes" borne
+    in the iron-claws of the vulture high in mid air towards his
+    golgotha of a nest. Much force of attitude and gesture is not
+    only admissable, but called for, as the agonized father leans
+    forward following the flight of the vulture.]
+
+
+  I've been among the mighty Alps, and wandered through their vales,
+  And heard the honest mountaineers relate their dismal tales,
+  As round the cottage blazing hearth, when their daily work was o'er
+  They spake of those who disappeared, and ne'er were heard of more.
+
+  And there I from a shepherd heard a narrative of fear,
+  A tale to rend a mortal heart, which mothers might not hear:
+  The tears were standing in his eyes, his voice was tremulous.
+  But, wiping all those tears away, he told his story thus:--
+
+  "It is among these barren cliffs the ravenous vulture dwells,
+  Who never fattens on the prey which from afar he smells;
+  But, patient, watching hour on hour upon a lofty rock,
+  He singles out some truant lamb, a victim, from the flock.
+
+  "One cloudless Sabbath summer morn, the sun was rising high,
+  When from my children on the green, I heard a fearful cry,
+  As if some awful deed were done, a shriek of grief and pain,
+  A cry, I humbly trust in God, I ne'er may hear again.
+
+  "I hurried out to learn the cause; but, overwhelmed with fright,
+  The children never ceased to shriek, and from my frenzied sight
+  I missed the youngest of my babes, the darling of my care,
+  But something caught my searching eyes, slow sailing through the
+          air.
+
+  "Oh! what an awful spectacle to meet a father's eye!
+  His infant made a vulture's prey, with terror to descry!
+  And know, with agonizing breast, and with a maniac rave,
+  That earthly power could not avail, that innocent to save!
+
+  "My infant stretched his little hands imploringly to me,
+  And struggled with the ravenous bird, all vainly to get free,
+  At intervals, I heard his cries, as loud he shrieked and screamed:
+  Until, upon the azure sky, a lessening spot he seemed.
+
+  "The vulture flapped his sail-like wings, though heavily he flew,
+  A mote upon the sun's broad face he seemed unto my view:
+  But once I thought I saw him stoop, as if he would alight;
+  'Twas only a delusive thought, for all had vanished quite.
+
+  "All search was vain, and years had passed; that child was ne'er
+          forgot,
+  When once a daring hunter climbed unto a lofty spot,
+  From whence, upon a rugged crag the chamois never reached,
+  He saw an infant's fleshless bones the elements had bleached!
+
+  "I clambered up that rugged cliff; I could not stay away;
+  I knew they were my infant's bones thus hastening to decay;
+  A tattered garment yet remained, though torn to many a shred,
+  The crimson cap he wore that morn was still upon the head."
+
+  That dreary spot is pointed out to travellers passing by,
+  Who often stand, and, musing, gaze, nor go without a sigh.
+  And as I journeyed, the next morn, along my sunny way,
+  The precipice was shown to me, whereon the infant lay.
+
+
+
+
+FALSTAFF'S BOASTING
+
+SHAKESPEARE.
+
+    This scene will give a good chance to practise _variety_ of
+    expression, both in words and action. Falstaff throws himself
+    into all the attitudes, and elevates and depresses his
+    voice, as if he was actually engaged in the combat he
+    describes--preserving the utmost gravity of face, until he
+    finds that the Prince has really detected him. Then the "fat
+    rogue" bursts into a jolly, unctuous laugh, and carries off
+    the honors, after all:
+
+
+_P. Henry._ What's the matter?
+
+_Fal._ What's the matter? there be four of us here have ta'en a
+thousand pound this morning.
+
+_P. Hen._ Where is it, Jack? where is it?
+
+_Fal._ Where is it? taken from us it is: a hundred upon poor four of
+us.
+
+_P. Hen._ What, a hundred, man?
+
+_Fal._ I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them
+two hours together. I have 'scaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust
+through the doublet; four, through the hose; my buckler cut through
+and through; my sword hacked like a hand-saw _ecce signum_. I never
+dealt better since I was a man: all would not do. A plague of all
+cowards!--Let them speak: if they speak more or less than truth, they
+are villains, and the sons of darkness.
+
+_P. Hen._ Speak, sirs: how was it?
+
+_Gads._ We four set upon some dozen,--
+
+_Fal._ Sixteen at least, my lord.
+
+_Gads._ And bound them.
+
+_Peto._ No, no, they were not bound.
+
+_Fal._ You rogue, they were bound, every man of them; or I am a Jew
+else, an Ebrew Jew.
+
+_Gads._ As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us.
+
+_Fal._ And unbound the rest, and then come in the other.
+
+_P. Hen._ What, fought ye with them all?
+
+_Fal._ All! I know not what ye call, all; but if I fought not with
+fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish; if there were not two or three
+and fifty upon poor old Jack, then I am no two-legged creature.
+
+_Poins._ Pray God, you have not murdered some of them.
+
+_Fal._ Nay, that's past praying for, for I have peppered two of them:
+two, I am sure, I have paid; two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee
+what, Hal,--if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse.
+Thou knowest my old ward;--here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four
+rogues in buckram let drive at me.--
+
+_P. Hen._ What, four? thou said'st but two, even now.
+
+_Fal._ Four, Hal; I told thee four.
+
+_Poins._ Ay, ay, he said four.
+
+_Fal._ These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at me. I made no
+more ado, but took all their seven points in my target, thus.
+
+_P. Hen._ Seven? why, there were but four, even now.
+
+_Fal._ In buckram.
+
+_Poins._ Ay, four in buckram suits.
+
+_Fal._ Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.
+
+_P. Hen._ Pr'ythee, let him alone; we shall have more anon.
+
+_Fal._ Dost thou hear me, Hal?
+
+_P. Hen._ Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.
+
+_Fal._ Do, so, for it is worth the listening to. The nine in buckram
+that I told thee of,----
+
+_P. Hen._ So, two more already.
+
+_Fal._ Their points being broken,----
+
+_Poins._ Down fell their hose.
+
+_Fal._ Began to give me ground: But I followed me close, came in foot
+and hand: and, with a thought, seven of the eleven I paid.
+
+_P. Hen._ O monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two!
+
+_Fal._ But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves,
+in Kendal green, came at my back, and let drive at me; for it was so
+dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand.
+
+_P. Hen._ These lies are like the father that begets them; gross as
+a mountain, open palpable. Why, thou clay-brained guts; thou
+knotty-pated fool! thou whoreson, obscene, greasy, tallow-keech,--
+
+_Fal._ What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth, the truth?
+
+_P. Hen._ Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal green,
+when it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand? come, tell us thy
+reason; what sayest thou to this?
+
+_Poins._ Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.
+
+_Fal._ What, upon compulsion? No; were I at the strappado, or all the
+racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a
+reason on compulsion! if reasons were as plenty as blackberries I
+would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I.
+
+_P. Hen._ I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine coward,
+this bed-presser, this horse back-breaker, this huge hill of flesh;--
+
+_Fal._ Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's-tongue,
+bull's-pizzle, you stock-fish,--O for breath to utter what is like
+thee!--you tailor's yard, you sheathe, you bow-case, you vile standing
+tuck;--
+
+_P. Hen._ Well, breathe a while and then to it again; and when thou
+hast tired thyself in base comparisons hear me speak but this.
+
+_Poins._ Mark, Jack.
+
+_P. Hen._ We two saw you four set on four: you bound them, and were
+masters of their wealth.--Mark now how plain a tale shall put you
+down.--Then did we two set on you four: and, with a word, out-faced
+you from your prize, and have it; yea, and can show it you here in the
+house:--and, Falstaff, you carried your guts away as nimbly, with as
+quick dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as
+ever I heard bull-calf. What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword, as
+thou hast done; and then say, it was a fight! What trick, what device,
+what starting-hole, canst now find out, to hide thee from this open
+and apparent shame?
+
+_Poins._ Come, let's hear, Jack: What trick hast thou now?
+
+_Fal._ By the Lord, I knew ye, as well as he that made ye. Why, hear
+ye, my masters: Was it for me to kill the heir apparent? Should I turn
+upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest, I am as valiant as Hercules;
+but beware instinct; the lion will not touch the true prince. Instinct
+is a great matter; I was a coward on instinct. I shall think the
+better of myself and thee, during my life; I, for a valiant lion, and
+thou for a true prince. But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have
+the money.--Hostess, clap to the doors; watch to-night, pray
+to-morrow.--Gallant, lads, boys, hearts of gold. All the titles of
+good fellowship come to you! What, shall we be merry? shall we have a
+play extempore?
+
+
+
+
+ON TO FREEDOM.
+
+DUGANNE.
+
+    This poem should be delivered with bold energy, with flashing
+    eye, swelling breast, and free action--as though the speaker's
+    heart was full of the nobility of the theme:
+
+    "There has been the cry--'On to Richmond!' And still another
+    cry--On to England!' Better than either is the cry--'On to
+    Freedom!'"
+
+    CHARLES SUMNER.
+
+
+
+
+  On to Freedom! On to Freedom!
+    'Tis the everlasting cry
+  Of the floods that strive with ocean--
+    Of the storms that smite the sky;
+  Of the atoms in the whirlwind,
+    Of the seed beneath the ground--
+  Of each living thing in Nature
+        That is bound!
+  'Twas the cry that led from Egypt,
+    Through the desert wilds of Edom:
+  Out of darkness--out of bondage--
+    On to Freedom! On to Freedom!
+
+  O! thou stony-hearted Pharaoh!
+    Vainly warrest thou with God!
+  Moveless, at thy palace portals,
+    Moses waits, with lifted rod!
+  O! thou poor barbarian, Xerxes!
+    Vainly o'er the Pontic main
+  Flingest thou, to curb its utterance,
+        Scourge or chain!
+  For, the cry that led from Egypt,
+    Over desert wilds of Edom,
+  Speaks alike through Greek and Hebrew;
+    On to Freedom! On to Freedom!
+
+  In the Roman streets, with Gracchus,
+    Hark! I hear that cry outswell;
+  In the German woods with Hermann,
+    And on Switzer hills, with Tell;
+  Up from Spartacus, the Bondman,
+    When his tyrants yoke he clave,
+  And from Stalwart Wat the Tyler--
+        Saxon slave!
+  Still the old, old cry of Egypt,
+    Struggling up from wilds of Edom--
+  Sounding still through all the ages:
+    On to Freedom! On to Freedom!
+
+  On to Freedom! On to Freedom!
+    Gospel cry of laboring Time:
+  Uttering still, through seers and sages,
+    Words of hope and faith sublime!
+  From our Sidneys, and our Hampdens,
+    And our Washingtons they come:
+  And we cannot, and we dare not
+        Make them dumb!
+  Out of all the shames of Egypt--
+  Out of all the snares of Edom;
+  Out of darkness--out of bondage--
+    On to Freedom! On to Freedom!
+
+
+
+
+THE MURDERED TRAVELLER.
+
+WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
+
+
+  When spring, to woods and wastes around,
+    Brought bloom and joy again,
+  The murdered traveller's bones were found,
+    Far down a narrow glen.
+
+  The fragrant birch, above him, hung
+    Her tassels in the sky;
+  And many a vernal blossom sprung,
+    And nodded, careless, by.
+
+  The red-bird warbled, as he wrought
+    His hanging nest o'erhead;
+  And, fearless, near the fatal spot,
+    Her young the partridge led.
+
+  But there was weeping far away,
+    And gentle eyes, for him,
+  With watching many an anxious day,
+    Grew sorrowful and dim.
+
+  They little knew, who loved him so,
+    The fearful death he met,
+  When shouting o'er the desert snow,
+    Unarmed, and hard beset.
+
+  Nor how, when round the frosty pole,
+    The northern dawn was red,
+  The mountain-wolf and wild-cat stole,
+    To banquet on the dead;
+
+  Nor how, when strangers found his bones,
+    They dressed the hasty bier,
+ And marked his grave with nameless stones,
+    Unmoistened by a tear.
+
+  But long they looked, and feared and wept,
+    Within his distant home;
+  And dreamt and started as they slept,
+    For joy that he was come.
+
+  So long they looked--but never spied
+    His welcome step again,
+  Nor knew the fearful death he died,
+    Far down that narrow glen.
+
+
+
+
+DAVID'S LAMENT OVER ABSALOM.
+
+N.P. WILLIS.
+
+
+    This admirable composition gives ample scope for gentle,
+    mournful, tear-stricken recitation. The thoughts prompt the
+    speaker to natural expression:
+
+
+                          The king stood still
+  Till the last echo died: then throwing off
+  The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back
+  The pall from the still features of his child,
+  He bowed his head upon him and broke forth
+  In the resistless eloquence of woe:--
+
+  "Alas! my noble boy! that thou should'st die
+    Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair!
+  That death should settle in thy glorious eye,
+    And leave his stillness in this clustering hair.
+  How could he mark _thee_ for the silent tomb,
+        My proud boy, Absalom!
+
+  "Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill,
+    As to my bosom I have tried to press thee;
+  How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill,
+    Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee,
+  And hear thy sweet '_my father_' from these dumb
+        And cold lips, Absalom!
+
+  "The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush
+    Of music, and the voices of the young;
+  And life will pass me in the mantling blush,
+    And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung;
+  But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shall come
+    To meet me, Absalom!
+
+  "And, oh! when I am stricken, and my heart,
+    Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken,
+  How will its love for thee, as I depart,
+    Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token!
+  It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom,
+        To see thee, Absalom!
+
+  "And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up,
+    With death so like a gentle slumber on thee:--
+  And thy dark sin!--Oh! I could drink the cup,
+    If from this woe its bitterness had won thee.
+  May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home,
+        My erring Absalom!"
+
+  He covered up his face, and bowed himself
+  A moment on his child: then, giving him
+  A look of melting tenderness, he clasped
+  His hands convulsively, as if in prayer;
+  And, as a strength were given him of God,
+  He rose up calmly, and composed the pall
+  Firmly and decently, and left him there,
+  As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.
+
+
+
+
+THE BOY ARCHER.
+
+SHERIDAN KNOWLES.
+
+
+    The fire and energy of Tell contrasts nobly with the youthful
+    ambition of his son's young and noble heart. It is a charming
+    exercise, and exceedingly effective when well delivered:
+
+
+SCENE.--_Exterior of_ TELL'S _cottage. Enter_ ALBERT (TELL'S _son_)
+_with bow and arrows, and_ VERNER.
+
+  _Verner._ Ah! Albert! What have you there?
+
+  _Albert._ My bow and arrows, Verner.
+
+  _Ver._ When will you use them like your father, boy?
+
+  _Alb._ Some time, I hope.
+
+  _Ver._                    You brag! There's not an archer
+  In all Helvetia can compare with him.
+
+  _Alb._ But I'm his son; and when I am a man
+  I may be like him. Verner, do I brag,
+  To think I some time may be like my father?
+  If so, then is it he that teaches me;
+  For, ever as I wonder at his skill,
+  He calls me boy, and says I must do more
+  Ere I become a man.
+
+  _Ver._                May you be such
+  A man as he--if heaven wills, better--I'll
+  Not quarrel with its work; yet 'twill content me
+  If you are only such a man.
+
+  _Alb._         I'll show you
+  How I can shoot (_goes out to fix the mark._)
+
+  _Ver._ Nestling as he is, he is the making of a bird
+  Will own no cowering wing.
+
+  _Re-enter_ ALBERT.
+
+  _Alb._ Now, Verner, look! (_shoots_) There's within
+  An inch!
+
+  _Ver._ Oh, fy! it wants a hand.      [_Exit_ VERNER.
+
+  _Alb._                A hand's
+  An inch for me. I'll hit it yet. Now for it.
+
+  _While_ ALBERT _continues to shoot,_ TELL _enters and watches
+  him some time, in silence._
+
+  _Tell._ That's scarce a miss that comes so near the mark?
+  Well aimed, young archer! With what ease he bends
+  The bow. To see those sinews, who'd believe
+  Such strength did lodge in them? That little arm,
+  His mother's palm can span, may help, anon,
+  To pull a sinewy tyrant from his seat,
+  And from their chains a prostrate people lift
+  To liberty. I'd be content to die,
+  Living to see that day! What, Albert!
+
+  _Alb._                         Ah!
+  My father!
+
+  _Tell._ You raise the bow
+  Too fast. (ALBERT _continues shooting._)
+  Bring it slowly to the eye.--You've missed.
+  How often have you hit the mark to-day?
+
+  _Alb._ Not once, yet.
+
+  _Tell._           You're not steady. I perceive
+  You wavered now. Stand firm. Let every limb
+  Be braced as marble, and as motionless.
+  Stand like the sculptor's statue on the gate
+  Of Altorf, that looks life, yet neither breathes
+  Nor stirs. (ALBERT _shoots_) That's better!
+  See well the mark. Rivet your eye to it
+  There let it stick, fast as the arrow would,
+  Could you but send it there. (ALBERT _shoots_)
+  You've missed again! How would you fare,
+  Suppose a wolf should cross your path, and you
+  Alone, with but your bow, and only time
+  To fix a single arrow? 'Twould not do
+  To miss the wolf! You said the other day,
+  Were you a man you'd not let Gesler live--
+  'Twas easy to say that. Suppose you, now,
+  Your life or his depended on that shot!--
+  Take care! That's Gesler!--Now for liberty!
+  Right to the tyrant's heart! (_hits the mark_) Well done, my boy!
+  Come here. How early were you up?
+
+  _Alb._ Before the sun.
+
+  _Tell._ Ay, strive with him. He never lies abed
+  When it is time to rise. Be like the sun.
+
+  _Alb._ What you would have me like, I'll be like,
+  As far as will to labor joined can make me.
+
+  _Tell._ Well said, my boy! Knelt you when you got up To-day?
+
+  _Alb._ I did; and do so every day.
+
+  _Tell._ I know you do! And think you, when you kneel,
+  To whom you kneel?
+
+  _Alb._      To Him who made me, father.
+
+  _Tell._ And in whose name?
+
+  _Alb._      The name of Him who died
+  For me and all men, that all men and I
+  Should live
+
+  _Tell._ That's right. Remember that my son:
+  Forget all things but that--remember that!
+  'Tis more than friends or fortune; clothing, food;
+  All things on earth; yea, life itself!--It is
+  To live, when these are gone, when they are naught--
+  With God! My son remember that!
+
+  _Alb._               I will.
+
+  _Tell._ I'm glad you value what you're taught.
+  That is the lesson of content, my son;
+  He who finds which has all--who misses, nothing.
+
+  _Alb._ Content is a good thing.
+
+  _Tell._                       A thing, the good
+  Alone can profit by. But go, Albert,
+  Reach thy cap and wallet, and thy mountain staff.
+  Don't keep me waiting.              [_Exit_ ALBERT.
+
+  TELL. _paces the stage in thought. Re-enter_ ALBERT.
+
+  _Alb._ I am ready, father.
+
+  _Tell._ (_taking_ ALBERT _by the hand_). Now mark me, Albert
+        Dost thou fear the snow,
+  The ice-field, or the hail flaw? Carest thou for
+  The mountain mist that settles on the peak,
+  When thou art upon it? Dost thou tremble at
+  The torrent roaring from the deep ravine,
+  Along whose shaking ledge thy track doth lie?
+  Or faintest thou at the thunder-clap, when on
+  The hill thou art o'ertaken by the cloud,
+  And it doth burst around thee? Thou must travel
+  All night.
+
+  _Alb._ I'm ready; say all night again.
+
+  _Tell._ The mountains are to cross, for thou must reach
+  Mount Faigel by the dawn.
+
+  _Alb._ Not sooner shall
+  The dawn be there than I.
+
+  _Tell._           Heaven speeding thee.
+
+  _Alb._ Heaven speeding me.
+
+  _Tell._                   Show me thy staff. Art sure
+  Of the point? I think 'tis loose. No--stay! 'Twill do.
+  Caution is speed when danger's to be passed.
+  Examine well the crevice. Do not trust the snow!
+  'Tis well there is a moon to-night.
+  You're sure of the track?
+
+  _Alb._         Quite sure.
+
+  _Tell._                    The buskin of
+  That leg's untied; stoop down and fasten it.
+  You know the point where you must round the cliff?
+
+  _Alb._ I do.
+
+  _Tell._       Thy belt is slack--draw it tight.
+  Erni is in Mount Faigel: take this dagger
+  And give it him! you know its caverns well.
+  In one of them you will find him. Farewell.
+
+
+
+
+A VENTRILOQUIST ON A STAGE-COACH.
+
+HENRY COCKTON.
+
+
+"Now then, look alive there!" shouted the coachman from the
+booking-office door, as Valentine and his Uncle John approached. "Have
+yow got that are mare's shoe made comfor'ble, Simon!"
+
+"All right, sir," said Simon, and he went round to see if it were so,
+while the luggage was being secured.
+
+"Jimp up, genelmen!" cried the coachman, as he waddled from the office
+with his whip in one hand and his huge way-bill in the other; and the
+passengers accordingly proceeded to arrange themselves on the various
+parts of the coach,--Valentine, by the particular desire of Uncle
+John, having deposited himself immediately behind the seat of the
+coachman.
+
+"If you please," said an old lady, who had been standing in the
+gateway upwards of an hour, "will you be good enow, please, to take
+care of my darter?"
+
+"All safe," said the coachman, untwisting the reins. "She shaunt take
+no harm. Is she going all the way?"
+
+"Yes, sir," replied the old lady; "God bless her! She's got a place in
+Lunnun, an' I'm told--"
+
+"Hook on them ere two sacks o' whoats there behind," cried the
+coachman; "I marn't go without 'em this time.--Now, all right there?"
+
+"Good by, my dear," sobbed the old lady, "do write to me soon, be sure
+you do,--I only want to hear from you often. Take care of yourself."
+
+"Hold hard!" cried the coachman, as the horses were dancing, on the
+cloths being drawn from their loins. "Whit, whit!" and away they
+pranced, as merrily as if they had known that _their_ load was nothing
+when compared with the load they left behind them. Even old Uncle
+John, as he cried "Good by, my dear boy," and waved his hand for the
+last time, felt the tears trickling down his cheeks.
+
+The salute was returned, and the coach passed on.
+
+The fulness of Valentine's heart caused him for the first hour to
+be silent; but after that, the constant change of scene and the pure
+bracing air had the effect of restoring his spirits, and he felt
+a powerful inclination to sing. Just, however, as he was about to
+commence for his own amusement, the coach stopped to change horses. In
+less than two minutes they started again, and Valentine, who then felt
+ready for anything, began to think seriously of the exercise of his
+power as a ventriloquist.
+
+"Whit, whit!" said Tooler, the coachman, between a whisper and a
+whistle, as the fresh horses galloped up the hill.
+
+"Stop! hoa!" cried Valentine, assuming a voice, the sound of which
+appeared to have travelled some distance.
+
+"You have left some one behind," observed a gentleman in black, who
+had secured the box seat.
+
+"Oh, let un run a bit!" said Tooler. "Whit! I'll give un a winder up
+this little hill, and teach un to be up in time in future. If we was
+to wait for every passenger as chooses to lag behind, we shouldn't git
+over the ground in a fortnit."
+
+"Hoa! stop! stop! stop!" reiterated Valentine, in the voice of a man
+pretty well out of breath.
+
+Tooler, without deigning to look behind, retickled the haunches of his
+leaders, and gleefully chuckled at the idea of _how_ he was making a
+passenger sweat.
+
+The voice was heard no more, and Tooler, on reaching the top of the
+hill, pulled up and looked round, but could see no man running.
+
+"Where is he?" inquired Tooler.
+
+"In the ditch!" replied Valentine, throwing his voice behind.
+
+"In the ditch!" exclaimed Tooler. "Blarm me, whereabouts?"
+
+"There," said Valentine.
+
+"Bless my soul!" cried the gentleman in black, who was an exceedingly
+nervous village clergyman. "The poor person no doubt is fallen down
+in an absolute state of exhaustion. How very, very wrong of you,
+coachman, not to stop!"
+
+Tooler, apprehensive of some serious occurrence, got down with
+the view of dragging the exhausted passenger out of the ditch; but
+although he ran several hundred yards down the hill, no such person of
+course could be found.
+
+"Who saw un?" shouted Tooler, as he panted up the hill again.
+
+"I saw nothing," said a passenger behind, "but a boy jumping over the
+hedge."
+
+Tooler looked at his way-bill, counted the passengers, found them all
+right, and, remounting the box, got the horses again into a gallop, in
+the perfect conviction that some villanous young scarecrow had raised
+the false alarm.
+
+"Whit! blarm them 'ere boys!" said Tooler, "'stead o' mindin' their
+crows, they are allus up to suffen. I only wish I had un here, I'd pay
+_on_ to their blarmed bodies; if I would n't--" At this interesting
+moment, and as if to give a practical illustration of what he would
+have done in the case, he gave the off-wheeler so telling a cut round
+the loins that the animal without any ceremony kicked over the trace.
+Of course Tooler was compelled to pull up again immediately; and after
+having adjusted the trace, and asking the animal seriously what he
+meant, at the same time enforcing the question by giving him a blow on
+the bony part of the nose, he prepared to remount; but just as he had
+got his left foot upon the nave of the wheel, Valentine so admirably
+imitated the sharp snapping growl of a dog in the front boot, that
+Tooler started back as quickly as if he had been shot, while the
+gentleman in black dropped the reins and almost jumped into the road.
+
+"Good gracious!" exclaimed the gentleman in black, trembling with
+great energy; "How wrong, how very horribly wrong, of you, coachman,
+not to tell me that a dog had been placed beneath my feet."
+
+"Blarm their carcases!" cried Tooler, "they never told _me_ a dog was
+shoved there. Lay _down_! We'll soon have yow out there together!"
+
+"Not for the world!" cried the gentleman in black, as Tooler
+approached the foot-board in order to open it. "Not for the world!
+un-un-un-less you le-le-let me get down first. I have no desire to
+pe-pe-perish of hydropho-phobia."
+
+"Kip yar fut on the board then, sir, please," said Tooler, "we'll soon
+have the varmint out o' that." So saying, he gathered up the reins,
+remounted the box, and started off the horses again at full gallop.
+
+The gentleman in black then began to explain to Tooler how utterly
+inconceivable was the number of persons who had died of hydrophobia
+within an almost unspeakable short space of time, in the immediate
+vicinity of the residence of a friend of his in London; and just as
+he had got into the marrow of a most excruciating description of the
+intense mental and physical agony of which the disease in its worst
+stage was productive, both he and Tooler suddenly sprang back, with
+their feet in the air, and their heads between the knees of the
+passengers behind them, on Valentine giving a loud growling snap, more
+bitingly indicative of anger than before.
+
+As Tooler had tightly hold of the reins when he made this involuntary
+spring, the horses stopped on the instant, and allowed him time to
+scramble up again without rendering the slow process dangerous.
+
+"I cannot, I-I-I positively cannot," said the gentleman in black, who
+had been thrown again into a dreadful state of excitement, "I cannot
+sit here,--my nerves cannot endure it; it's perfectly shocking."
+
+"Blister their bowls!" exclaimed Tooler, whose first impulse was to
+drag the dog out of the boot at all hazards, but who, on seeing the
+horses waiting in the road a short distance ahead for the next stage,
+thought it better to wait till he had reached them. "I'll make un
+remember this the longest day o' thar blessed lives,--blarm un! Phih!
+I'll let un know when I get back, I warrant. I'll larn un to--"
+
+"Hoa, coachman! hoa! my hat's off!" cried Valentine, throwing his
+voice to the back of the coach.
+
+"Well, _may_ I be--phit!" said Tooler. "I'll make yow run for't
+anyhow--phit!"
+
+In less than a minute the coach drew up opposite the stable, when the
+gentleman in black at once proceeded to alight. Just, however, as
+his foot reached the plate of the roller-bolt, another growl from
+Valentine frightened him backwards, when falling upon one of the
+old horse-keepers, he knocked him fairly down, and rolled over him
+heavily.
+
+"Darng your cloomsy carkus," cried the horse-keeper, gathering himself
+up, "carn't you git oof ar cooarch aroat knocking o' pipple darn?"
+
+"I-I-I beg pardon," tremblingly observed the gentleman in black; "I
+hope I-I--"
+
+"Whoap! pardon!" contemptuously echoed the horse-keeper as he limped
+towards the bars to unhook the leaders' traces.
+
+"Now then, yow warmint, let's see who yow belong to," said Tooler,
+approaching the mouth of the boot; but just as he was in the act of
+raising the foot-board, another angry snap made him close it again
+with the utmost rapidity.
+
+"Lay down! blarm your body!" cried Tooler, shrinking back. "Here, yow
+Jim, kim here, bor, and take this 'ere devil of a dog out o' that."
+
+Jim approached, and the growling was louder than before, while the
+gentleman in black implored Jim to take care that the animal didn't
+get hold of his hand.
+
+"Here, yow Harry!" shouted Jim, "yare noot afeared o' doogs
+together,--darng un, _I_ doont like un."
+
+Accordingly Harry came, and then Sam, and then Bob, and then Bill; but
+as the dog could not be seen, and as the snarling continued, neither
+of them dared to put his hand in to drag the monster forth. Bob
+therefore ran off for Tom Titus the blacksmith, who was supposed to
+care for nothing, and in less than two minutes Tom Titus arrived with
+about three feet of rod-iron red hot.
+
+"Darng un!" cried Tom, "this ere 'll maake un _quit_ together!"
+
+"Dear me! my good man," said the gentleman in black, "don't use that
+unchristian implement! don't put the dumb thing to such horrible
+torture!"
+
+"It don't siggerfy a button," cried Tooler, "I marn't go to stop here
+all day. Out he must come."
+
+Upon this Tom Titus introduced his professional weapon, and commenced
+poking about with considerable energy, while the snapping and growling
+increased with each poke.
+
+"I'll tell you what it is," said Tom Titus, turning round and wiping
+the sweat off his brow with his naked arm, "this here cretur here's
+stark raavin' mad."
+
+"I knew that he was," cried the gentleman in black, getting into an
+empty wagon which stood without horses just out of the road; "I felt
+perfectly sure that he was rabid."
+
+"He 's a bull-terrier too," said Tom Titus, "I knows it by 's growl.
+It 's the worsest and dargdest to go maad as is."
+
+"Well, what shall us do wi' th' warment?" said Tooler.
+
+"Shoot him! shoot him!" cried the gentleman in black.
+
+"O, I 've goot a blunderbus, Bob!" said Tom Titus, "yow run for 't
+together, it 's top o' the forge."
+
+Bob started at once, and Tom kept on the bar, while Tooler, Sam, and
+Harry, and Bob held the heads of the horses.
+
+"He 's got un; all right!" cried Tom Titus, as Bob neared the coach
+with the weapon on his shoulder. "Yow 'll be doon in noo time," he
+added as he felt with his rod to ascertain in which corner of the boot
+the bull-terrier lay.
+
+"Is she loarded?" asked Bob, as he handed Tom Titus the instrument of
+death.
+
+"Mind you make the shot come out at bottom," shouted Tooler.
+
+"I hool," said Tom Titus, putting the weapon to his shoulder. "Noo the
+Loord ha' marcy on yar, as joodge says sizes," and instantly let fly.
+
+The horses of course plunged considerably, but still did no mischief;
+and before the smoke had evaporated, Valentine introduced into the
+boot a low melancholy howl, which convinced Tom Titus that the shot
+had taken effect.
+
+"He 's giv oop the ghost; darng his carkus!" cried Tom, as he poked
+the dead body in the corner.
+
+"Well, let 's have a look at un," said Tooler, "let 's see what the
+warment is like."
+
+The gentleman in black at once leaped out of the wagon, and every one
+present drew near, when Tom, guided by the rod which he had kept upon
+the body, put his hand into the boot, and drew forth a fine hare that
+had been shattered by the shot all to pieces.
+
+"He arn't a bull-terrier," cried Bob.
+
+"But that arn't he," said Tom Titus. "He 's some'er aboot here as dead
+as a darng'd nail. I know he 's a corpse."
+
+"Are you sure on 't?" asked Tooler.
+
+"There arn't any barn door deader," cried Tom. "Here, I'll lug um out
+an' show yar."
+
+"No, no!" shouted Tooler, as Tom proceeded to pull out the luggage.
+"I marn't stay for that. I 'm an hour behind now, blarm un! jimp up,
+genelmen!"
+
+Tom Titus and his companions, who wanted the bull-terrier as a trophy,
+entreated Tooler to allow them to have it, and, having at length
+gained his consent, Tom proceeded to empty the boot. Every eye was, of
+course, directed to everything drawn out, and when Tom made a solemn
+declaration that the boot was empty, they were all, at once, struck
+with amazement. Each looked at the other with astounding incredulity,
+and overhauled the luggage again and again.
+
+"Do you mean to say," said Tooler, "that there arn't nuffin else in
+the boot?"
+
+"Darnged a thing!" cried Tom Titus, "coom and look." And Tooler did
+look, and the gentleman in black looked, and Bob looked, and Harry
+looked, and Bill looked, and Sam looked, and all looked, but found the
+boot empty.
+
+"Well, blarm me!" cried Tooler. "But darng it all, he must be
+somewhere!"
+
+"I' ll taake my solum davy," said Bill, "that he _was_ there."
+
+"I seed um myself," exclaimed Bob, "wi' my oarn eyes, an' didn't loike
+the looks on um a bit."
+
+"There cannot," said the gentleman in black, "be the smallest possible
+doubt about his having been there; but the question for our mature
+consideration is, where is he now?"
+
+"I 'll bet a pint," said Harry, "you blowed um away?"
+
+"Blowed um away, you fool!--how could I ha' blowed um away?"
+
+"Why, he _was_ there," said Bob, "and he baint there noo, and he baint
+here nayther, so you mus ha' blowed um out o' th' boot; 'sides, look
+at the muzzle o' this ere blunderbust!"
+
+"Well, of all the rummest goes as ever happened," said Tooler,
+thrusting his hands to the very bottom of his pockets, "this ere flogs
+'em all into nuffin!"
+
+"It is perfectly astounding!" exclaimed the gentleman in black,
+looking again into the boot, while the men stood and stared at each
+other with their mouths as wide open as human mouths could be.
+
+"Well, in wi' 'em agin," cried Tooler, "in wi' 'em!--Blarm me if this
+here arn't a queer un to get over."
+
+The luggage was accordingly replaced, and Tooler, on mounting the
+box, told the men to get a gallon of beer, when the gentleman in black
+generously gave them half a crown, and the horses started off, leaving
+Tom with his blunderbuss, Harry, Bill, Sam, and their companions,
+bewildered with the mystery which the whole day spent in the alehouse
+by no means enabled them to solve.
+
+
+
+
+THERE'S BUT ONE PAIR OF STOCKINGS TO MEND TO-NIGHT.
+
+    Recite this in a simple unaffected manner; carefully
+    avoiding anything like _rant_. At times the voice should sink
+    tremulously low, as the good dame recalls memories of her
+    departed children:
+
+
+  An old wife sat by her bright fireside,
+    Swaying thoughtfully to and fro,
+  In an ancient chair whose creaky frame
+    Told a tale of long ago;
+  While down by her side, on the kitchen floor,
+  Stood a basket of worsted balls--a score.
+
+  The old man dozed o'er the latest news,
+    Till the light of his pipe went out,
+  And, unheeded, the kitten, with cunning paws,
+    Rolled and tangled the balls about;
+  Yet still sat the wife in the ancient chair,
+  Swaying to and fro, in the firelight glare.
+
+  But anon a misty tear-drop came
+    In her eye of faded blue,
+  Then trickled down in a furrow deep,
+    Like a single drop of dew;
+  So deep was the channel--so silent the stream--
+  The good man saw naught but the dimmed eye-beam.
+
+  Yet he marvelled much that the cheerful light
+    Of her eye had weary grown,
+  And marvelled he more at the tangled balls;
+    So he said in a gentle tone,
+  "I have shared thy joys since our marriage vow,
+  Conceal not from me thy sorrows now."
+
+  Then she spoke of the time when the basket there
+    Was filled to the very brim,
+  And how there remained of the goodly pile
+    But a single pair--for him.
+  "Then wonder not at the dimmed eye-light,
+  There's but one pair of stockings to mend to-night.
+
+  "I cannot but think of the busy feet,
+    Whose wrappings were wont to lie
+  In the basket, awaiting the needle's time,
+    Now wandered so far away;
+  How the sprightly steps to a mother dear,
+  Unheeded fell on the careless ear.
+
+  "For each empty nook in the basket old,
+    By the hearth there's a vacant seat;
+  And I miss the shadows from off the wall,
+    And the patter of many feet;
+  'Tis for this that a tear gathered over my sight
+  At the one pair of stockings to mend to-night.
+
+  "'Twas said that far through the forest wild,
+    And over the mountains bold,
+  Was a land whose rivers and darkening caves
+    Were gemmed with the rarest gold;
+  Then my first-born turned from the oaken door,
+  And I knew the shadows were only four.
+
+  "Another went forth on the foaming waves
+    And diminished the basket's store--
+  But his feet grew cold--so weary and cold--
+    They'll never be warm any more--
+  And this nook in its emptiness, seemeth to me
+  To give forth no voice but the moan of the sea.
+
+  "Two others have gone towards the setting sun,
+    And made them a home in its light,
+  And fairy fingers have taken their share
+    To mend by the fireside bright;
+  Some other baskets their garments fill--
+  But mine! Oh, mine is emptier still.
+
+  "Another--the dearest--the fairest--the best--
+    Was ta'en by the angels away,
+  And clad in a garment that waxeth not old,
+    In a land of continual day.
+  Oh! wonder no more at the dimmed eye-light,
+  While I mend the one pair of stockings to-night."
+
+
+
+
+A LOVE OF A BONNET
+
+(FOR FEMALE CHARACTERS ONLY.)
+
+
+CHARACTERS.
+
+  MRS. CLIPPER, a Widow.
+  KITTY, her Daughter.
+  AUNT JEMIMA HOPKINS, a leetle inquisitive.
+  MRS. HORTENSIA FASTONE, very genteel.
+  DORA, her Daughter.
+  KATY DOOLAN, Irish Help.
+
+SCENE.--_Room in_ MRS. CLIPPER'S _House. Lounge_, L.; _Chairs_, C.;
+_Table and Rocking-chair, Looking-glass_, R.
+
+_Enter_ MRS. CLIPPER _and_ KITTY, R.
+
+_Mrs. C._ But really, Kitty, I cannot afford it.
+
+_Kitty._ O, yes, you can, mother; just this once. It's such a love of
+a bonnet! it's so becoming! and it only costs fifteen dollars.
+
+_Mrs. C._ Fifteen dollars! Why, child, you are crazy! We cannot afford
+to be so extravagant. The income derived from the property your dear
+father left will only allow us to dress in the most economical manner.
+
+_Kitty._ But this bonnet is not extravagant. Dora Fastone wears a
+bonnet which cost twenty-five-dollars, and her father has failed five
+or six times. I don't see why I can't have a new bonnet as well as
+that proud, stuck-up--
+
+_Mrs. C._ Hush, my child! never speak ill of our neighbors because
+they dress better than we do. If they spend money foolishly, we should
+endeavor to use ours to better purpose. I am sure I should be glad to
+gratify you, but we have so many expenses. Your music lessons cost a
+great deal of money; and your brother Harry, off at school, is really
+suffering for a new suit of clothes. I must send him some money
+to-day.
+
+_Kitty._ O, he can wait; he's only a boy; and no one cares how he
+looks; but young ladies must dress, or they are thought nothing of. O,
+you must let me have the bonnet, mamma!
+
+_Mrs. C._ If you have this bonnet, Kitty, Harry must go without his
+new suit.
+
+_Kitty._ If you could just see it! It's such a love of a bonnet! Do
+let me run down and ask Miss Thompson to send it up for you to look
+at.
+
+_Mrs. C._ I've no objection to that; and if you think you need it more
+than Harry does his new suit, why--
+
+_Kitty._ You'll let me have it. That's a good, dear mother. I know you
+wouldn't refuse. I'll run to Miss Thompson's. I won't be gone long. I
+suppose I am selfish; but then, mother, it's such a love of a bonnet.
+[_Exit_, L.
+
+_Mrs. C._ (_Sits in a rocking-chair._) Dear child, it is hard to
+refuse her! But one should be made of money to keep up with the
+extravagant fashions of the day.
+
+_Enter_ AUNT HOPKINS, R.
+
+_Aunt H._ Angelina, what on airth have them air Joneses got for
+dinner? I've sot and sot at that air front winder till I've got a
+crick in my back a tryin' to find out whether it's lamb or mutton.
+It's something roasted, anyhow.
+
+_Mrs. C._ Aunt Hopkins, you are very inquisitive!
+
+_Aunt H._ Inquisitive! Law sakes, do hear the child talk! Neow, what
+harm kin there be in tryin' to find eout what your neighbors have got
+for dinner? I mean to put on my bunnet and run acrost and see. I know
+they've got apple dumplin's, for I see the hired gal throw the parin's
+out into the yard.
+
+_Mrs. C._ Run across! Don't dream of such a thing!
+
+_Aunt H._ Well, I'm goin' up stairs to git my specs and have another
+good look, anyhow; for I'm jest dyin' to know whether it's lamb or
+mutton. Land sakes! what's the use of livin', ef you can't know how
+other folks live? [_Exit_, R.
+
+_Mrs. C._ Aunt Hopkins!--She's gone! Dear me, she does worry me
+terribly! What will our neighbors think of us?
+
+_Enter_ KATY DOOLAN, L.
+
+_Katy._ If you plase, mam, may I coome in?
+
+_Mrs. C._ Certainly, Katy. What's the matter?
+
+_Katy._ If you plase, mam, I have a letther; and would you plase rade
+it for me?
+
+_Mrs. C._ (_Takes letter._) Certainly, Katy. From your lover?
+
+_Katy._ Indeed, mam, I have no lover. It's my cousin, mam.
+
+_Mrs. C._ O, your cousin. (_Opens letter._) "Light ov my sowl!" Why,
+this cannot be your cousin.
+
+_Katy._ Indade, indade, it be, sure! It's only the insinivatin' way he
+has, mam!
+
+_Mrs. C._ (_Reads._) "Bewitchin' Katy! and how are ye's onyhow? I take
+my pin in hand to till ye's I am yurs, in good hilth and sphirits;
+and it's hopin' ye's the same, truly! The pulsitations uv my heart
+are batin' wid the love I bears ye's, darlin' Katy! the fairest
+flower--niver mind the blot--that iver bloomed an the family tree uv
+Phil Doolan uv Tipperary, dead and gone this siven years, bliss his
+sowl,--and how are ye's? An' by the same token that I loves ye's much,
+I sind by the ixpriss, freight paid, a new bunnit, which my cousin
+Biddy Ryan, for my dear love, have made for ye's charmin' Katy Doolan!
+Wear it nixt ye's heart! And if ye git it before this letther coomes
+to hand, ye's may know it is from
+
+  Your ever sighin',
+  Wid love for ye's dyin',
+  CORNALIUS RYAN.
+
+P.S. If ye's don't resave this letther, sind me word uv mouth by the
+man who fetches the bunnit."
+
+_Mrs. C._ That's a very loving epistle.
+
+_Katy._ Pistol, it is? Faith, I thought it was a letther.
+
+_Mrs. C._ And so it is; and a very loving one! Your _cousin_ has sent
+you a new bonnet.
+
+_Katy._ Is it in the letther, mam!
+
+_Mrs. C._ It is coming by express.
+
+_Katy._ Sure, he might sind it in the letther, and save expinse. What
+will I do?
+
+_Mrs. C._ Wait patiently until the bonnet arrives.
+
+_Katy._ Will Cornalius coome wid it?
+
+_Mrs. C._ I think not. The expressman will bring it.
+
+_Katy._ Sure, I don't want the ixpressman. It's Cornalius I want.
+
+_Mrs. C._ This cousin of yours seems very affectionate. Are you going
+to marry him some day?
+
+_Katy._ Some day?--yis, mam. He tould me, Would I? and I axed him,
+Yes. What will I do with the letther, mam?
+
+_Mrs. C._ Keep it with your treasures. It should be precious to you.
+
+_Katy._ Faith, thin I'll put it in the savings bank with my money. I'm
+obliged, to ye's Mrs. Clipper, mam. If you plase, what was that last
+in the letther?
+
+_Mrs. C._
+
+  "Your ever sighin',
+  Wid love for ye's dyin',
+  Cornalius Ryan."
+
+_Katy._ O, don't, ma'am! Ye's make me blush wid the shame I fail. Och!
+it's a quare darlin', wid all his sighin', is Cornalius Ryan! Och,
+musha! it's an illigant lad he is, onyhow! [_Exit_, L.
+
+_Mrs. C._ So we are to have another new bonnet in the family! Well,
+Katy is a good girl, and I hope will get a good husband, as well as a
+new bonnet.
+
+[_Exit_, L.
+
+_Enter_ AUNT HOPKINS, R., _with a bandbox._
+
+_Aunt H._ It's mutton! I was determined to find eout, and I have! I
+saw that air Jones boy a playin' in the street, and I asked him
+what his folks had got for dinner, and he said mutton, and neow I'm
+satisfied on that air p'int. I wonder what's in this 'ere bandbox!
+I saw that express cart stop here, and the man said it was for Miss
+Kitty somebody; of course, Angelina's darter. I do wonder what it is!
+(_Opens box._) Well I declare! A spic span new bunnet! (_Takes out a
+very large, gaudily-trimmed bonnet._) And sich a bunnet! Ribbons
+and lace, flowers and feathers! Now that's jest what I call a tasty
+bunnet! I mean to try it on. It'll jest suit my complexion. Law sakes!
+here comes Kitty! 'Twon't do to let her know I've been at her things!
+(_Puts bonnet back into box, and places it behind the table._)
+
+_Enter_ KITTY, L.,
+
+_Kitty._ O, aunt Hopkins! Where's mother?
+
+_Aunt H._ Land sakes! I don't know no more than the child unborn!
+
+_Kitty._ Dear me! Here are Mrs. Fastone and Dora coming up the steps!
+What shall I do?
+
+_Aunt H._ Why, let 'em in, of course!
+
+_Kitty._ Has my new bonnet come yet?
+
+_Aunt H._ Indeed it has! And sich a beauty!
+
+_Kitty._ O, I'm so glad! But where is it?
+
+_Aunt H._ Down there behind the table. I hain't teched it; only jest
+took a peep.
+
+_Kitty._ I'll let Miss Dora see that some people can dress as well as
+some other people. Aunt Hopkins, you must manage to draw attention to
+my new bonnet while the visitors are here, to give me an opportunity
+to show it.
+
+_Aunt H._ Why, I'll take it right eout the fust hing.
+
+_Kitty._ No, no! that would be too abrupt. Manage to speak of bonnets;
+but do not show it until they ask to see it.
+
+_Aunt H._ Well, I guess I know heow to do it genteelly.
+
+_Enter_ KATY, L.
+
+_Katy._ Two ladies to see you, miss. (_Crosses to_ R.)
+
+_Kitty._ Where's mother, Katy?
+
+_Katy._ Gone to the butcher's, miss. [_Exit_ R.
+
+_Aunt H._ Butcher's? Wal, I do hope she'll git some mutton, for the
+Joneses has it; and we ought to be as genteel as our neighbours.
+
+_Enter_ MRS. FASTONE _and_ DORA, L., _very elegantly attired_.
+
+_Mrs. F._ My dear child, how do you do?
+
+_Kitty._ (_Shaking hands with her, and afterwards with_ DORA.) I'm
+delighted to see you! Hope you are quite well, and Dora.
+
+_Mrs. F._ Quite well--aren't you, Dora?
+
+_Dora._ Quite, mamma.
+
+_Kitty._ Pray be seated, ladies. (_They sit on lounge._) Mrs. Hopkins,
+Mrs. Fastone.
+
+_Aunt H._ (_Steps over and shakes hands._) Hope you are pretty well,
+ma'am, and you, too, miss, though you do look awful delicate! And
+how's your husband? He's a broker--ain't he? (_Sits in rocking-chair,
+and keeps it in motion._)
+
+_Mrs. F._ Yes, Mrs. Hopkins, Mr. Fastone is a broker, engaged day
+after day in the busy vortex of fluctuating enterprises.
+
+_Aunt H._ Well, I never hearn tell of that business afore; but I
+s'pose it's profitable, or you couldn't afford to dress so. Is that a
+silk or a poplin you've got on?
+
+_Kitty._ (_Brings her chair; sits_, C.) Aunt Hopkins!--Mother has
+stepped out to make a call.
+
+_Aunt H._ No, she hain't; she's only gone to the butcher's.
+
+_Kitty._ Aunt Hopkins!--Mrs. Fastone, what is the news?
+
+_Mrs. F._ Well, really nothing. I am dying of _ennui_, the world is
+so quiet; no excitement to move the placid waters of fashionable
+society--is there, Dora?
+
+_Dora._ Nothing, mamma.
+
+_Mrs. F._ Nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to wear,--is there,
+Dora?
+
+_Dora._ Nothing, mamma.
+
+_Aunt H._ Nothing to wear! Yes, there's bunnets.
+
+_Kitty._ Aunt Hopkins!--Mrs. Fastone, you are quite correct.
+
+_Mrs. F._ Mrs. Hopkins spoke of bonnets. I have been so disappointed!
+Thompson had a perfect love of a bonnet that I had quite set my
+heart upon for Dora; but it is gone, and the poor child is almost
+broken-hearted--ain't you, Dora?
+
+_Dora._ Quite, mamma.
+
+_Kitty._ I am very sorry, for bonnets are so hard to find. I have been
+very much perplexed about them myself. They are so very commonplace;
+no air of refinement about them.
+
+_Mrs. F._ None, whatever--is there, Dora?
+
+_Dora._ None, mamma.
+
+_Kitty._ I've just had a new one sent home, but it doesn't suit me.
+
+_Aunt H._ Why, Kitty, how you talk! It's a regular beauty!
+
+_Kitty._ Aunt Hopkins!--It is not what I wanted, but Thompson said it
+was the most stylish she had.
+
+_Mrs. F._ Thompson! Did you get it of Thompson?
+
+_Kitty._ Yes, all my bonnets come from Thompson.
+
+_Mrs. F._ Do let me see it!
+
+_Aunt H._ (_Jumps up._) I'll show it to you right off. It's an eligunt
+bunnet. (_Gets bandbox._)
+
+_Kitty._ Aunt Hopkins!
+
+_Aunt H._ Neow don't aunt Hopkins me! for I'm going to show 'em jest
+how it looks on yer; set still; for if there's anything I pride myself
+on, it's showin' off a bunnet. (_Stands behind_ KITTY, _puts the
+bonnet on her head, and ties it._) There! ain't that a beauty?
+
+_Mrs. F._ Why! what a hor--a handsome bonnet! Did you ever see
+anything like it, Dora?
+
+_Dora._ Never, mamma!
+
+_Aunt H._ That's the style, marm.
+
+_Mrs. F._ Really! I want to know! And this is Thompson's most stylish
+bonnet! Really, how the fashions do change! Did you ever, Dora!
+
+_Dora._ Never, mamma!
+
+_Kitty._ (_Aside._) I do believe they are laughing! Aunt Hopkins, I
+cannot get it off! You've tied it in a hard knot!
+
+_Mrs. F._ It's very becoming--isn't it, Dora?
+
+_Dora._ O, very, mamma.
+
+_Mrs. F._ (_Aside to_ DORA.)--What a horrid fright!
+
+_Dora._ Frightful, mamma!
+
+_Mrs. F._ I believe we must be moving, for I must hurry to Thompson's
+and order just such a bonnet for Dora. Good day. You have such a
+charming taste--hasn't she, Dora?
+
+_Dora._ Charming, mamma! (_They bow, and exeunt_, L., _with their
+handkerchiefs to their mouths, endeavouring to conceal their
+laughter._)
+
+_Kitty._ Good day. Call again.--The hateful things! They are laughing
+at me. What ails this bonnet. (_Goes to glass._) Goodness gracious;
+what a fright! This is not my bonnet. Aunt Hopkins, you've ruined me!
+I shall be the laughing-stock of the whole neighbourhood. (_Tears off
+the bonnet._)
+
+_Enter_ MRS. CLIPPER, R.
+
+_Mrs. C._ Have the Fastones gone?
+
+_Kitty._ I hope so. O, mother, send aunt Hopkins home; she's made me
+look ridiculous!
+
+_Aunt H._ Well, I declare! this comes of trying to please folks!
+
+_Mrs. C._ Is _that_ your love of a bonnet, Kitty?
+
+_Kitty._ No, indeed! Aunt Hopkins, where did you get this hateful
+thing?
+
+_Aunt H._ Out of that bandbox.
+
+_Kitty._ (_Takes up the cover._) It's marked "Miss Katy Doolan."
+You've made a pretty mess of it!
+
+_Aunt H._ Sakes alive! It's the hired gal's! Well, I never!
+
+_Mrs. C._ But where's the bonnet you sent from Thompson's?
+
+_Katy._ (_Outside._) O, murder! that iver I should say this day!
+
+_Enter_ KATY, R., (_holding in her hand an elegant bonnet._)
+
+The mane, stingy blackgurd has sint me this whisp of a bunnet, that
+I'll niver git on my head at all at all!
+
+_Kitty._ That's my bonnet!
+
+_Katy._ Is it, indade? and perhaps ye's be afther claiming the letther
+Cornalius Ryan sint wid it.
+
+_Mrs. C._ No, no, Katy; there's a little mistake here. This is your
+bonnet.
+
+_Katy._ Faith, now, isn't that a darling, jist! I'll wear it to church
+to-morrow, sure.
+
+_Kitty._ Put it on now, Katy; and then take this wisp of a bonnet, as
+you call it, to Miss Thompson, with my best compliments and tell her I
+have decided not to keep it.
+
+_Mrs. C._ Why, Kitty, I thought your heart was set upon having it.
+
+_Kitty._ So it was, mother; but I shall never dare to wear it, after
+the ridiculous appearance I have just made. It's too fine for me. My
+conscience gave me a little twinge as I was coming home. Send Harry
+the money for his new suit. My old bonnet is quite good enough for me.
+
+_Aunt H._ Neow that's what I call a self-denyin' gal. I'll fix it up
+for you; for if there's anything I pride myself on doin', it's fixing
+up old bunnets.
+
+_Kitty._ And trying on new ones! No, I thank you, aunt Hopkins.
+Hereafter I'll look after my bonnets myself. I think our acquaintance
+with Mrs. Fastone will be broken off by this adventure; and so I will
+make a merit of necessity, abandon fashionable society, and be more
+humble in my demeanor and in my dress.
+
+_Mrs. C._ Ah, my child, you will be better satisfied with your
+decision, as you grow older, and see how frivolous are the demands of
+fashion, and how little happiness can be obtained by lavish display.
+And I think this little adventure, though a severe lesson, will be far
+more profitable than the possession of that "love of a bonnet."
+
+
+
+
+DRAFTED.
+
+MRS. H.L. BOSTWICK.
+
+    The opening stanzas of this poem should be recited in an
+    agitated, broken voice, as though the fond mother could not
+    fully realize the fact of her boy being drafted:--in the end
+    the voice changes to a firmer and gentler tone, as a spirit of
+    resignation fills the mother's heart:
+
+
+  My son! What! Drafted? My Harry! Why, man, 'tis a boy at his books;
+  No taller, I'm sure, than your Annie--as delicate, too, in his
+          looks.
+  Why, it seems but a day since he helped me girl-like, in my
+          kitchen at tasks;
+  He drafted! Great God, can it be that our President knows what he
+          asks?
+
+  He never could wrestle, this boy, though in spirit as brave as the
+          best;
+  Narrow-chested, a little, you notice, like him who has long been
+          at rest.
+  Too slender for over much study--why, his master has made him to-day
+  Go out with his ball on the common--and you have drafted a child
+          at his play!
+
+  "Not a patriot?" Fie! Did I wimper when Robert stood up with his
+          gun,
+  And the hero-blood chafed in his forehead, the evening we heard of
+          Bull Run?
+  Pointing his finger at Harry, but turning his eyes to the wall,
+  "There's a staff growing up for your age, mother," said Robert,
+          "if I am to fall."
+
+  "Eighteen?" Oh I know! And yet narrowly; just a wee babe on the day
+  When his father got up from a sick-bed and cast his last ballot
+          for Clay.
+  Proud of his boy and his ticket, said he, "A new morsel of fame
+  We'll lay on the candidate's altar"--and christened the child with
+          his name.
+
+  Oh, what have I done, a weak woman, in what have I meddled with
+          harm,
+  (Troubling only my God for the sunshine and rain on my rough
+          little farm,)
+  That my ploughshares are beaten to swords, and whetted before my
+          eyes,
+  That my tears must cleanse a foul nation, my lamb be a sacrifice?
+
+  Oh, 'tis true there's a country to save, man, and 'tis true there
+          is no appeal,
+  But did God see my boy's name lying the uppermost one in the wheel?
+  Five stalwart sons has my neighbour, and never the lot upon one;
+  Are these things Fortune's caprices, or is it God's will that is
+          done?
+
+  Are the others too precious for resting where Robert is taking his
+          rest,
+  With the pictured face of young Annie lying over the rent in his
+          breast?
+  Too tender for parting with sweet hearts? Too fair to be crippled
+          or scarred?
+  My boy! Thank God for these tears--I was growing so bitter and hard!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Now read me a page in the Book, Harry, that goes in your knapsack
+          to-night,
+  Of the eye that sees when the sparrow grows weary and falters in
+          flight;
+  Talk of something that's nobler than living, of a Love that is
+          higher than mine,
+  And faith which has planted its banner where the heavenly
+          camp-fires shine.
+
+  Talk of something that watches us softly, as the shadows glide
+          down in the yard;
+  That shall go with my soldier to battle, and stand with my picket
+          on guard.
+  Spirits of loving and lost ones--watch softly with Harry to-night,
+  For to-morrow he goes forth to battle--to arm him for Freedom and
+          Right!
+
+
+
+
+AN ERUPTION OF MOUNT VESUVIUS.
+
+BULWER.
+
+    The following magnificent description of perhaps the most
+    awful phenomenon in nature, gives full scope for almost every
+    tone and gesture. Care should, however, be taken that the
+    natural grandeur of the subject be not marred by a stilted,
+    pompous, or affected delivery. Let the speaker try to realize
+    the thought and feelings of a spectator of the dark scene of
+    desolation, and he cannot go amiss:
+
+
+The eyes of the crowd beheld, with ineffable dismay, a vast vapour
+shooting from the summit of Vesuvius, in the form of a gigantic
+pine-tree; the trunk, blackness; the branches, fire, that shifted and
+wavered in its hues with every moment: now fiercely luminous, now of
+a dull and dying red, that again blazed terrifically forth with
+intolerable glare.
+
+Then there arose on high the universal shrieks of women; the men
+stared at each other, but were dumb. At that moment they felt the
+earth shake beneath their feet; the walls of the theatre trembled;
+and beyond, in the distance, they heard the crash of falling roofs. An
+instant more, and the mountain-cloud seemed to roll toward them, dark
+and rapid like a torrent; at the same time it cast forth from its
+bosom a shower of ashes, mixed with fragments of burning stone! Over
+the crushing vines, over the desolate streets, over the amphitheatre
+itself,--far and wide,--with many a mighty splash in the agitated sea,
+fell that awful shower!
+
+The cloud advanced, darker, disgorging showers of ashes and pumice
+stones; and, amid the other horrors, the mighty mountain now cast
+up columns of boiling water. Blent and kneaded with the half-burning
+ashes, the streams fell like seething mud over the streets, in
+frequent intervals.
+
+The cloud, which had scattered so deep a murkiness over the day, at
+length settled into a solid and impenetrable mass. But in proportion
+as the blackness gathered did the lightnings around Vesuvius increase
+in their vivid and scorching glare.
+
+Nor was their horrible beauty confined to their hues of fire. Now
+brightly blue, as the most azure depth of a southern sky; now of a
+livid and snake-like green, darting restlessly to and fro, as the
+folds of an enormous serpent; now of a lurid and intolerable crimson,
+gushing forth through the columns of smoke far and wide, and lighting
+up all Pompeii; then suddenly dying into a sickly paleness, like the
+ghost of its own life!
+
+In the pauses of the showers were heard the rumbling of the earth
+beneath, and the groaning waves of the tortured sea; or, lower still,
+and audible but to the watch of intensest fear, the grinding and
+hissing murmur of the escaping gases through the chasms of the distant
+mountain.
+
+The ashes, in many places, were already knee-deep; and in some places
+immense fragments of rock, hurled upon the house-roofs, bore down
+along the streets masses of confused ruin, which yet more and more,
+with every hour, obstructed the way; and, as the day advanced, the
+motion of the earth was more sensibly felt; the footing seemed to
+slide and creep, nor could chariot or litter be kept steady, even on
+the most level ground.
+
+Sometimes the huger stones, striking against each other as they fell,
+broke into countless fragments, emitting sparks of fire, which caught
+whatever was combustible within their reach; and along the plains
+beyond the city the darkness was now terribly relieved, for several
+houses and even vineyards had been set on flames; and at various
+intervals the fire rose fiercely and sullenly against the solid gloom.
+The citizens had endeavoured to place rows of torches in the most
+frequented spots; but these rarely continued long; the showers and the
+wind extinguished them.
+
+Suddenly arose an intense and lurid glow. Bright and gigantic through
+the darkness which closed around it, the mountain shone, a pile of
+fire! Its summit seemed riven in two; or rather, above its surface,
+there seemed to rise two monster-shapes, each confronting each, as
+demons contending for a world. These were of one deep blood-red hue
+of fire, which lighted up the whole atmosphere; but below, the nether
+part of the mountain was still dark and shrouded, save in three
+places, adown which flowed serpentine, and irregular rivers of molten
+lava. Darkly red through the profound gloom of their banks, they
+flowed slowly on, as towards the devoted city. And through the still
+air was heard the rattling of the fragments of rock, hurling one upon
+another, as they were borne down the fiery cataracts, darkening for
+one instant the spot where they fell, and suffused the next in the
+burnished hues of the flood along which they floated!
+
+Suddenly a duller shade fell over the air; and one of the two gigantic
+crests into which the summit had been divided, rocked and waved to and
+fro; and then, with a sound, the mightiness of which no language can
+describe, it fell from its burning base, and rushed, an avalanche of
+fire, down the sides of the mountain. At the same instant gushed
+forth a volume of blackest smoke, rolling on, over air, sea and earth.
+Another, and another, and another shower of ashes, far more profuse
+than before, scattered fresh desolation along the streets, and
+darkness once more wrapped them as a veil.
+
+The whole elements of civilization were broken up. If in the darkness,
+wife was separated from husband, or parent from child, vain was the
+hope of reunion. Each hurried blindly and confusedly on. Nothing was
+left save the law of self-preservation.
+
+
+
+
+A PLEA FOR THE OX.
+
+DUGANNE.
+
+    This beautiful poem should be recited with a calm, even devout
+    dignity; occasionally rising into energetic expression as the
+    poet apostrophizes the Deity in behalf of the down-trodden:
+
+
+  Of all my Father's herds and flocks,
+  I love the Ox--the large-eyed Ox!
+  I think no Christian man would wrong
+  The Ox--so patient, calm, and strong!
+
+  How huge his strength! and yet, with flowers
+  A child can lead this Ox of ours;
+  And yoke his ponderous neck, with cords
+  Made only of the gentlest words.
+
+  By fruitful Nile the Ox was Lord;
+  By Jordan's stream his blood was poured;
+  In every age--with every clan--
+  He loves, he serves, he dies for MAN!
+
+  And, through the long, long years of God,
+  Since labouring ADAM delved the sod,
+  I hear no human voice that mocks
+  The _hue_ which God hath given His Ox!
+
+  While burdening toils bow down his back,
+  Who asks if he be _white_ or _black?_
+  And when his generous blood is shed,
+  Who shall deny its common _red?_
+
+  "Ye shall not muzzle"--God hath sworn--
+  "The Ox, that treadeth out the corn!"
+  I think no Christian law ordains
+  That _Ox_ or _Man_ should toil in chains.
+
+  So, haply, for an Ox I pray.
+  That kneels and toils for us this day;
+  A huge, calm, patient, large-eyed Ox,
+  Black-skinned, among our herds and flocks.
+
+  So long, O righteous Lord! so long
+  Bowed down, and yet so brave and strong--
+  I think no Christian, just and true,
+  Can spurn this poor Ox for his _hue!_
+
+  I know not why he shall not toil,
+  Black-skinned, upon our broad, free soil;
+  And lift aloft his dusky frame,
+  Unbranded by a bondman's name!
+
+  And struggling still, for nobler goal,
+  With wakening will and soaring soul,
+  I know not why his great free strength
+  May not be our best wealth at length:
+
+  That strength which, in the limbs of _slaves_--
+  Like Egypt's--only piles up graves!
+  But in the hands of _freemen_ now
+  May build up states, by axe and plough!--
+
+  And rear up souls, as purely white
+  As angels, clothed with heavenly light;
+  And yield forth life-blood, richly red
+  As patriot hearts have ever shed.
+
+  God help us! we are veiled within--
+  Or white or black--with shrouds of skin;
+  And, at the last, we all shall crave
+  Small difference in the breadth of grave!
+
+  But--when the grass grows, green and calm,
+  And smells above our dust, like balm--
+  I think our rest will sweeter be,
+  If over us the Ox be--_free!_
+
+
+
+
+HERE SHE GOES, AND THERE SHE GOES.
+
+JAMES NACK.
+
+
+  Two Yankee wags, one summer day,
+  Stopped at a tavern on their way,
+  Supped, frolicked, late retired to rest,
+  And woke, to breakfast on the best.
+  The breakfast over, Tom and Will
+  Sent for the landlord and the bill;
+  Will looked it over:--"Very right--
+  But hold! what wonder meets my sight?
+  Tom! the surprise is quite a shock!"
+  "What wonder? where?" "The clock, the clock!"
+
+  Tom and the landlord in amaze
+  Stared at the clock with stupid gaze,
+  And for a moment neither spoke;
+  At last the landlord silence broke,--
+
+  "You mean the clock that's ticking there?
+  I see no wonder, I declare!
+  Though maybe, if the truth were told,
+  'Tis rather ugly, somewhat old;
+  Yet time it keeps to half a minute;
+  But, if you please, what wonder in it?"
+
+  "Tom, don't you recollect," said Will,
+  "The clock at Jersey, near the mill,
+  The very image of this present,
+  With which I won the wager pleasant?"
+  Will ended with a knowing wink;
+  Tom scratched his head and tried to think.
+    "Sir, begging your pardon for inquiring,"
+  The landlord said with grin admiring,
+    "What wager was it?"
+
+                       "You remember
+  It happened, Tom, in last December:
+  In sport I bet a Jersey Blue
+  That it was more than he could do
+  To make his finger go and come
+  In keeping with the pendulum,
+  Repeating, till the hour should close,
+  Still--'_Here she goes, and there she goes._'
+  He lost the bet in half a minute."
+
+  "Well, if I would, the deuce is in it!"
+  Exclaimed the landlord; "try me yet,
+  And fifty dollars to be bet."
+    "Agreed, but we will play some trick,
+  To make you of the bargain sick!"
+    "I'm up to that!"
+
+                      "Don't make us wait,--
+  Begin,--the clock is striking eight."
+  He seats himself, and left and right
+  His finger wags with all its might,
+  And hoarse his voice and hoarser grows,
+  With--"Here she goes, and there she goes!"
+
+  "Hold!" said the Yankee, "plank the ready!"
+  The landlord wagged his finger steady,
+  While his left hand, as well as able,
+  Conveyed a purse upon the table,
+  "Tom! with the money let's be off!"
+  This made the landlord only scoff.
+  He heard them running down the stair,
+  But was not tempted from his chair;
+  Thought he, "The fools! I'll bite them yet!
+  So poor a trick sha'n't win the bet."
+  And loud and long the chorus rose
+  Of--"Here she goes, and there she goes!"
+  While right and left his finger swung,
+  In keeping to his clock and tongue.
+
+  His mother happened in to see
+  Her daughter: "Where is Mrs. B----?"
+    "When will she come, do you suppose?"
+  Son!--"
+      "Here she goes, and there she goes!"
+  "Here!--where?"--the lady in surprise
+  His finger followed with her eyes;
+  "Son! why that steady gaze and sad?
+  Those words,--that motion,--are you mad?
+  But here's your wife, perhaps she knows,
+  And--"
+      "Here she goes, and there she goes!"
+
+  His wife surveyed him with alarm,
+  And rushed to him and seized his arm;
+  He shook her off, and to and fro
+  His finger persevered to go,
+  While curled his very nose with ire
+  That _she_ against him should conspire;
+  And with more furious tone arose
+  The--"Here she goes, and there she goes!"
+
+  "Lawks!" screamed the wife, "I'm in a whirl!
+  Run down and bring the little girl;
+  She is his darling, and who knows
+  But--"
+      "Here she goes, and there she goes!"
+  "Lawks! he is mad! What made him thus?
+  Good Lord! what will become of us?
+  Run for a doctor,--run, run, run,--
+  For Doctor Brown and Doctor Dun,
+  And Doctor Black and Doctor White,
+  And Doctor Grey with all your might!"
+
+  The doctors came, and looked, and wondered,
+  And shook their heads, and paused and pondered.
+  Then one proposed he should be bled,--
+    "No, leeched you mean," the other said,--
+    "Clap on a blister!" roared another,--
+    "No! cup him,"--"No! trepan him, brother."
+  A sixth would recommend a purge,
+  The next would an emetic urge;
+  The eighth, just come from a dissection,
+  His verdict gave for an injection.
+  The last produced a box of pills,
+  A certain cure for earthly ills:
+  "I had a patient yesternight,"
+  Quoth he, "and wretched was her plight,
+  And as the only means to save her,
+  Three dozen patent pills I gave her;
+  And by to-morrow I suppose
+  That--"
+      "Here she goes, and there she goes!"
+
+  "You are all fools!" the lady said,--
+  "The way is, just to shave his head.
+  Run! bid the barber come anon."
+  "Thanks, mother!" thought her clever son;
+  "You help the knaves that would have bit me,
+  But all creation sha'n't outwit me!"
+  Thus to himself, while to and fro
+  His fingers perseveres to go,
+  And from his lips no accent flows
+  But--"Here she goes, and there she goes!"
+  The barber came--"Lord help him! what
+  A queerish customer I've got;
+  But we must do our best to save him,--
+  So hold him, gemmen, while I shave him!"
+  But here the doctors interpose,--
+    "A woman never--"
+                    "There she goes!"
+
+  "A woman is no judge of physic,
+  No even when her baby is sick.
+  He must be bled,"--"No, no, a blister,"--
+  "A purge, you mean,"--"I say a clyster,"--
+  "No, cup him,"--"Leech him,"--"Pills! pills! pills!"
+  And all the house the uproar fills.
+
+  What means that smile? what means that shiver?
+  The landlord's limbs with rapture quiver,
+  And triumph brightens up his face,
+  His finger yet shall win the race;
+  The clock is on the stroke of nine,
+  And up he starts,--"'Tis mine! 'tis mine!"
+  "What do you mean?"
+
+                    "I mean the fifty;
+  I never spent an hour so thrifty.
+  But you who tried to make me lose,
+  Go, burst with envy, if you choose!
+  But how is this? where are they?"
+                                   "Who?"
+
+  "The gentlemen,--I mean the two
+  Came yesterday,--are they below?"
+    "They galloped off an hour ago."
+    "O, purge me! blister! shave and bleed!
+  For, hang the knaves, I'm mad indeed!"
+
+
+
+
+DAVID AND GOLIATH.
+
+    Goliath gives vent to his arrogance in a bombastic style. This
+    should be borne in mind by the speaker. David, on the other
+    hand, expresses himself with modesty, but in a tone of
+    confident courage:
+
+
+  _Goliath._ Where is the mighty man of war, who dares
+  Accept the challenge of Philistia's chief?
+  What victor-king, what general drenched in blood,
+  Claims this high privilege? What are his rights?
+  What proud credentials does the boaster bring
+  To prove his claim? What cities laid in ashes,
+  What ruined provinces, what slaughtered realms,
+  What heads of heroes, or what hearts of kings,
+  In battle killed, or at his altars slain,
+  Has he to boast? Is his bright armory
+  Thick set with spears, and swords, and coats of mail,
+  Of vanquished nations, by his single arm
+  Subdued? Where is the mortal man so bold,
+  So much a wretch, so out of love with life,
+  To dare the weight of this uplifted spear?
+                              Come, advance!
+  Philistia's gods to Israel's. Sound, my herald,
+  Sound for the battle straight!
+
+  _David._                Behold thy foe.
+
+  _Gol._ I see him not.
+
+  _Dav._                  Behold him here.
+
+  _Gol._                             Say, where?
+  Direct my sight. I do not war with boys.
+
+  _Dav._ I stand prepared; thy single arm to mine.
+
+  _Gol._ Why, this is mockery, minion; it may chance
+  To cost thee dear. Sport not with things above thee:
+  But tell me who, of all this numerous host,
+  Expects his death from me? Which is the man
+  Whom Israel sends to meet my bold defiance?
+
+  _Dav._ The election of my sovereign falls on me.
+
+  _Gol._ On thee! on thee! by Dagon, 'tis too much!
+  Thou curled minion! thou a nation's champion!
+  'Twould move my mirth at any other time;
+  But trifling's out of tune. Begone, light boy!
+  And tempt me not too far.
+
+  _Dav._               I do defy thee,
+  Thou foul idolator! Hast thou not scorned
+  The armies of the living God I serve!
+  By me he will avenge upon thy head
+  Thy nation's sins and thine. Armed with his name,
+  Unshrinking, I dare meet the stoutest foe
+  That ever bathed his hostile spear in blood.
+
+  _Gol._ Indeed! 'tis wondrous well! Now, by my gods!
+  The stripling plays the orator! Vain boy!
+  Keep close to that same bloodless war of words,
+  And thou shalt still be safe. Tongue-valiant warrior!
+  Where is thy sylvan crook, with garlands hung,
+  Of idle field-flowers? Where thy wanton harp,
+  Thou dainty-fingered hero?
+                           Now will I meet thee,
+  Thou insect warrior; since thou dar'st me thus,
+  Already I behold thy mangled limbs,
+  Dissevered each from each, ere long to feed
+  The fierce, blood-snuffing vulture. Mark me well,
+  Around my spear I'll twist thy shining locks
+  And toss in air thy head all gashed with wounds.
+
+  _Dav._ Ha, say'st thou so? Come on, then; Mark us well.
+  Thou com'st to me with sword and spear, and shield;
+  In the dread name of Israel's God, I come;
+  The living Lord of Hosts, whom thou defi'st;
+  Yet though no shield I bring; no arms, except
+  These five smooth stones I gathered from the brook
+  With such a simple sling as shepherds use;
+  Yet all exposed, defenceless as I am,
+  The God I serve shall give thee up a prey
+  To my victorious arm. This day, I mean
+  To make the uncircumcised tribes confess
+  There is a God in Israel. I will give thee,
+  Spite of thy vaunted strength and giant bulk,
+  To glut the carrion-kites. Nor thee alone;
+  The mangled carcasses of your thick hosts
+  Shall spread the plains of Elah; till Philistia,
+  Through all her trembling tents and flying bands,
+  Shall own that Judah's God is God indeed!
+  I dare thee to the trial!
+
+  _Gol._             Follow me.
+  In this good spear I trust.
+
+  _Dav._             I trust in Heaven!
+  The God of battles stimulates my arm,
+  And fires my soul with ardor not its own.
+
+    In this dialogue, the first speech of Goliath is simple
+    vaunt. Confident in his huge bulk and strength, he strides
+    occasionally from side to side while speaking, elevating his
+    arms and throwing his limbs about as if anxious to display his
+    powerful sinews and muscular proportions. He speaks very loud,
+    as if willing to terrify all Israel with his voice.
+
+    In this second speech, Goliath partly stoops, half shuts his
+    eyes like a person endeavouring to discern some diminutive
+    object, and, after looking intently a short time, suddenly
+    straightens himself up to his full height, and says
+    arrogantly: "I see him not."
+
+    In his third speech, Goliath maintains the same ground, till,
+    in the conclusion, he seems, at last, to have perceived David,
+    and, turning away contemptuously, adds: "I do not war with
+    boys."
+
+    In the latter part of the dialogue, Goliath becomes really
+    furious, and is in haste to transfix David with his spear;
+    while David, on the other hand, becomes more calm, collected,
+    and observant as the critical moment approaches, thus denoting
+    his firm and unwavering trust in the God of Israel. David
+    makes but few gestures, but always assumes a reverential
+    attitude when he mentions the name of God--not puritanical
+    by any means, but expressive of humble hope and smiling
+    confidence.
+
+
+
+
+THE WIDOW BEDOTT'S POETRY.
+
+FRANCES M. WHITCHER.
+
+
+Yes,--he was one o' the best men that ever trod shoe-leather, husband
+was, though Miss Jinkins says (she 't was Poll Bingham), _she_ says,
+I never found it out till after he died, but that 's the consarndest
+lie, that ever was told, though it 's jest a piece with everything
+else she says about me. I guess if everybody could see the poitry I
+writ to his memory, nobody wouldn 't think I dident set store by him.
+Want to hear it? Well, I 'll see if I can say it; it ginerally affects
+me wonderfully, seems to harrer up my feelin's; but I'll try. Dident
+know I ever writ poitry? How you talk! used to make lots on 't; hain't
+so much late years. I remember once when Parson Potter had a bee,
+I sent him an amazin' great cheese, and writ a piece o' poitry, and
+pasted on top on 't. It says:--
+
+  Teach him for to proclaim
+    Salvation to the folks;
+  No occasion give for any blame,
+    Nor wicked people's jokes.
+
+And so it goes on, but I guess I won't stop to say the rest on now,
+seein' there's seven and forty verses.
+
+Parson Potter and his wife was wonderfully pleased with it; used to
+sing it to the tune o' Haddem. But I was gwine to tell the one I made
+in relation to husband; it begins as follers:--
+
+  He never jawed in all his life,
+    He never was unkind,--
+  And (tho' I say it that was his wife)
+    Such men you seldom find.
+
+(That's as true as the Scripturs; I never knowed him to say a harsh
+word.)
+
+  I never changed my single lot,--
+    I thought 't would be a sin--
+
+(though widder Jinkins says it's because I never had a chance.) Now 't
+ain't for me to say whether I ever had a numerous number o' chances or
+not, but there 's them livin' that _might_ tell if they wos a mind to;
+why, this poitry was writ on account of being joked about Major Coon,
+three year after husband died. I guess the ginerality o' folks knows
+what was the nature o' Major Coon's feelin's towards me, tho' his wife
+and Miss Jinkins _does_ say I tried to ketch him. The fact is, Miss
+Coon feels wonderfully cut up 'cause she knows the Major took her
+"Jack at a pinch,"--seein' he couldent get such as he wanted, he took
+such as he could get,--but I goes on to say--
+
+  I never changed my single lot,
+    I thought 't would be a sin,--
+  For I thought so much o' Deacon Bedott,
+    I never got married agin.
+
+  If ever a hasty word he spoke,
+    His anger dident last,
+  But vanished like tobacker smoke
+    Afore the wintry blast.
+
+  And since it was my lot to be
+    The wife of such a man,
+  Tell the men that's after me
+    To ketch me if they can.
+
+  If I was sick a single jot,
+    He called the doctor in--
+
+That's a fact,--he used to be scairt to death if anything ailed me.
+Now only jest think,--widder Jinkins told Sam Pendergrasses wife (she
+'twas Sally Smith) that she guessed the deacon dident set no great
+store by me, or he wouldent a went off to confrence meetin' when I was
+down with the fever. The truth is, they couldent git along without him
+no way. Parson Potter seldom went to confrence meetin', and when he
+wa' n't there, who was ther, pray tell, that knowed enough to take the
+lead if husband dident do it? Deacon Kenipe hadent no gift, and
+Deacon Crosby hadent no inclination, and so it all come on Deacon
+Bedott,--and he was always ready and willin' to do his duty, you know;
+as long as he was able to stand on his legs he continued to go to
+confrence meetin'; why, I've knowed that man to go when he couldent
+scarcely crawl on account o' the pain in the spine of his back. He had
+a wonderful gift, and he wa' n't a man to keep his talents hid up in
+a napkin,--so you see 't was from a sense o' duty he went when I was
+sick, whatever Miss Jinkins may say to the contrary. But where was I?
+Oh!--
+
+  If I was sick a single jot,
+    He called the doctor in--
+  I sot so much by Deacon Bedott
+    I never got married agin.
+
+  A wonderful tender heart he had,
+    That felt for all mankind,--
+  It made him feel amazin bad
+    To see the world so blind.
+
+  Whiskey and rum he tasted not--
+
+That's as true as the Scripturs,--but if you'll believe it, Betsy Ann
+Kenipe told my Melissy that Miss Jinkins said one day to their house,
+how 't she 'd seen Deacon Bedott high, time and agin! did you ever!
+Well, I'm glad nobody don't pretend to mind anything _she_ says. I've
+knowed Poll Bingham from a gall, and she never knowed how to speak the
+truth--besides she always had a pertikkler spite against husband and
+me, and between us tew I 'll tell you why if you won't mention it, for
+I make it a pint never to say nothin' to injure nobody. Well she was
+a ravin'-distracted after my husband herself, but it's a long story. I
+'ll tell you about it some other time, and then you'll know why widder
+Jinkins is etarnally runnin' me down. See,--where had I got to? Oh, I
+remember now,--
+
+  Whiskey and rum he tasted not,--
+    He thought it was a sin,--
+  I thought so much o' Deacon Bedott
+    I never got married agin.
+
+  But now he's dead! the thought is killin',
+    My grief I can't control--
+  He never left a single shillin'
+    His widder to console.
+
+But that wa' n't his fault--he was so out o' health for a number
+o' year afore he died, it ain't to be wondered at he dident lay up
+nothin'--however, it dident give him no great oneasiness,--he never
+cared much for airthly riches, though Miss Pendergrass says she
+heard Miss Jinkins say Deacon Bedott was as tight as the skin on his
+back,--begrudged folks their vittals when they came to his house! did
+you ever! why, he was the hull-souldest man I ever see in all my born
+days. If I'd such a husband as Bill Jinkins was, I'd hold my tongue
+about my neighbors' husbands. He was a dretful mean man, used to git
+drunk every day of his life, and he had an awful high temper,--used to
+swear like all posset when he got mad,--and I've heard my husband
+say, (and he wa' n't a man that ever said anything that wa' n't
+true),--I've heard _him_ say Bill Jinkins would cheat his own father
+out of his eye teeth if he had a chance. Where was I? Oh! "His widder
+to console,"--ther ain't but one more verse, 't ain't a very lengthy
+poim. When Parson Potter read it, he says to me, says he,--What
+did you stop so soon for?"--but Miss Jinkins told the Crosbys _she_
+thought I'd better a' stopt afore I 'd begun,--she 's a purty critter
+to talk so, I must say. I 'd like to see some poitry o' hern,--I guess
+it would be astonishin' stuff; and mor'n all that, she said there wa'
+n't a word o' truth in the hull on 't,--said I never cared two cents
+for the deacon. What an everlastin' lie!! Why, when he died, I took it
+so hard I went deranged, and took on so for a spell, they was afraid
+they should have to send me to a Lunattic Arsenal. But that's a
+painful subject, I won't dwell on 't. I conclude as follers:--
+
+  I'll never change my single lot,--
+    I think 't would be a sin,--
+  The inconsolable widder o' Deacon Bedott
+    Don't intend to get married agin.
+
+Excuse me cryin'--my feelin's always overcomes me so when I say that
+poitry--O-o-o-o-o-o!
+
+
+
+
+THE TWO WEAVERS.
+
+HANNAH MORE.
+
+    This piece should be spoken in a simple, unaffected
+    conversational manner; still it admits of much quiet emphasis,
+    and subdued irony:
+
+
+  As at their work two weavers sat,
+  Beguiling time with friendly chat,
+  They touched upon the price of meat,
+  So high, a weaver scarce could eat.
+
+  "What with my brats and sickly wife,"
+  Quoth Dick, "I'm almost tired of life;
+  So hard my work, so poor my fare,
+  'Tis more than mortal man can bear.
+
+  "How glorious is the rich man's state
+  His house so fine, his wealth so great!
+  Heaven is unjust, you must agree;
+  Why all to him? Why none to me?
+
+  "In spite of what the Scripture teaches
+  In spite of all the parson preaches,
+  This world (indeed I've thought so long)
+  Is ruled methinks extremely wrong.
+
+  "Where'er I look, howe'er I range,
+  'Tis all confused and hard and strange;
+  The good are troubled and oppressed,
+  And all the wicked are the blest."
+
+  Quoth John, "Our ignorance is the cause
+  Why thus we blame our Maker's laws;
+  _Parts of his ways_ alone we know;
+  'Tis all that man can see below.
+
+  "See'st thou that carpet, not half done,
+  Which thou, dear Dick, hast well begun?
+  Behold the wild confusion there,
+  So rude the mass it makes one stare!
+
+  "A stranger, ignorant of the trade,
+  Would say, no meaning's there conveyed;
+  For where's the middle? where's the border?
+  Thy carpet now is all disorder."
+
+  Quoth Dick, "My work is yet in bits,
+  But still in every part it fits;
+  Besides, you reason like a lout--
+  Why, man, that _carpet's inside out_."
+
+  Says John, "Thou say'st the thing I mean,
+  And now I hope to cure thy spleen;
+  This world, which clouds thy soul with doubt
+  _Is but a carpet inside out_.
+
+  "As when we view these shreds and ends,
+  We know not what the whole intends;
+  So, when on earth things look but odd,
+  They're working still some scheme of God.
+
+  "No plan, no pattern, can we trace;
+  All wants proportion, truth, and grace
+  The motley mixture we deride,
+  Nor see the beauteous upper side.
+
+  "But when we reach that world of light,
+  And view those works of God aright,
+  Then shall we see the whole design,
+  And own the workman is divine.
+
+  "What now seem random strokes, will there
+  All order and design appear;
+  Then shall we praise what here we spurned,
+  For then the _carpet shall be turned_."
+
+  "Thou'rt right," quoth Dick; "no more I'll grumble
+  That this sad world's so strange a jumble;
+  My impious doubts are put to flight,
+  For my own carpet sets me right."
+
+
+
+
+MISS MALONEY ON THE CHINESE QUESTION.
+
+MARY MAPES DODGE.
+
+
+Och! don't be talkin'. Is it howld on, ye say? An' did n't I howld
+on till the heart o' me was clane broke entirely, and me wastin' that
+thin you could clutch me wid yer two hands? To think o' me toilin'
+like a nager for the six year I 've been in Ameriky,--bad luck to the
+day I iver left the owld counthry! to be bate by the likes o' them
+(faix an' I'll sit down when I 'm ready, so I will, Aunt Ryan, an' yed
+better be listnin' than drawin' yer remarks)! an' is it mysel, with
+five good characters from respectable places, would be herdin' wid the
+haythens? The saints forgive me, but I 'd be buried alive sooner 'n
+put up wid it a day longer. Sure an' I was the granehorn not to be
+lavin' at onct when the missus kim into me kitchen wid her perlaver
+about the new waiter man which was brought out from Californy.
+
+"He 'll be here the night," says she, "and, Kitty, it 's meself looks
+to you to be kind and patient wid him, for he 's a furriner," says
+she, a kind o' lookin' off.
+
+"Sure an it 's little I 'll hinder nor interfare wid him nor any
+other, mum," says I, a kind o' stiff, for I minded me how these French
+waiters, wid their paper collars and brass rings on their fingers,
+isn 't company for no gurril brought up dacint and honest.
+
+Och! sorra a bit I knew what was comin' till the missus walked into me
+kitchen smilin', and says kind o' shcared: "Here 's Fing Wing, Kitty,
+an' you 'll have too much sinse to mind his bein' a little strange."
+
+Wid that she shoots the door, and I, misthrusting if I was tidied up
+sufficient for me fine buy wid his paper collar, looks up, and--Howly
+fathers! may I niver brathe another breath, but there stud a rale
+haythen Chineser a grinnin' like he'd just come off a tay-box. If
+you'll belave me, the crayture was that yeller it ud sicken you to
+see him; and sorra stitch was on him but a black nightgown over his
+trousers, and the front of his head shaved claner nor a copper biler,
+and a black tail a-hangin' down from behind, wid his two feet stook
+into the heathenestest shoes you ever set eyes on.
+
+Och! but I was up stairs afore you could turn about, a givin' the
+missus warnin', an' only stopt wid her by her raisin' me wages two
+dollars, and playdin' wid me how it was a Christian's duty to bear wid
+haythins and taitch 'em all in our power,--the saints have us!
+
+Well, the ways and trials I had wid that Chineser, Ann Ryan, I
+couldn't be tellin'. Not a blissed thing cud I do but he'd be lookin'
+on wid his eyes cocked up'ard like two poomp-handles, an' he widdout
+a speck or smitch o' whiskers on him, an' his finger-nails full a yard
+long. But it 's dyin' you'd be to see the missus a' larnin' him, and
+he grinnin' an' waggin' his pig-tail (which was pieced out long
+wid some black stoof, the haythen chate), and gettin' into her
+ways wonderful quick, I don't deny, imitatin' that sharp you'd be
+shurprised, and ketchin' an' copyin' things the best of us will do
+a-hurried wid work, yet don't want comin' to the knowledge of the
+family,--bad luck to him!
+
+Is it ate wid him? Arrah, an' would I be sittin' wid a haythen an' he
+a-atin' wid drum-sticks,--yes, an' atin' dogs an' cats unknownst to
+me, I warrant you, which it is the custom of them Chinesers, till
+the thought made me that sick I could die. An' did n't the crayture
+proffer to help me a wake ago come Toosday, an' me a foldin' down me
+clane clothes for the ironin', an' fill his haythin mouth wid water,
+an' afore I could hinder squirrit it through his teeth stret over the
+best linen table-cloth, and fold it up tight, as innercent now as a
+baby, the dirrity baste! But the worrest of all was the copyin' he'd
+be doin' till ye'd be dishtracted. It's yersel' knows the tinder feet
+that's on me since ever I 've bin in this counthry. Well, owin' to
+that, I fell into a way o' slippin' me shoes off when I 'd be settin'
+down to pale the praities or the likes o' that, and, do ye mind! that
+haythin would do the same thing after me whiniver the missus set him
+to parin' apples or tomaterses. The saints in heaven could n't have
+made him belave he cud kape the shoes on him when he'd be palin'
+anything.
+
+Did I lave for that? Faix an' I did n't. Did n't he get me into
+trouble wid my missus, the haythin? You're aware yersel' how the
+boondles comin' in from the grocery often contains more 'n 'll go into
+anything dacently. So, for that matter, I'd now and then take out a
+sup o' sugar, or flour, or tay, an' wrap it in paper and put it in me
+bit of a box tucked under the ironin' blankit the how it cuddent be
+bodderin' any one. Well, what shud it be, but this blessed Sathurday
+morn the missus wos a spakin' pleasant and respec'ful wid me in me
+kitchen when the grocer boy comes in an' stands fornenst her wid his
+boondles, an' she motions like to Fing Wing (which I never would call
+him by that name ner any other but just haythin), she motions to him,
+she does, for to take the boondles an' empty out the sugar an' what
+not, where they belongs. If you'll belave me, Ann Ryan, what did that
+blatherin' Chineser do but take out a sup o' sugar, an' a handful o'
+tay, an' a bit o' chaze right afore the missus, wrap them into bits o'
+paper, an' I spacheless wid shurprise, an' he the next minute up wid
+the ironin' blankit and pullin' out me box wid a show o' bein' sly to
+put them in.
+
+Och, the Lord forgive me, but I clutched it, and missus sayin', "O
+Kitty!" in a way that 'ud cruddle your blood.
+
+"He 's a haythin nager," says I.
+
+"I 've found you out," says she.
+
+"I 'll arrist him," says I.
+
+"It 's you ought to be arristed," says she.
+
+"You won't," says I.
+
+"I will," says she; and so it went till she give me such sass as
+I cuddent take from no lady,--an' I give her warnin' an' left that
+instant, an' she a-pointin' to the doore.
+
+
+
+
+THE BIG OYSTER.
+
+A LEGEND OF RARITAN BAY.
+
+GEORGE ARNOLD.
+
+
+  'Twas a hazy, mazy, lazy day,
+  And the good smack _Emily_ idly lay
+  Off Staten Island, in Raritan Bay,
+    With her canvas loosely flapping,
+  The sunshine slept on the briny deep,
+  Nor wave nor zephyr could vigils keep,
+  The oysterman lay on the deck asleep,
+    And even the cap'n was napping.
+
+  The smack went drifting down the tide,--
+  The waters gurgling along her side,--
+  Down where the bay glows vast and wide,--
+    A beautiful sheet of water;
+  With scarce a ripple about her prow,
+  The oyster-smack floated, silent and slow,
+  With Keyport far on her starboard bow,
+    And South Amboy on her quarter.
+
+  But, all at once, a grating sound
+  Made the cap'n awake and glance around;
+  "Hold hard!" cried he, "we've run aground,
+    As sure as all tarnation!"
+  The men jumped up, and grumbled and swore;
+  They also looked, and plainly saw
+  That the _Emily_ lay two miles from shore,
+    At the smallest calculation.
+
+  Then, gazing over the side, to see
+  What kind of a bottom this shoal might be,
+  They saw, in the shadow that lay to the lee,
+    A sight that filled them with horror!
+  The water was clear, and beneath it, there,
+  An oyster lay in its slimy lair,
+  So big, that to tell its dimensions fair
+    Would take from now till to-morrow.
+
+  And this it was made the grating sound;
+  On this the _Emily_ ran aground;
+  And this was the shoal the cap'n found,--
+    Alack! the more is the pity.
+  For straight an idea entered his head:
+  He'd drag it out of its watery bed,
+  And give it a resting-place, instead,
+    In some saloon in the city.
+
+  So, with crow, and lever, and gaff, and sling,
+  And tongs, and tackle, and roller, and ring,
+  They made a mighty effort to bring
+    This hermit out of his cloister.
+  They labored earnestly, day and night,
+  Working by torch and lantern light,
+  Till they had to acknowledge that, do what they might,
+    They never could budge the oyster!
+
+  The cap'n fretted, and fumed, and fussed,--
+  He swore he'd "have that 'yster, or bust!"
+  But, for all his oaths, he was quite nonplussed;
+    So by way of variation,
+  He sat him quietly down, for a while,
+  To cool his anger and settle his bile,
+  And to give himself up, in his usual style,
+    To a season of meditation.
+
+  Now, the cap'n was quite a wonderful man;
+  He could do almost anything any man can,
+  And a good deal more, when he once began
+    To act from a clear deduction.
+  But his wonderful power,--his greatest pride,--
+  The feat that shadowed all else beside,--
+  The talent on which he most relied,--
+    Was his awful power of suction!
+
+  At suction he never had known defeat!
+  The stoutest suckers had given in, beat,
+  When he sucked up a quart of apple-jack, neat,
+    By touching his lips to the measure!
+  He'd suck an oyster out of its shell,
+  Suck shrimps or lobsters equally well;
+  Suck cider till inward the barrel-heads fell,--
+    And seemed to find it a pleasure.
+
+  Well, after thinking a day or two,
+  This doughty sucker imagined he knew
+  About the best thing he could possibly do,
+    To secure the bivalvular hermit.
+  "I'll bore through his shell, as they bore for coal,
+  With an auger fixed on the end of a pole,
+  And then, through a tube, I'll suck him out whole,--
+    A neat little swallow, I term it!"
+
+  The very next day, he returned to the place
+  Where his failure had thrown him into disgrace;
+  And there, with a ghastly grin on his face,
+    Began his submarine boring.
+  He worked for a week, for the shell was tough,
+  But reached the interior soon enough
+  For the oyster, who found such surgery rough,--
+    Such grating, and scraping, and scoring!
+
+  The shell-fish started, the water flew,
+  The cap'n turned decidedly blue,
+  But thrust his auger still further through,
+    To quiet the wounded creature.
+  Alas! I fear my tale grows sad,
+  The oyster naturally felt quite bad
+    In spite of its peaceful nature.
+
+  It arose, and, turning itself on edge,
+  Exposed a ponderous shelly wedge,
+  All covered with slime, and sea-weed, and sedge,--
+    A conchological wonder!
+  This wedge flew open, as quick as a flash,
+  Into two great jaws, with a mighty splash
+  One scraunching, crunching, crackling crash,--
+    And the smack was gone to thunder.
+
+
+
+
+A PRECIOUS PICKLE.
+
+(FOR FEMALE CHARACTERS ONLY.)
+
+
+CHARACTERS.
+
+  MISS REBECCA PEASE.
+  MRS. GABBLE.
+  JENNY FROST, } City girls on a vacation
+  BESSY SNOW,  } in the country.
+  SADIE BEAN,  }
+  SISSY GABBLE.
+  JUNO, Miss Pease's coloured help.
+
+SCENE.--MISS PEASE'S _best room. Table_, C., _back. Chairs_, R. _and_
+L. _Rocking-chair_, C. _Chair directly in front of the table._
+
+_Enter_, L., JUNO; _costume, calico dress, handkerchief about her head
+in shape of a turban, broom in her hand._
+
+_Juno._ Bress my soul! Nebber see, in de whole co'se ob my life, sich
+a galloping set as dem are city gals--nebber! For all de worl', jes
+like a flock ob sheep. Shoo! away dey go, from de cellar to de top
+ob de house--pell-mell inter de barn. Skipterty shoo, ober de fields;
+skersplash into de brook; don't keer for nuffin nor nobody. Can't keep
+de chairs straight, nor de flo' clean nor nuffin. (_Looks off_, R.)
+Now, now, now, jes look a dar! jes look a dar! See 'em scootin' round,
+chasin' dat are poor orphanless calf, what ain't got no mudder. Never
+did see nuffin like it, nebber. (_Sweeps violently._)
+
+_Jenny._ (_Outside_, R.) Ha, ha, ha! If you don't stop, girls, I shall
+die.
+
+_Bessie._ (_Outside_, R.) Ha, ha, ha! O, dear, there goes my hat!
+
+_Sadie._ (_Outside_, R.) Ha, ha, ha! Do see him jump! [_All three
+enter_, R, _laughing._
+
+_Jenny._ O, isn't this splendid! A country life for me.
+
+_Bessie._ It's glorious! I could live here forever.
+
+_Sadie._ So could I. No more city life for me.
+
+_Juno._ Bress my soul! Goin' fur to stay here forebber! I'll jes' pack
+up my jewelry, and slope, for sartin'.
+
+_Jenny._ Ah, there's Juno. O, Juno, isn't it most dinner-time? I'm so
+hungry!
+
+_Bessie._ So am I--ravenous.
+
+_Sadie._ I'm starving; slowly, but surely, starving.
+
+_Juno._ Dinner! Why, bress my soul! yer hain't got yer breakfast
+digesticated yet. Well, I nebber, in de whole co'se ob my life,
+seed sich eaters--nebber. Six biscuit, four b'iled eggs apiece, and
+chicken; chicken by de dozen for dar breakfast; and now want dar
+dinner! Bress my soul! Doesn't yer git nuffin to eat in de city?
+
+_Sadie._ O, yes, plenty; but not such biscuits as Juno makes.
+
+_Jenny and Bessie._ Never, never!
+
+_Jenny._ And eggs, girls! None cooked as Juno cooks them.
+
+_Bessie and Sadie._ Never, never!
+
+_Bessie._ And chickens! never so nice as those broiled by Juno.
+
+_Jenny and Sadie._ Never, never!
+
+_Juno._ Doesn't yers, honies? (_Grinning._) Dat's mean; dat's raal
+mean. Well, poor dears, I s'pose yers is hungry. Now you jes' wait and
+see what Juno can find for a lunch. [_Exit_, L.
+
+_Jenny._ "A little _flattery_, now and then, is relished by the wisest
+men."
+
+_Bessie._ And the darkest of our sex, Jenny.
+
+_Sadie._ Yes; and "a _soft_ answer turneth away wrath." O, ain't we
+having a splendid time, girls?
+
+_Jenny._ How kind of our parents, after eight months' hard study, to
+send us to this delightful place!
+
+_Sadie._ O, it's splendid. We want nothing here.
+
+_Bessie._ No, indeed. There's nothing left in that dry, hot city to be
+regretted.
+
+_Jenny._ Stop. There is one thing I _should_ like.
+
+_Sadie and Bessie._ What is that?
+
+_Jenny._ One of mother's pickles.
+
+_Sadie and Bessie._ What! a pickle?
+
+_Jenny._ Yes. I'm dying for one of mother's sour, peppery pickles.
+
+_Sadie._ O, don't, Jenny. Do you want to make me homesick?
+
+_Bessie._ My mouth puckers at the thought. I want to go home.
+
+_Enter_, R., SISSY GABBLE, _a very small girl, with a very large cape
+bonnet on her head, and a tin pail in her hand._
+
+_Sissy._ If yer pleath, Mith Peath, if, if--Mith Peath, if you
+pleath--
+
+_Jenny._ Why, who in the world is this?
+
+_Sadie._ What do you want, little girl?
+
+_Sissy._ Mith Peath, if you pleath, if, if--Mith Peath, to home, my
+mother thed--my mother thed. What did my mother thed? O, my mother
+thed, if Mith Peath is to home, to give Mith Peath her com--her
+com--to give Mith Peath her com--
+
+_Jenny._ Her compliments?
+
+_Sissy._ Yith ma'am, I geth tho; and tell Mith Peath, the thent her
+thome of her pickleth.
+
+_Sadie and Bessie._ Pickles! O, you dear little thing!
+
+_Jenny._ O, isn't she a darling! (_They all crowd round_ SISSY, _take
+off her bonnet, kiss and hug her._) Isn't she splendid?
+
+_Bessie._ I'll take the pail, little girl.
+
+_Sissy._ (_Putting pail behind her._) Yith marm; I geth not. My mother
+thed I muthn't give it to nobody but Mith Peath.
+
+_Bessie._ Well, take off the cover, little girl. The pickles will
+spoil.
+
+_Sissy._ I geth not. _My_ mother's pickleth _never_ thpoil.
+
+_Jenny._ The little plague! Say, Sissy; do you like candy?
+
+_Sissy._ Candy? Merlatheth candy?
+
+_Jenny._ Yes.
+
+_Sissy._ Ith it pulled?
+
+_Jenny._ Yes, indeed; pulled white as snow. Give me the pail, and I'll
+find you a long stick of it.
+
+_Sissy._ You ain't Mith Peath; and I don't like merlatheth candy white
+ath thnow. Where ith Mith Peath?
+
+_Sadie._ Little girl, don't you want some red and white peppermints?
+
+_Sissy._ No, I don't. I want Mith Peath.
+
+_Bessie._ Or some splendid gum drops?
+
+_Sissy._ No. I want Mith Peath.
+
+_Enter_ MISS PEASE, L.
+
+_Miss P._ And here she is, Sissy Gabble. What have you for me? (_The
+girls fall back in confusion, and whisper together._)
+
+_Sissy._ Thome pickleth, Mith Peath, my mother thent you, with her
+com--her com--her com--
+
+_Miss P._ Her compliments, Sissy. I understand. I'm very much obliged
+to her for sending them, and to you, Sissy, for bringing them so
+carefully. Here, Juno!
+
+_Enter_, JUNO, L.
+
+_Juno._ Yes, missis. Why, bress my soul! if dar ain't Sissy Gabble!
+Come right here, yer dear chile.
+
+_Miss P._ Take her to the kitchen, Juno. Perhaps you can find a cake
+for her.
+
+_Juno._ Guess I can, missis, sure for sartin. Come, Sissy Gabble, come
+right along wid Juno.
+
+_Sissy._ Thay, Juno, who ith them? (_Pointing to girls._)
+
+_Juno._ Why, bress yer soul, dem ar's de young ladies from de city, on
+dar vex--vex--on dar vexation. O, Sissy, dar drefful sweet.
+
+_Sissy._ Thweet, Juno? I thpothe tho; they've got thuch loth of candy.
+But they didn't git my pail, tho!
+
+_Juno._ Come along to de kitchen. Come.
+
+[_Exeunt_ JUNO _and_ SISSY, L. _The girls gather about_ MISS PEASE.
+
+_Jenny._ O, Miss Pease, I'm so glad Mrs. Gabble sent you those
+pickles, I'm so fond of them!
+
+_Bessie._ Yes, Miss Pease; they're so nice!
+
+_Sadie._ O, they're splendid! Do give us a taste.
+
+_Miss P._ Stop, stop young ladies. While I cannot but be grateful to
+Mrs. Gabble for her kindness, I wish it had taken some other shape. I
+have long been of the opinion that pickles are unwholesome, and have
+never allowed them to be placed upon my table. And I am sure I should
+be disobeying the instructions I received from your parents--to
+provide you only wholesome food--did I permit you to taste them. For
+the present, I shall leave them here. (_Places pail on the table._)
+If you believe I have your interest at heart, you will not touch that
+which I have condemned. I know I can trust you. _Exit_, L.
+
+_Bessie._ Well, I declare! The mean old thing!
+
+_Jenny._ It's too bad! Nothing but blasted hopes in this world!
+
+_Sadie._ Well, I don't care, I'm a going to have one of those pickles,
+if I die for it.
+
+_Jenny._ Why, Sadie Bean, you don't mean it!
+
+_Sadie._ Yes, I do. I know they _are_ wholesome, and my mother always
+allows me to eat them.
+
+_Bessie._ I wouldn't touch one for the world. How impolite it would
+be, after Miss Pease has forbidden it!
+
+_Sadie._ No; she didn't forbid it. She said, if we thought she had our
+interest at heart, we wouldn't touch the pail. Now I don't believe she
+has, when she wants to deprive us of such a luxury. I'm determined to
+have a pickle.
+
+_Jenny._ You are wrong, Sadie, to think of such a thing. A Precious
+Pickle you'll make. (_Sits on sofa._)
+
+_Bessie._ Nothing would tempt me. (_Sits on sofa._) How can you,
+Sadie?
+
+_Sadie._ Pooh! Cowards! It's just as easy as croquet, when you make up
+your mind. (_Lifts cover, and takes out pickle._) A Precious Pickle.
+I'll taste, Jenny. Ain't they beauties?
+
+_Jenny._ Quick, quick, Sadie; somebody's coming!
+
+_Sadie._ Dear me! (_Claps on cover, runs and sits on sofa between_
+JENNY _and_ BESSIE.)
+
+_Enter_ JUNO, L.
+
+_Juno._ Bress my soul! dars Missis Gabble a runnin up de walk like all
+possessed. Speck her house afire, sure for sartin. _Exit_, R.
+
+_Sadie._ (_Tasting pickle._) O, ain't it nice! Bessie, run and get
+one.
+
+_Bessie._ No, indeed; I shall do no such thing.
+
+_Jenny._ O, Sadie, I wouldn't believe you could do such a thing.
+
+_Sadie._ O, pshaw! It's all envy; you know it is.
+
+_Enter_ R., JUNO, _followed by_ MRS. GABBLE, _who wears a calico
+dress, has her sleeves rolled up, her apron thrown over her head, and
+has altogether the appearance of having just left the wash-tub._
+
+_Mrs. G._ Yes, Juno, poor Mr. Brown has shuffled off this
+mortal--what's it's name? (_Looks_ _at girls._) O, how do you do? I
+don't know how much he's worth, but they do say--Why, Juno, you've
+got a new calico--Fine day, young ladies.--They do say--Well, there, I
+oughtn't to speak of it. Got your washing out, Juno? I've been all day
+at that tub; and--Where's Miss Pease? I can't stop a minute; so don't
+ask me to sit down. (_Sits in rocking-chair and rocks violently._)
+
+_Juno._ Yes, Missy Gabble, Missy Pease to home. Send her right up,
+sure for sartin. Bress my soul, how that woman do go on, for sartin.
+_Exit_, L.
+
+_Mrs. G._ Ah, poor Mrs. Brown, with all them young ones. I wonder
+where my Sis is.
+
+_Jenny._ I think she's in the kitchen, Mrs. Gabble.
+
+_Mrs. G._ You don't say so? Stuffing herself, I'm sure. And poor Mr.
+Brown lying dead in the next house--and there's my washing waiting for
+soap--and there's Mrs. Jones hasn't sent my ironing-board home; and
+mercy knows how I'm to get along without it.
+
+_Enter_ MISS PEASE, L. _During the dialogue between_ MISS PEASE _and_
+MRS. G., SADIE _slyly eats her pickle, offering it to_ JENNY _and_
+BESSIE, _who at first shake their heads, afterwards taste; the pickle
+is passed among them, and devoured before the conclusion of the
+conversation._
+
+_Miss P._ Ah, Mrs. Gabble! I'm glad to see you. (_Takes chair and sits
+beside her._)
+
+_Mrs. G._ And poor Brown is gone!
+
+_Miss P._ Mr. Brown dead? This is sad news.
+
+_Mrs. G._ I should think it was--and there's Skillet, the butcher,
+chopped off his thumb--and Miss Pearson fell down stairs and broke her
+china sugar-bowl--sp'ilt the whole set. As I told my husband, these
+expensive dishes never can be matched--and speaking of matches, Mrs.
+Thorpe is going to get a divorce. Jest think of it! I met her going
+into Carter's shop this morning. She had on that pink muslin he gave
+her for a birthday present--Jenkins has got a new lot of them, only
+a shilling a yard--speaking of yards, old Cooper tumbled into
+that miserable well in his back yard this morning. They pulled him
+out--speaking of pulling, Miss Tibbet was in to the dentist's this
+morning for a new set of teeth, and--Have you seen my Sis?
+
+_Miss P._ O, yes. She's in the kitchen with Juno. And, speaking of
+Sissy, reminds me that I must thank you for sending me--
+
+_Mrs. G._ My pickles? Yes. Well, I'm glad you got 'em. But I didn't
+have a bit of good luck with 'em. And, speaking of pickles, O, Miss
+Pease, that villain, Smith, the grocer, has been taken up. He's going
+to be hung. Nothing can save him.
+
+_Miss P._ Mr. Smith arrested! For what pray?
+
+_Mrs. G._ P'isoning! Jest think of it! And he a deacon in the church,
+and has such a splendid span of horses, and such an elegant beach
+wagon. I declare, the last time he took us to the beach I nearly died
+eating soft-shelled crabs; and my husband tumbled overboard, and
+Mr. Brown got sunstruck; and now he's gone! Dear me, dear me! And my
+washing ain't out yet.
+
+_Miss P._ But tell me, Mrs. Gabble, what is it about the poisoning?
+
+_Mrs. G._ Why, he or somebody else has been putting prussic acid in
+his vinegar, just at the time, too, when everybody's making pickles;
+and there's no end of the p'isoning he will have to answer for. Mrs.
+Jewel's just sent for the doctor, and Mrs. Poor's been dreadful all
+day, and Dr. Baldtop's flying round from house to house; and, O,
+dear--there's my washing! Who'll be the next victim nobody knows, I'm
+sure.
+
+_Sadie._ (_Jumping up._) O, dear! O, dear! Send for the doctor, quick!
+I'm dying, I know I am. (_Runs across stage and sinks into chair_, R.)
+
+_Miss P._ (_Running to her._) Bless me child, what ails you?
+
+_Sadie._ I don't know; I can't tell. The doctor, quick!
+
+_Mrs. G._ Deary me, she's took sudden, just for all the world like
+Susan Richie.
+
+_Jenny._ (_Jumping up._) Water, water! Give me some water! I shall die
+if I don't have some water. (_Runs down and sinks into chair_, L.)
+
+_Mrs. G._ (_Jumping up and running to her._) Gracious goodness! here's
+another! It's something dreadful, depend upon it. When folks is took
+sudden--
+
+_Bessie._ (_Jumping up._) O, my throat! I'm burning up! Give me some
+ipecac. Quick, quick, quick! (_Runs round stage, then sinks into
+chair_, C.)
+
+_Mrs. G._ There goes another! It's something dreadful, depend on it.
+
+_Miss P._ What does this mean? Here, Juno, Juno! Quick!
+
+_Enter_ JUNO, L.
+
+_Juno._ Here I is, Missy Pease.
+
+_Sadie._ Run for the doctor, quick, Juno!
+
+_Juno._ (_Running_, R.) Bress my soul! I'll fetch him.
+
+_Jenny._ No, no! Get me some water--quick!
+
+_Juno._ (_Running_ L.) To be sure, honey; to be sure.
+
+_Bessie._ No, no, Juno! some ipecac, or a stomach pump.
+
+_Juno._ Pump, pump! Want de pump? I'll fetch it, I'll fetch it. Bress
+my soul, I'll fetch something. _Exit_, L.
+
+_Mrs. G._ Well, if this ain't drefful!--washing-day, too--and the
+undertaker's jest as busy as he can be--there never was so much
+_immortality_ in this place, never. Poor critters! poor critters!
+
+_Miss P._ Girls, what does this mean?
+
+_Sadie._ O, Miss Pease, such agony!
+
+_Bessie._ O, dear, what will become of me?
+
+_Jenny._ O, this dreadful parching in the throat!
+
+_Mrs. G._ O, I know it, I know it. I told my husband that something
+dreadful was a goin' to happen when he sold that colt yesterday.
+
+_Miss P._ Sadie, what is the meaning of this. Your pulse is regular,
+your head cool, and your tongue clear.
+
+_Sadie._ O, Miss Pease, it's those dreadful pickles.
+
+_Mrs. G._ Yes, indeed, it is a drefful pickle--and so sudden, jest for
+all the world like poor Mr. Brown's sudden took, and these always seem
+to end fatally at some time or other--Dear me, dear me, and my wash--
+
+_Miss P._ Pickles! Have you disobeyed me?
+
+_Sadie._ I couldn't help it, Miss Pease; they looked so tempting. But
+I only took one.
+
+_Bessie._ And I only tasted that.
+
+_Jenny._ I only had one good bite.
+
+_Sadie._ And we are poisoned!
+
+_Bessie._ O, dear! poisoned!
+
+_Jenny._ Yes, poisoned!
+
+_Miss P._ How, poisoned?
+
+_Sadie._ Mrs. Gabble says the vinegar was poisoned by Mr. Smith.
+
+_Mrs. G._ Smith--vinegar--p'isoned! The land sakes! And I a good
+church member--and my washing--and poor Mr. Brown, tew. Well, I never!
+I'd have you to know that I bought no vinegar of Mr. Smith, I made my
+own.
+
+_Sadie._ And your pickles were not poisoned?
+
+_Mrs. G._ No, indeed. Never did such a thing in my life.
+
+_Sadie._ O, dear! I'm so glad! (_Jumping up._)
+
+_Bessie._ I won't have the ipecac. (_Rises._)
+
+_Jenny._ My throat is decidedly better. (_Rises._)
+
+_Enter_ JUNO _with a pail of water and a dipper._
+
+_Juno._ Bress my soul, de pump was fastened down so tight couldn't git
+it up. Here's a pail of water; if dat won't do I'll git a tub.
+
+_Miss P._ No matter, Juno. I think 'twill not be needed. Young ladies,
+I am very sorry--
+
+_Sadie._ Please, Miss Pease, do not speak of it. I alone am to blame
+for transgressing your command, for such we should consider it, as
+you are for the present our guardian. Forgive me, and in future I will
+endeavour to control my appetite, and comply with your wishes.
+
+_Mrs. G._ Well, I declare, I don't see the harm in eating pickles. My
+girls eat their weight in 'em, and they're just as sweet-tempered as--
+
+_Miss P._ Their mother. Mrs. Gabble, it is not a question of harm,
+but of obedience, here. You see, the young ladies accept me as their
+guardian, and I only forbid that which I think their parents would not
+approve.
+
+_Mrs. G._ And there's my washing in the suds! Where's my Sis.
+
+_Enter_ SISSY GABBLE, L., _with a large slice of bread, covered with
+molasses._
+
+_Sissy._ Here I ith, mother. Mith Peath thed I might have thumthin,
+and I like bread, and 'latheth.
+
+_Juno._ Bress my soul! dat are chile jest runnin' over with sweetness,
+sure for sartin.
+
+_Mrs. G._ Yes; and the 'lasses running all over the clothes! Come,
+Sissy, let's go home. I'm sorry, Miss Pease, you don't like pickles;
+and I'm sorry, young ladies, they disagree with you. And I'm sorry,
+Miss Pease, I left my washing.
+
+_Miss P._ Now don't be sorry at all, Mrs. Gabble. I'm always glad
+to see you. Your gift was well-intended, and the young ladies have
+suffered no harm, perhaps received a wholesome lesson.
+
+_Sadie._ I think we have. I shall be very careful what I touch.
+
+_Jenny._ O, dear! such a fright! I shall never get over it.
+
+_Bessie._ O, Sadie, you thought it was so nice!
+
+_Jenny._ Yes, such a Precious Pickle!
+
+_Mrs. G._ Of course it was. My pickles are the best made in
+town--precious nice, I tell you. Mrs. Doolittle always sends in for
+'em when she has company; and the minister says they're awful soothing
+arter sermon.
+
+_Sadie._ O, certainly; I've no doubt of it. But I've found that
+_stolen_ fruit is not the sweetest, and that mischievous fingers
+make trouble when they clutch what mine sought, and _made_ a Precious
+Pickle.
+
+[_Curtain._]
+
+
+
+
+MY MOTHER'S BIBLE.
+
+MORRIS.
+
+    After once reading this sweet little poem, the student will
+    need no prompting to teach him that it is not possible for him
+    to deliver it with too much genuine emotion:
+
+
+  This book is all that's left me now!
+    Tears will unbidden start,--
+  With faltering lip and throbbing brow,
+    I press it to my heart.
+  For many generations past,
+    Here is our family tree;
+  My mother's hand this Bible clasped;
+    She, dying, gave it me.
+
+  Ah! well do I remember those
+    Whose names those records bear,
+  Who round the hearthstone used to close
+    After the evening prayer,
+  And speak of what these pages said,
+    In tones my heart would thrill!
+  Though they are with the silent dead,
+    Here are they living still!
+
+  My father read this holy book
+    To brothers, sisters dear;
+  How calm was my poor mother's look,
+    Who learned God's word to hear.
+  Her angel-face--I see it yet!
+    What thronging memories come!
+  Again that little group is met
+    Within the halls of home!
+
+  Thou truest friend man ever knew,
+    Thy constancy I've tried;
+  Where all were false I found thee true,
+    My counsellor and guide.
+  The mines of earth no treasure give
+    That could this volume buy:
+  In teaching me the way to live,
+    It taught me how to die.
+
+
+
+
+ENLISTING AS ARMY NURSE.
+
+LOUISA M. ALCOTT.
+
+
+"I want something to do."--This remark being addressed to the world in
+general, no one in particular felt it his duty to reply; so I repeated
+it to the smaller world about me, received the following suggestions,
+and settled the matter by answering my own inquiry, as people are apt
+to do when very much in earnest.
+
+"Write a book," quoth my father.
+
+"Don't know enough, sir. First live, then write."
+
+"Try teaching again," suggested my mother.
+
+"No, thank you, ma'am; ten years of that is enough."
+
+"Take a husband like my Darby, and fulfil your mission," said Sister
+Jane, home on a visit.
+
+"Can't afford expensive luxuries, Mrs. Coobiddy."
+
+"Turn actress, and immortalize your name," said Sister Vashti,
+striking an attitude.
+
+"I won't."
+
+"Go nurse the soldiers," said my young neighbor, Tom, panting for "the
+tented field."
+
+"I will!"
+
+Arriving at this satisfactory conclusion, the meeting adjourned; and
+the fact that Miss Tribulation was available as army nurse went abroad
+on the wings of the wind.
+
+In a few days a townswoman heard of my desire, approved of it, and
+brought about an interview with one of the sisterhood I wished to
+join, who was at home on a furlough, and able and willing to satisfy
+inquiries.
+
+A morning chat with Miss General S.--we hear no end of Mrs. Generals,
+why not a Miss?--produced three results: I felt that I could do the
+work, was offered a place, and accepted it; promising not to desert,
+but to stand ready to march on Washington at an hour's notice.
+
+A few days were necessary for the letter containing my request and
+recommendation to reach head-quarters, and another, containing my
+commission, to return; therefore no time was to be lost; and, heartily
+thanking my pair of friends, I hurried home through the December
+slush, as if the Rebels were after me, and, like many another recruit,
+burst in upon my family with the announcement,--"I've enlisted!"
+
+An impressive silence followed. Tom, the irrepressible, broke it with
+a slap on the shoulder and the grateful compliment,--"Old Trib, you're
+a trump!"
+
+"Thank you; then I'll _take_ something,"--which I did, in the shape
+of dinner, reeling off my news at the rate of three dozen words to a
+mouthful; and as every one else talked equally fast, and all together,
+the scene was most inspiring.
+
+As boys going to sea immediately become nautical in speech, walk as
+if they already had their sea-legs on, and shiver their timbers on all
+possible occasions, so I turned military at once, called my dinner my
+rations, saluted all new-comers, and ordered a dress-parade that very
+afternoon.
+
+Having reviewed every rag I possessed, I detailed some pieces for
+picket duty while airing on the fence; some to the sanitary influences
+of the wash-tub; others to mount guard in the trunk; while the weak
+and wounded went to the Work-basket Hospital, to be made ready for
+active service again.
+
+To this squad I devoted myself for a week; but all was done, and I
+had time to get powerfully impatient before the letter came. It did
+arrive, however, and brought a disappointment along with its good-will
+and friendliness; for it told me that the place in the Armory Hospital
+that I supposed I was to take was already filled, and a much less
+desirable one at Hurly-burly House was offered instead.
+
+"That's just your luck, Trib. I'll take your trunk up garret for you
+again; for of course you won't go," Tom remarked, with the disdainful
+pity which small boys affect when they get into their teens.
+
+I was wavering in my secret soul; but that remark settled the matter,
+and I crushed him on the spot with martial brevity,--"It is now one; I
+shall march at six."
+
+I have a confused recollection of spending the afternoon in pervading
+the house like an executive whirlwind, with my family swarming after
+me,--all working, talking, prophesying, and lamenting while I packed
+such of my things as I was to take with me, tumbled the rest into two
+big boxes, danced on the lids till they shut, and gave them in charge,
+with the direction,--"If I never come back, make a bonfire of them."
+
+Then I choked down a cup of tea, generously salted instead of sugared
+by some agitated relative, shouldered my knapsack,--it was only a
+travelling-bag, but do let me preserve the unities,--hugged my family
+three times all round without a vestige of unmanly emotion, till a
+certain dear old lady broke down upon my neck, with a despairing sort
+of wail,--"O my dear, my dear! how can I let you go?"
+
+"I'll stay, if you say so, mother."
+
+"But I don't; go, and the Lord will take care of you."
+
+Much of the Roman matron's courage had gone into the Yankee matron's
+composition, and, in spite of her tears, she would have sent ten
+sons to the war, had she possessed them, as freely as she sent one
+daughter, smiling and flapping on the door-step till I vanished,
+though the eyes that followed me were very dim, and the handkerchief
+she waved was very wet.
+
+My transit from The Gables to the village depot was a funny mixture
+of good wishes and good-bys, mud-puddles and shopping. A December
+twilight is not the most cheering time to enter upon a somewhat
+perilous enterprise; but I'd no thought of giving out, O, bless you,
+no!
+
+When the ingine screeched "Here we are!" I clutched my escort in a
+fervent embrace, and skipped into the car with as blithe a farewell as
+if going on a bridal tour,--though I believe brides don't usually wear
+cavernous black bonnets and fuzzy brown coats, with a hair-brush, a
+pair of rubbers, two books, and a bag of gingerbread distorting the
+pockets.
+
+If I thought that people would believe it, I'd boldly state that I
+slept from C. to B., which would simplify matters immensely; but as
+I know they wouldn't, I'll confess that the head under the funereal
+coal-hod fermented with all manner of high thoughts and heroic
+purposes "to do or die,"--perhaps both; and the heart under the fuzzy
+brown coat felt very tender with the memory of the dear old lady,
+probably sobbing over her army socks and the loss of her topsy-turvy
+Trib.
+
+At this juncture I took the veil, and what I did behind it is nobody's
+business; but I maintain that the soldier who cries when his mother
+says "Good by" is the boy to fight best, and die bravest, when the
+time comes, or go back to her better than he went.
+
+
+
+
+ONLY SIXTEEN.
+
+    "When last seen, he was considerably intoxicated.... and was
+    found dead in the highway."--_Republican and Democrat of_ May
+    17.
+
+
+  Only sixteen, so the papers say,
+  Yet there on the cold, stony ground he lay;
+  'Tis the same sad story we hear every day--
+  He came to his death in the public highway.
+  Full of promise, talent, and pride,
+  Yet the rum fiend conquered him; so he died.
+  Did not the angels weep over the scene?
+  For he died a drunkard--and only sixteen,
+                        Only sixteen.
+
+  Oh! it were sad he must die all alone:
+  That of all his friends, not even one
+  Was there to list to his last faint moan,
+  Or point the suffering soul to the throne
+  Of grace. If, perchance, God's only Son
+  Would say, "Whosoever will may come."
+  But we hasten to draw a veil over the scene,
+  With his God we leave him--only sixteen.
+                        Only sixteen.
+
+  Rumseller, come view the work you have wrought:
+  Witness the suffering and pain you have brought
+  To the poor boy's friends. They loved him well,
+  And yet you dared the vile beverage to sell
+  That beclouded his brain, his reason dethroned,
+  And left him to die out there all alone.
+  What if 'twere _your_ son instead of another?
+  What if your wife were that poor boy's mother,
+                        And he only sixteen?
+
+  Ye free-holders who signed the petition to grant
+  The license to sell, do you think you will want
+  That record to meet in the last great day,
+  When the earth and the heavens shall have passed away,
+  When the elements, melted with fervent heat,
+  Shall proclaim the triumph of RIGHT complete?
+  Will you wish to have his blood on your hands
+  When before the great throne you each shall stand,
+                        And he only sixteen?
+
+  Christian men! rouse ye to stand for the right,
+  To action and duty; into the light
+  Come with your banners, inscribed "Death to rum."
+  Let your conscience speak. Listen, then, come;
+  Strike killing blows; hew to the line;
+  Make it a felony even to sign
+  A petition to license; you would do it, I ween,
+  If that were your son, and "only sixteen,"
+                        Only sixteen.
+
+THE WATCHWORD.
+
+
+
+
+THE GRIDIRON.
+
+THE CAPTAIN, PATRICK, AND THE FRENCHMAN.
+
+
+_Patrick._ Well, Captain, whereabouts in the wide world _are_ we? Is
+it Roosia, Proosia, or the Jarmant oceant?
+
+_Captain._ Tut, you fool; it's France.
+
+_Patrick._ Tare and ouns! do you tell me so? and how do you know it's
+France, Captain dear?
+
+_Captain._ Because we were on the coast of the Bay of Biscay when the
+vessel was wrecked.
+
+_Patrick._ Throth, I was thinkin' so myself. And now, Captain jewel,
+it is I that wishes we had a gridiron.
+
+_Captain._ Why, Patrick, what puts the notion of a gridiron into your
+head?
+
+_Patrick._ Because I'm starving with hunger, Captain dear.
+
+_Captain._ Surely you do not intend to eat a gridiron, do you?
+
+_Patrick._ Ate a gridiron; bad luck to it! no. But if we had a
+gridiron, we could dress a beefsteak.
+
+_Captain._ Yes; but where's the beefsteak, Patrick?
+
+_Patrick._ Sure, couldn't we cut it off the pork?
+
+_Captain._ I never thought of that. You are a clever fellow, Patrick.
+(_Laughing._)
+
+_Patrick._ There's many a thrue word said in joke, Captain. And now,
+if you will go and get the bit of pork that we saved from the rack,
+I'll go to the house there beyant, and ax some of them to lind me the
+loan of a gridiron.
+
+_Captain._ But, Patrick, this is France, and they are all foreigners
+here.
+
+_Patrick._ Well, and how do you know but I am as good a furriner
+myself as any o' them.
+
+_Captain._ What do you mean, Patrick?
+
+_Patrick._ Parley voo frongsay?
+
+_Captain._ O, you understand French, then, is it?
+
+_Patrick._ Throth, you may say that, Captain dear.
+
+Captain. Well, Patrick, success to you. Be civil to the foreigners,
+and I'll be back with the pork in a minute. [_He goes out._
+
+_Patrick._ Ay, sure enough, I'll be civil to them; for the Frinch are
+always mighty p'lite intirely, and I'll show them I know what good
+manners is. Indade, and here comes munseer himself, quite convaynient.
+(_As the Frenchman enters, Patrick takes off his hat, and making a
+low bow, says:_) God save you, sir, and all your children. I beg your
+pardon for the liberty I take, but it's only being in disthress in
+regard of ateing, that I make bowld to trouble ye; and if you could
+lind me the loan of a gridiron, I'd be intirely obleeged to ye.
+
+_Frenchman (staring at him)._ Comment!
+
+_Patrick._ Indade it's thrue for you. I'm tathered to paces, and God
+knows I look quare enough; but it's by rason of the storm that dhruve
+us ashore jist here, and we're all starvin'.
+
+_Frenchman._ Je m'y t--(_pronounced_ zhe meet).
+
+_Patrick._ Oh! not at all! by no manes! we have plenty of mate
+ourselves, and we'll dhress it, if you be plased jist to lind us the
+loan of a gridiron, sir. (_Making a low bow._)
+
+_Frenchman (staring at him, but not understanding a word.)_
+
+_Patrick._ I beg pardon, sir; but maybe I'm undher a mistake, but I
+thought I was in France, sir. An't you all furriners here? Parley voo
+frongsay?
+
+_Frenchman._ Oui, monsieur.
+
+_Patrick._ Then, would you lind me the loan of a gridiron, if you
+plase? (_The Frenchman stares more than ever, as if anxious to
+understand._) I know it's a liberty I take, sir; but it's only in the
+regard of bein' cast away; and if you plase, sir, parley voo frongsay?
+
+_Frenchman._ Oui, monsieur, oui.
+
+_Patrick._ Then would you lind me the loan of a gridiron, sir and
+you'll obleege me?
+
+_Frenchman._ Monsieur, pardon, monsieur--
+
+_Patrick. (Angrily)._ By my sowl, if it was you was in disthress, and
+if it was to owld Ireland you came, it's not only the gridiron they'd
+give you, if you axed it, but something to put on it too, and a dhrop
+of dhrink into the bargain. Can't you understand your own language?
+(_Very slowly._) Parley--voo--frongsay--munseer?
+
+_Frenchman._ Oui, monsieur; oui, monsieur, mais--
+
+_Patrick._ Then lend me the loan of a gridiron, I say, and bad scram
+to you.
+
+_Frenchman (bowing and scraping)._ Monsieur, je ne l'entend--
+
+_Patrick._ Phoo! the divil sweep yourself and your long tongs! I don't
+want a tongs at all, at all. Can't you listen to rason?
+
+_Frenchman._ Oui, oui, monsieur: certainement, mais--
+
+_Patrick._ Then lind me the loan of a gridiron, and howld your prate.
+(_The Frenchman shakes his head, as if to say he did not understand;
+but Patrick, thinking he meant it as a refusal, says, in a passion:_)
+Bad cess to the likes o' you! Throth, if you were in my counthry, it's
+not that-a-way they'd use you. The curse o' the crows on you, you owld
+sinner! The divil another word I'll say to you. (_The Frenchman
+puts his hand on his heart, and tries to express compassion in his
+countenance._) Well, I'll give you one chance more, you old thafe!
+Are you a Christhian, at all, at all? Are you a furriner that all the
+world calls so p'lite? Bad luck to you! do you understand your mother
+tongue? Parley voo frongsay? (_Very loud._) Parley voo frongsay?
+
+_Frenchman._ Oui, monsieur, oui, oui.
+
+_Patrick._ Then, thunder and turf! will you lind me the loan of
+a gridiron? (_The Frenchman shakes his head, as if he did not
+understand; and Pat says, vehemently:_) The curse of the hungry be on
+you, you owld negarly villian! the back of my hand and the sowl of my
+fut to you! May you want a gridiron yourself yet! and wherever I go,
+it's high and low, rich and poor, shall hear of it, and be hanged to
+you!
+
+
+
+
+THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR.
+
+SAMUEL FERGUSON.
+
+    This fine poem is full of points for brilliant declamation;
+    at times there should be a flow of rapid narration, rising
+    frequently into shouts of exultation:
+
+
+  Come, see the good ship's anchor forged--'tis at a white heat now:
+  The bellows ceased, the flames decreased--though on the forge's brow
+  The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound,
+  And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round;
+  All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare--
+  Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass there.
+
+  The windlass strains the tackle chains, the black mound heaves
+          below,
+  And red and deep a hundred veins burst out at every throe!
+  It rises, roars, rends all outright--O, Vulcan, what a glow:
+  'Tis blinding white, 'tis blasting bright--the high sun shines not
+          so!
+  The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery fearful show;
+  The roof-ribs swart, the candent hearth, the ruddy lurid row
+  Of smiths that stand, an ardent band, like men before the foe
+  As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing-monster slow
+  Sinks on the anvil--all about the faces fiery grow.
+
+  "Hurrah!" they shout, "leap out--leap out;" bang, bang the sledges
+          go;
+  Hurrah! the jetted lightnings are hissing high and low--
+  A hailing fount of fire is struck at every quashing blow;
+  The leathern mail rebounds the hail, the rattling cinders strow
+  The ground around: at every bound the sweltering fountains flow
+  And thick and loud the swinking crowd at every stroke pant "Ho!"
+
+  Leap out, leap out, my masters; leap out and lay on load!
+  Let's forge a goodly anchor--a bower thick and broad;
+  For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode,
+  And I see the good ship riding, all in a perilous road--
+  The low reef roaring on her lee--the roll of ocean poured
+  From stem to stern, sea after sea; the mainmast by the board;
+  The bulwarks down, the rudder gone, the boats stove at the chains!
+  But courage still, brave mariners--the bower yet remains!
+  And not an inch to flinch he deigns, save when ye pitch sky-high;
+  Then moves his head, as though he said, "Fear nothing--here am I."
+
+  Swing in your strokes in order, let foot and hand keep time;
+  Your blows make sweeter music far than any steeple's chime.
+  But while you sling your sledges, sing--and let the burden be,
+  "The anchor is the anvil king, and royal craftsmen we:"
+  Strike in, strike in--the sparks begin to dull their rustling red;
+  Our hammers ring with sharper din, our work will soon be sped.
+
+  Our anchor must soon change his bed of fiery rich array,
+  For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy couch of clay;
+  Our anchor must soon change the lay of merry craftsmen here,
+  For the "Yeo-heave-o'!" and the "Heave-away!" and the sighing
+          seaman's cheer;
+  When, weighing slow, at eve they go--far, far from love and home;
+  And sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o'er the ocean foam.
+
+  In livid and obdurate gloom he darkens down at last;
+  A shapely one he is, and strong, as e'er from cast was cast.
+  O, trusted and trustworthy guard, if thou hadst life like me,
+  What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the deep green sea!
+
+  O, broad-armed diver of the deep, whose sports can equal thine?
+  The good ship weighs a thousand tons, that tugs thy cable line;
+  And, night by night, 'tis thy delight, thy glory day by day,
+  Through sable sea and breaker white, the giant game to play.
+  O, lodger in the sea-king's halls, couldst thou but understand
+  Whose be the white bones by thy side, once leagued in patriot band!
+  O, couldst thou know what heroes glide with larger steps round thee,
+  Thine iron sides would swell with pride; thou'dst leap within the
+          sea!
+
+  Give honor to their memories who left the pleasant strand,
+  To shed their blood so freely for love of father-land--
+  Who left their chance of quiet age and grassy church-yard grave
+  So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing wave--
+  O, though our anchor may not be all I have fondly sung,
+  Honor him for their memory, whose bones he goes among!
+
+
+
+
+LORD DUNDREARY AT BRIGHTON.
+
+AND THE RIDDLE HE MADE THERE.
+
+
+One of the many popular delusions wespecting the Bwitish swell is the
+supposition that he leads an independent life,--goes to bed when he
+likes, gets up when he likes, d-dwesses how he likes, and dines when
+he pleases.
+
+The public are gwossly deceived on this point. A weal swell is as
+m-much under authowity as a p-poor devil of a pwivate in the marines,
+a clerk in a government office, or a f-forth-form boy at Eton. Now
+I come under the demon--demonima--(no,--thop,--what is the
+word?)--dom--denom--d-denomination, that 'th it--I come under the
+d-denomination of a swell--(in--in fact--a _howwid_ swell--some of my
+friends call me, but _that'th_ only their flattewy), and I assure
+you a f-fellah in that capacity is so much westained by rules of
+f-fashion, that he can scarcely call his eyeglath his own. A swell, I
+take it, is a fellah who t-takes care that he swells as well as swells
+who swell as well as he, (there's thuch lot of thwelling in that
+thentence,--ha, ha!--it's what you might c-call a busting definition).
+What I mean is, that a f-fellah is obliged to do certain things at
+certain times of the year, whether he likes 'em or no. For instance,
+in the season I've got to go to a lot of balls and dwums and
+tea-fights in town, that I don't care a bit about, and show myself in
+the Park wegularly evewy afternoon; and latht month I had to victimize
+mythelf down in the countwy,--shooting (a bwutal sort of amusement, by
+the way). Well, about the end of October evewy one goes to Bwighton,
+n-no one knowth why,--that'th the betht of it,--and so I had to go
+too,--that's the wortht of it,--ha, ha!
+
+Not that it's such a b-bad place after all,--I d-dare say if I hadn't
+_had_ to go I should have gone all the same, for what is a f-fellah
+to do who ith n't much of a sportsman just about this time? There 'th
+n-nothing particular going on in London. Evewything is b-beathly dull;
+so I thought I would just run down on the Southeastern Wailway to
+be--ha, ha!--Bwightoned up a bit. (Come, th-that's not bad for an
+impromptu!)
+
+B-Bwighton was invented in the year 1784, by his Woyal Highness George
+P-Pwince of Wales,--the author of the shoebuckle, the stand-up collar
+(a b-beathly inconvenient and cut-throat thort of a machine), and
+a lot of other exthploded things. He built the Pavilion down there,
+which looks like a lot of petrified onions from Bwobdinag clapped down
+upon a guard-house. There'th a jolly sort of garden attached to the
+building, in which the b-band plays twice a week, and evewy one turns
+in there about four o'clock, so I went too (n-not _too_ o'clock,
+you know, but f-four o'clock). I--I'm vewy fond of m-martial music,
+mythelf. I like the dwums and the t-twombones, and the ophicleides,
+and all those sort of inshtwuments,--yeth, ethpethelly the bwass
+ones,--they're so vewy exthpiring, they are. Thtop though, ith it
+expiring or _p-per_thpiring?--n-neither of 'em sound quite right. Oh!
+I have it now, it--it's _in_thspiring,--that'th what it is, because
+the f-fellahs _bweathe into them_!
+
+That weminds me of a widdle I made down there (I--I've taken to
+widdles lately, and weally it'th a vewy harmleth thort of a way of
+getting thwough the morning, and it amuthes two f-fellahs at onth,
+because if--if you athk a fellah a widdle, and he can't guess it, you
+can have a jolly good laugh at _him_, and--if he--if he _doth_ guess
+it, he--I mean you--no--that is the widdle--stop, I--I'm getting
+confuthed,--where wath I? Oh! I know. If--if he _doth_ guess it....
+however it ithn't vewy likely he would--so what's the good of
+thupposing impwobabilities?) Well, thith was the widdle I made,--I
+thed to Sloper (Sloper's a fwiend of mine,--a vewy gook thort of
+fellah Sloper is,--I d-don't know exactly what his pwofession would
+be called, but hith uncle got him into a b-berth where he gets f-five
+hundred a year,--f-for doing nothing--s-somewhere--I forget where--but
+I--I know he does it),--I said to Sloper, "Why is that f-fellah with
+the b-bassooon l-like his own instrument?" and Sloper said, "How--how
+the dooth should I know?" (Ha, ha!--I thought he'd give it up!) So
+I said to Sloper, "Why, b-because they both get _blown_--in _time_!"
+_You_ thee the joke, of course, but I don't think Sloper did,
+thomhow; all he thed was, "V-vewy mild, Dundreary,"--and t-tho--it was
+mild--thertainly, _f-for October_, but I d-don't thee why a f-fellah
+should go making wemarks about the weather instead of laughing at m-my
+widdle.
+
+In this pwomenade that I was speaking of, you see such a lot of
+thtunning girls evewy afternoon,--dwessed twemendous swells, and
+looking like--yes, by Jove! l-like angels in cwinoline,--there 'th
+no other word for it. There are two or thwee always _will_ l-laugh,
+somehow, when I meet them,--they do now _weally_. I--I almost fancy
+they wegard me with intewest. I mutht athk Sloper if he can get me
+an introduction. Who knowth? pwaps I might make an impwession,--I'll
+twy,--I--I've got a little converthathional power,--and _theveral_ new
+wethcoats.
+
+Bwighton is filling fast now. You see dwoves of ladies evewy day on
+horseback, widing about in all diwections. By the way, I--I muthn't
+forget to mention that I met those two girls that always laugh when
+they thee me, at a tea-fight. One of 'em--the young one--told me, when
+I was intwoduced to her,--in--in confidence, mind,--that she had often
+heard of me and of my _widdles_. Tho you thee I'm getting quite
+a weputathun that way. The other morning, at Mutton's, she wath
+ch-chaffing me again, and begging me to tell her the latetht thing
+in widdles. Now, I hadn't heard any mythelf for thome time, tho I
+couldn't give her any _vewy_ great novelty, but a fwiend of mine made
+one latht theason which I thought wather neat, tho I athked her, When
+ith a jar not a jar? Thingularly enough, the moment she heard thith
+widdle she burtht out laughing behind her pocket-handkerchief!
+
+"Good gwacious! what'th the matter?" said I. "Have you ever heard it
+before?"
+
+"Never," she said emphatically, "in that form; do, _please_ tell me
+the answer."
+
+So I told her,--When it ith a door! Upon which she--she went off again
+in hystewics. I--I--I never _did_ see such a girl for laughing. I know
+it's a good widdle, but I didn't think it would have such an effect as
+_that_.
+
+By the way, Sloper told me afterwards that he thought _he_ had heard
+the widdle before, somewhere, but it was put in a different way. He
+said it was: When ith a door not a door?--and the answer, When it ith
+ajar!
+
+I--I've been thinking over the matter lately, and though I dare thay
+it--d-don't much matter which way the question is put, still--pwaps
+the last f-form is the betht. It--it seems to me to _wead_ better.
+What do you think?
+
+Now I weckomember, I made thuch a jolly widdle the other day on the
+Ethplanade. I thaw a fellah with a big New--Newfoundland dog, and he
+inthpired me--the dog, you know, not the fellah,--he wath a lunatic.
+I'm keeping the widdle, but I don't mind telling _you_.
+
+Why does a dog waggle hith tail? Give it up? I think motht fellahs
+will give that up!
+
+You thee, the dog waggles hith tail becauth the dog's stwonger than
+the tail. If he wath n't, the tail would waggle the dog!
+
+Ye-th,--that 'th what I call a widdle. If I can only wecollect him, I
+thall athtonish those two girls thome of these days.
+
+
+
+
+THE VOICES AT THE THRONE.
+
+T. WESTWOOD.
+
+
+  A little child,
+  A little meek-faced, quiet village child,
+  Sat singing by her cottage door at eve
+  A low, sweet sabbath song. No human ear
+  Caught the faint melody,--no human eye
+  Beheld the upturned aspect, or the smile
+  That wreathed her innocent lips while they breathed
+  The oft-repeated burden of the hymn,
+  "Praise God! Praise God!"
+
+                       A seraph by the throne
+  In full glory stood. With eager hand
+  He smote the golden harp-string, till a flood
+  Of harmony on the celestial air
+  Welled forth, unceasing. There with a great voice,
+  He sang the "Holy, holy evermore,
+  Lord God Almighty!" and the eternal courts
+  Thrilled with the rapture, and the hierarchies,
+  Angel, and rapt archangel, throbbed and burned
+  With vehement adoration.
+
+                       Higher yet
+  Rose the majestic anthem, without pause,
+  Higher, with rich magnificence of sound,
+  To its full strength; and still the infinite heavens
+  Rang with the "Holy, holy evermore!"
+  Till, trembling with excessive awe and love,
+  Each sceptred spirit sank before the Throne
+  With a mute hallelujah.
+
+                        But even then,
+  While the ecstatic song was at its height,
+  Stole in an alien voice,--a voice that seemed
+  To float, float upward from some world afar,--
+  A meek and childlike voice, faint, but how sweet!
+  That blended with the spirits' rushing strain,
+  Even as a fountain's music, with the roll
+  Of the reverberate thunder.
+
+                        Loving smiles
+  Lit up the beauty of each angel's face
+  At that new utterance, smiles of joy that grew
+  More joyous yet, as ever and anon
+  Was heard the simple burden of the hymn,
+  "Praise God! praise God!"
+
+                        And when the seraph's song
+  Had reached its close, and o'er the golden lyre
+  Silence hung brooding,--when the eternal courts
+  Rang with the echoes of his chant sublime,
+  Still through the abysmal space that wandering voice
+  Came floating upward from its world afar,
+  Still murmured sweet on the celestial air,
+  "Praise God! praise God!"
+
+
+
+
+MY FRIEND'S SECRET.
+
+
+  I found my friend in his easy chair,
+  With his heart and his head undisturbed by a care;
+  The smoke of a Cuba outpoured from his lips,
+  His face like the moon in a semi-eclipse;
+  His feet, in slippers, as high as his nose,
+  And his chair tilted back to a classical pose.
+
+  I marvelled much such contentment to see--
+  The secret whereof I begged he'd give me.
+  He puffed away with re-animate zest,
+  As though with an added jollity blest.
+  "I'll tell you, my friend," said he, in a pause,
+  "What is the very 'identical' cause.
+
+  "Don't fret!--Let this be the first rule of your life;--
+  Don't fret with your children, don't fret with your wife;
+  Let everything happen as happen it may,
+  Be cool as a cucumber every day;
+  If favourite of fortune or a thing of its spite,
+  Keep calm, and believe that all is just right.
+
+  "If you're blown up abroad or scolded at home,
+  Just make up your mind to let it all come:
+  If people revile you or pile on offence,
+  'Twill not make any odds a century hence.
+  For all the reviling that malice can fling,
+  A little philosophy softens the sting.
+
+  "Run never in debt, but pay as you go;
+  A man free from debt feels a heaven below;
+  He rests in a sunshine undimmed by a dun,
+  And ranks 'mid the favoured as A No. 1.
+  It needs a great effort the spirit to brace
+  'Gainst the terror that dwells in a creditor's face.
+
+  "And this one resolve you should cherish like gold,
+  --It has ever my life and endeavour controlled,--
+  If fortune assail, and worst comes to worst,
+  And business proves bad, its bubbles all burst,
+  Be resolved, if disaster your plans circumvent,
+  That you will, if you fail, owe no man a cent."
+
+  There was Bunsby's deep wisdom revealed in his tone,
+  Though its depth was hard to fathom I own;
+  "For how can I fail," I said to myself,
+  "If to pay all my debts I have enough pelf?"
+  Then I scratched my sinciput, battling for light,
+  But gave up the effort, supposing 'twas right;
+  And herein give out, as my earnest intent,
+  Whenever I fail to owe no man a cent.
+
+
+
+
+VAIN REGRETS.
+
+
+  A seedy old beggar asked alms of me
+  As he sat 'neath the shade of a wayside tree.
+  He was beggared in purse and beggared in soul,
+  And his voice betrayed a pitiful dole,
+  As he sang a song, to a dismal pitch,
+  With the burden, "IF THINGS WAS ONLY SICH!"
+
+  "If things was only sich," said he,
+  "You should see what a wonderful man I'd be;
+  No beggar I, by the wayside thrown,
+  But I'd live in a palace and millions own,
+  And men would court me if I were rich--
+  As I'd be if things was only sich."
+
+  "If things was only sich," said he,
+  "I'd be lord of the land and lord of the sea;
+  I would have a throne and be a king,
+  And rule the roast with a mighty swing--
+  I'd make a place in Fame's bright niche;
+  I'd do it if things was only sich."
+
+  "If things was only sich," said he,
+  "Rare wines I'd quaff from the far countree,
+  I'd cloth myself in dazzling garb,
+  I'd mount the back of the costly barb,
+  And none should ask me wherefore or which--
+  Did it chance that things was only sich."
+
+  "If things was only sich," said he,
+  "I'd love the fairest and they'd love me;
+  Yon dame, with a smile that warms my heart,
+  Might have borne with me life's better part,
+  But lost to me, here in poverty's ditch,
+  What were mine if things was only sich."
+
+  Thus the old beggar moodily sung,
+  And his eyes dropped tears as his hands he wrung.
+  I could but pity to hear him berate,
+  In dolorous tones the decrees of Fate,
+  That laid on his back its iron switch,
+  While he cried, "If things was only sich."
+
+  "If things was only sich!"--e'en all
+  Might the past in sad review recall;
+  But little the use and little the gain,
+  Exhuming the bones of buried pain,
+  And whether we're poor or whether we're rich,
+  We'll say not, "If things was only sich."
+
+
+
+
+ON THE SHORES OF TENNESSEE.
+
+E.L. BEERS.
+
+    The opening verses should be given in a low, almost plaintive
+    tone; when the flag is seen, the exclamations should be
+    ejaculated with spirit and rapturous delight. Care should
+    be taken not to give the negro _patois_ too broad, or it may
+    prove a defect; where properly spoken it is really a beauty:
+
+
+  "Move my arm-chair, faithful Pompey
+    In the sunshine bright and strong,
+  For this world is fading, Pompey--
+    Massa won't be with you long;
+  And I fain would hear the south wind
+    Bring once more the sound to me,
+  Of the wavelets softly breaking
+    On the shores of Tennessee.
+
+  "Mournful though the ripples murmur
+    As they still the story tell,
+  How no vessels float the banner
+    That I've loved so long and well.
+  I shall listen to their music,
+    Dreaming that again I see
+  Stars and stripes on sloop and shallop
+    Sailing up the Tennessee;
+
+  "And, Pompey, while old Massa's waiting
+    For Death's last dispatch to come,
+  If that exiled starry banner
+    Should come proudly sailing home.
+  You shall greet it slave no longer--
+    Voice and hand shall both be free
+  That shout and point to Union colors
+    On the waves of Tennessee."
+
+  "Massa's berry kind to Pompey;
+    But old darkey's happy here.
+  Where he's tended corn and cotton
+    For dese many a long gone year.
+  Over yonder, Missis' sleeping--
+    No one tends her grave like me:
+  Mebbe she would miss the flowers
+    She used to love in Tennessee.
+
+  "'Pears like, she was watching Massa--
+    If Pompey should beside him stay,
+  Mebbe she'd remember better
+    How for him she used to pray;
+  Telling him that way up yonder
+    White as snow his soul would be,
+  If he served the Lord of Heaven
+    While he lived in Tennessee."
+
+  Silently the tears were rolling
+    Down the poor old dusky face,
+  As he stepped behind his master,
+    In his long-accustomed place.
+  Then a silence fell around them,
+    As they gazed on rock and tree
+  Pictured in the placid waters
+    Of the rolling Tennessee;--
+
+  Master, dreaming of the battle
+    Where he fought by Marion's side,
+  When he bid the haughty Tarleton
+    Stoop his lordly crest of pride;--
+  Man, remembering how yon sleeper
+    Once he held upon his knee,
+  Ere she loved the gallant soldier,
+    Ralph Vervair of Tennessee.
+
+  Still the south wind fondly lingers
+    'Mid the veteran's silver hair;
+  Still the bondman close beside him
+    Stands behind the old arm-chair,
+  With his dark-hued hand uplifted,
+    Shading eyes, he bends to see
+  Where the woodland, boldly jutting,
+    Turns aside the Tennessee.
+
+  Thus he watches cloud-born shadows
+    Glide from tree to mountain-crest,
+  Softly creeping, aye and ever
+    To the river's yielding breast.
+  Ha! above the foliage yonder
+    Something flutters wild and free
+  "Massa! Massa! Hallelujah!
+    The flag's come back to Tennessee!"
+
+  "Pompey, hold me on your shoulder,
+    Help me stand on foot once more,
+  That I may salute the colors
+    As they pass my cabin door.
+  Here's the paper signed that frees you,
+    Give a freeman's shout with me--
+  'God and Union!' be our watchword
+    Evermore in Tennessee!"
+
+  Then the trembling voice grew fainter,
+    And the legs refused to stand;
+  One prayer to Jesus--and the soldier
+    Glided to the better land.
+  When the flag went down the river
+    Man and master both were free;
+  While the ring-dove's note was mingled
+    With the rippling Tennessee.
+
+
+
+
+THE BLACK REGIMENT. PORT HUDSON.
+
+MAY 27, 1863.
+
+GEO. H. BOKER.
+
+
+  Dark as the clouds of even,
+  Ranked in the western heaven,
+  Waiting the breath that lifts
+  All the dread mass, and drifts
+  Tempest and falling brand
+  Over a ruined land;--
+  So still and orderly,
+  Arm to arm, knee to knee,
+  Waiting the great event
+  Stands the black regiment.
+
+  Down the long dusky line
+  Teeth gleam and eye-balls shine,
+  And the bright bayonet,
+  Bristling, and firmly set,
+  Flashed with a purpose grand,
+  Long, ere the sharp command
+  Of the fierce rolling drum
+  Told them their time had come,
+  Told them what work was sent
+  For the black regiment.
+
+  "Now," the flag-sergeant cried,
+  "Though death and hell betide,
+  Let the whole nation see
+  If we are fit to be
+  Free in this land; or bound
+  Down, like the whining hound,--
+  Bound with red stripes of pain
+  In our cold chains again!"
+  Oh! what a shout there went
+  From the black regiment!
+
+  "Charge!" trump and drum awoke,
+  Onward the bondmen broke:
+  Bayonet and sabre stroke
+  Vainly opposed their rush.
+  Through the wild battle's crush,
+  With but one thought aflush,
+  Driving their lords like chaff,
+  In the guns' mouths they laugh;
+  Or at the slippery brands
+  Leaping with open hands,
+  Down they tear man and horse,
+  Down in their awful course;
+  Trampling with bloody heel
+  Over the crashing steel,
+  All their eyes forward bent,
+  Rushed the black regiment.
+
+  "Freedom!" their battle-cry,--
+  "Freedom! or learn to die!"
+  Ah! and they meant the word,
+  Not as with us 'tis heard,
+  Not a mere party shout:
+  They gave their spirits out;
+  Trusted the end to God,
+  And on the glory sod
+  Rolled in triumphant blood.
+  Glad to strike one free blow,
+  Whether for weal or woe;
+  Glad to breathe one free breath,
+  Though on the lips of death,
+  Praying--alas! in vain!--
+  That they might fall again,
+  So they could once more see
+  That burst to liberty!
+  This was what "freedom" lent
+  To the black regiment.
+
+  Hundreds on hundreds fell;
+  But they are resting well;
+  Scourges and shackles strong
+  Never shall do them wrong.
+  O, to the living few,
+  Soldiers, be just and true!
+  Hail them as comrades tried;
+  Fight with them side by side;
+  Never in field or tent,
+  Scorn the black regiment.
+
+
+
+
+THE THIEF OF TIME.
+
+CHARACTERS.
+
+  JOHN RAY,         }
+  CHARLEY CHEERFUL, } School-boys.
+  RALPH READY,      }
+  MR. HANKS, a Deaf Gentleman.
+  JOHN CLOD, a Countryman.
+  PATSY FLINN, an Irishman.
+
+
+SCENE.--_A Quiet Place in the Country._
+
+_Enter_ RALPH READY, R., _with School-books_.
+
+_Ralph._ Twenty minutes of nine. I can take it easy this morning. How
+glad I am I staid at home last night and studied "Spartacus." It's
+Declamation Day, and I want to win the highest mark. If I fail, it
+will not be for want of study. I believe I'm all right. (_Declaims._)
+
+  "Ye call me Chief--"[1]
+
+    [Footnote 1: The dialogue can be lengthened, if necessary,
+    by allowing Charley and Ralph to declaim the whole of their
+    pieces.]
+
+_Enter_ CHARLEY CHEERFUL, L.
+
+_Charley._ (_Clapping his hands._) Bravo! Bravo! Spartacus. "They
+do well to call _you_ chief!" number one in arithmetic, history, and
+geography; and to-day I've no doubt we shall call you number one in
+declamation.
+
+_Ralph._ Ah, Charley, glad to see you. Are you all ready for the
+contest?
+
+_Charley._ Yes, Ralph. (_Declaims._)
+
+  "Again to the battle, Achaians;
+  Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance."
+
+_Ralph._ I see "a foeman worthy of my steel." Well, Charley, good luck
+to you.
+
+_Charley._ The same to you. I believe we are about equally matched. I
+want to take the highest mark, but if I am to be defeated, there's no
+one to whom I'd sooner surrender the "victor's laurels" than to you.
+
+_Ralph._ And I can heartily say the same of you; but we must both look
+out. John Ray told the boys yesterday he was bound to have the highest
+mark.
+
+_Charley._ I don't fear him.
+
+_Ralph._ But he's a good declaimer, Charley.
+
+_Charley._ I'll acknowledge that; but you know he's a terrible fellow
+for putting off study until the last moment. It was only yesterday
+morning Master Jones decided to have declamation to-day. The only time
+we had to prepare was yesterday noon, last night, and this morning.
+
+_Ralph._ Time enough, Charley.
+
+_Charley._ Certainly. But I know John Ray hasn't employed it.
+Yesterday noon he went boating; last night I'm afraid he visited
+Hopkins's melon patch; and this morning I saw him from my window
+playing ball.
+
+_Ralph._ Then we've not much to fear from him; but here he is, puffing
+like a porpoise.
+
+_Enter_ JOHN RAY, L., _with a book._
+
+_John._ Hallo, boys! what's the time?
+
+_Charley._ Eighteen minutes of nine. All ready for the declamation?
+
+_John._ Not yet; there's time enough.
+
+_Ralph._ Time enough! What have you selected?
+
+_John._ "Tell's Address." I'm going to pitch into it now. I can do it
+in eighteen minutes.
+
+_Charley._ Why, you haven't left it till now?
+
+_John._ Of course I have. Time enough, I tell you. I've got a
+locomotive memory, you know. None of your slow coaches. I shall only
+have to read it over two or three times.
+
+_Ralph._ But why didn't you take it up before?
+
+_John._ What's the use? I went boating yesterday; and last night I
+went--somewhere else.
+
+_Charley._ Yes! you took a _melon_choly walk. Hey, John?
+
+_John._ What do you mean by that?
+
+_Charley._ No matter. You'd better study Tell's Address, if you expect
+to be ready by nine o'clock.
+
+_John._ So I had. Well, you run along, and let me have this place to
+myself. It's a quiet place. So good by. I'll see you by nine o'clock,
+with Tell's Address perfect.
+
+_Charley._ Well, good luck to you. Come Ralph.
+
+_Ralph._ I say, Ray; what's the proverb about the "thief of time"?
+
+_John._ Who do you call a thief?
+
+_Ralph._ A slow coach, that will rob you of your laurels spite of your
+locomotive memory. Come along Charley. [_Exeunt_ CHARLEY _and_ RALPH
+R.
+
+_John._ Now, who told them I was after melons last night. (_Opens
+book._) "Tell's Address." Won't I astonish those lads! What's the use
+of wasting time in study before it's needed? (_Reads._)
+
+  "Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again."
+
+_Enter_ MR. HANKS, L.
+
+_Mr. Hanks._ Look here, boy; where's Mr. Simmons's house?
+
+_John._ O, bother! Over by the mill.
+
+_Mr. H._ Hey?
+
+_John._ Over by the mill.
+
+_Mr. H._ Over that hill? Good gracious! You don't mean I've got to
+travel as far as that, do you, in the hot sun?
+
+_John._ No, no; it's only a little ways.
+
+_Mr. H._ Only a little blaze! It's an awful hot morning.
+
+_John._ O, dear! this old fellow is as deaf as a post. (_Very loud._)
+Mr.--Simmons--lives--down--by--the--mill.
+
+_Mr. H._ O, he does! Why didn't you say so before? Down that way?
+(_Points_ R.)
+
+_John._ (_Loud._) Yes! To--the--right! That--old--wooden--one--ahead!
+
+_Mr. H._ Who do you call an old wooden head?
+
+_John._ O, dear! I never shall get that piece. You don't understand.
+I--said--wooden--house.
+
+_Mr. H._ Hey?
+
+_John._ O, dear! O, dear! (_Points_ R.) That's Mr.
+Simmons's--house--down--there!
+
+_Mr. H._ O, yes. Thank you, thank you. I'm a little hard of hearing.
+
+_John._ I see you are. Suffering from a cold?
+
+_Mr. H._ Hey?
+
+_John._ O, what a nuisance! Is it--from a cold you--suffer?
+
+_Mr. H._ Old buffer, indeed! Be more respectful to your elders, young
+man; more respectful.
+
+[_Exit_, R.
+
+_John._ I've got rid of him at last, and five minutes gone. O, dear!
+(_Reads._)
+
+  "Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again!"
+
+_Enter_ MR. HANKS, R.
+
+_Mr. H._ Did you say right or left?
+
+_John._ Good gracious! the man's back! To--the right! To the right!
+Follow the stream.
+
+_Mr. H._ Hey?
+
+_John._ Follow--the--stream--as--it--flows.
+
+_Mr. H._ Follow my nose! You're an impudent scamp! I'll ask you no
+more questions. [_Exit_, R.
+
+_John._ I hope you won't. This comes of trying to do a good-natured
+act. O, dear! that address! (_Reads._)
+
+  "Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again!"
+
+_Enter_ JOHN CLOD, L.
+
+_Clod._ I say, sonny; yer hain't seen nothin' of a keow, have yer,
+here or hereabouts?
+
+_John._ No, I haven't seen no cow.
+
+_Clod._ Well, don't git mad. It's plaguy strange where that are
+keow has travelled tew. Brand new keow dad brought hum from market
+yesterday. What on airth shall I do? She's a brindle, short horns.
+Yeou hain't seen her?
+
+_John._ No, I haven't seen her. I've seen no cows or cattle of any
+kind. It's no use stopping here.
+
+_Clod._ Well, I dunno what's to be did. Marm, she dropped her bakin',
+and scooted one way; dad quit ploughin', and scooted another; and I've
+been scootin' every which way. Ain't heard a keow moo--mooing, have
+yer?
+
+_John._ I don't believe there's a cow within forty miles of here.
+
+_Clod._ Sho! yer jokin' neow. Neow, see here; I kinder think yeou dew
+know somethin' about that keow. Jest tell me where she is, and I don't
+mind ginning yer fo'pence.
+
+_John._ I tell you again, I know nothing about your cow. I'm studing
+my lesson; and if you don't clear out and leave me in peace, I shall
+never get it.
+
+_Clod._ Sho! Well, I don't want to hender ye, but I should like to
+know what's become of that are keow. [_Exit_, R.
+
+_John._ Gone at last. Was ever a fellow so plagued! I've only got
+eight minutes, and I must study. (_Goes to back of stage, and walks up
+and down, studying._)
+
+_Enter_ PATSY FLINN, L.
+
+_Patsy._ Begorra, it's a foine irrant I's on ony way. It's all along
+iv thim watthermillons, bad luck to 'em! Slaping swately on my bid
+last night thinking uv the bould b'ys that fit, blid, and run away
+from Canady, I heerd a v'ice in the millon patch, "Here's a bouncer,
+b'ys." Faix, didn't I lept out uv that bid, and didn't I hurry on
+my clo'es, and didn't I take a big shtick, and didn't I run fur the
+patch, and didn't I find nobody? To be sure I did! So this morning,
+Mr. Hopkins sinds me to the school-house to find the b'ys that invadid
+the sacred retrait, which is the millon-patch. But how will I find
+thim? Begorra, I should know that v'ice; and I'll make the whole
+school shtand up togither one by one and shout, "Here's a bouncer!"
+that I will.
+
+_John._ (_Coming down_ R. _of stage._) Now let's see how much I know.
+(_Declaims._)
+
+  "Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again!"
+
+_Patsy._ By my sowl, that's the v'ice of my dr'ams!
+
+  _John._ "I hold to you the hands you first beheld,
+  To show they still are free."
+
+_Patsy._ Fray, is it, begorra! Ye'll not hould thim long, me b'y!
+
+  _John._                  "Methinks I hear
+  A spirit in your echoes answer me."
+
+_Patsy._ Begorra, ye'll soon hear an Irish echo ax ye something else!
+
+  _John._ "And bid your tenant welcome to his home
+  again!"
+
+_Patsy._ Begorra, you're wilcome to no more watermillons, ye'll find!
+
+  _John._        "Ye guards of Liberty!"
+
+_Patsy._ Ye little blackguard!
+
+  _John._ "I'm with you once again! I hold my hands to you,
+  To show they still are free!"
+
+_Patsy._ Begorra, they're stained with watermillons, sure!
+
+  _John._                  "I rush to you,
+  As though I could embrace you!"
+
+(_Runs into_ PATSY'S _arms._)
+
+_Patsy._ Come on, I'm waiting for you! O, you blackguard! O, yes
+spalpeen! I've got yes!
+
+_John._ Who are you? What do you want? Let me go!
+
+_Patsy._ Niver! Ye must go along wid me, my fine lad; there's a bill a
+waiting for you at farmer Hopkins's.
+
+_John._ Farmer Hopkins! But I shall be late for school.
+
+_Patsy._ O, niver mind the school. You'll get a little uv it there,
+from a nice big cowhide.
+
+_John._ Let me go, I say!
+
+_Patsy._ Quit your howling, and come along.
+
+_John._ I won't. Help! Help! Help!
+
+_Enter_ CHARLEY _and_ RALPH, R.
+
+_Charley._ What's the matter, Ray?
+
+_Ralph._ Hallo, Patsy! What's to pay now?
+
+_Patsy._ A small bill for watermillons, Master Ralph.
+
+_Ralph._ O, I see; you're found out, Ray!
+
+_John._ Well, I wan't the only one in the patch last night.
+
+_Ralph._ But you're the only one found out; so you must take the
+consequences.
+
+_Charley._ Master Jones sent us to look for you; it's five minutes
+after nine.
+
+_John._ O, dear, what's to become of me!
+
+_Ralph._ You must get to school at once. Patsy, I'll be answerable for
+John Ray's appearance at Farmer Hopkins's after school. Won't that do?
+
+_Patsy._ To be sure it will. I can depind upon you, Master Ralph. But
+mind and cape an eye on that chap; fur it's my opinion he's a little
+cracked; he's bin ravin' about crags, and peaks, and liberty like a
+full-blooded Fenian. I'll go home and practise a bit wid that cowhide.
+[_Exit_, L.
+
+_Charley._ Well, John, got your piece?
+
+_John._ Got my piece? No. I've been bothered to death!
+
+_Ralph._ You've been keeping company with the "thief of time."
+
+_John._ I'd like to know what you mean by that.
+
+_Ralph._ I'll tell you. You should have studied your piece yesterday
+noon; but, instead of that, you went boating. You should have studied
+last night; but instead of that, you got into a scrape, which promises
+to make trouble for you; and this morning you played ball instead of
+taking time for your work.
+
+_John._ Well, I meant to have studied it yesterday, but I thought I
+had plenty of time. I wanted a little recreation.
+
+_Charley._ Yes, John; but you should look out for the lessons first,
+and not neglect them. Come, let's go to school.
+
+_John._ And be at the foot of the class. I don't like this.
+
+_Ralph._ You'll find a remedy for it in the copy-book.
+
+_John._ What is it?
+
+_Ralph._ A warning to the dilatory--"Procrastination is the thief of
+time."
+
+[_Exeunt_, R.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE RAIN-DROPS.
+
+T.H. EVANS.
+
+
+  A farmer had a field of corn of rather large extent,
+  In tending which, with anxious care, much time and toil he spent;
+  But after working long and hard, he saw, with grief and pain,
+  His corn began to droop and fade, because it wanted rain.
+
+  So sad and restless was his mind, at home he could not stop,
+  But to his field repaired each day to view his withering crop.
+  One day, when he stood looking up, despairing, at the sky,
+  Two little rain-drops in the clouds his sad face chanced to spy.
+
+  "I very sorry feel," said one, "to see him look so sad;
+  I wish I could do him some good; indeed, I should be glad.
+  Just see the trouble he has had; and if it should not rain,
+  Why, all his toil, and time, and care he will have spent in vain."
+
+  "What use are you," cried number two, "to water so much ground?
+  You're nothing but a drop of rain, and could not wet one mound."
+  "What you have said," his friend replied, "I know is very true;
+  But I'm resolved to do my best, and more I cannot do.
+
+  I'll try to cheer his heart a bit: so now I'm off--here goes!"
+  And down the little rain-drop fell upon the farmer's nose.
+  "Whatever's that?" the farmer cried. "Was it a drop of rain?
+  I do believe it's come at last; I have not watched in vain."
+
+  Now, when the second rain-drop saw his willing friend depart,
+  Said he, "I'll go as well, and try to cheer the farmer's heart."
+  But many rain-drops by this time had been attracted out,
+  To see and hear what their two friends were talking so about.
+
+  "We'll go as well," a number cried, "as our two friends have gone.
+  We shall not only cheer his heart, but water, too, his corn.
+  We're off! we're off!" they shout with glee, and down they fell so
+          fast.
+  "O bless the Lord!" the farmer cried, "the rain has come at last."
+
+  The corn it grew and ripened well, and into food was dressed,
+  Because a little rain-drop said, "I'll try, and do my best."
+  This little lesson, children dear, you'll not forget I'm sure;
+  Try, do your best, do what you can--angels can do no more.
+
+
+
+
+THE SCOLDING OLD DAME.
+
+
+  There once was a toper--I'll not tell his name--
+  Who had for his comfort a scolding old dame;
+  And often and often he wished himself dead,
+  For, if drunk he came home, she would beat him to bed.
+  He spent all his evenings away from his home,
+  And, when he returned, he would sneakingly come
+  And try to walk straightly, and say not a word--
+  Just to keep his dear wife from abusing her lord;
+  For if he dared say his tongue was his own,
+  'Twould set her tongue going, in no gentle tone,
+  And she'd huff him, and cuff him, and call him hard names,
+  And he'd sigh to be rid of all scolding old dames.
+
+  It happened, one night, on a frolic he went,
+  He stayed till his very last penny was spent;
+  But how to go home, and get safely to bed,
+  Was the thing on his heart that most heavily weighed.
+  But home he must go; so he caught up his hat,
+  And off he went singing, by this and by that,
+  "I'll pluck up my courage; I guess she's in bed.
+  If she a'nt, 'tis no matter, I'm sure. Who's afraid?"
+  He came to his door; he lingered until
+  He peeped, and he listened, and all seemed quite still,
+  In he went, and his wife, sure enough, was in bed!
+  "Oh!" says he, "it's just as I thought. Who's afraid?"
+
+  He crept about softly, and spoke not a word;
+  His wife seemed to sleep, for she never e'en stirred!
+  Thought he, "For _this_ night, then, my fortune is made:
+  For my dear, scolding wife is asleep! Who's afraid?"
+  But soon he felt thirsty; and slyly he rose,
+  And, groping around, to the table he goes,
+  The pitcher found empty, and so was the bowl,
+  The pail, and the tumblers--she'd emptied the whole!
+  At length, in a corner, a vessel he found!
+  Says he, "Here's something to drink, I'll be bound!"
+  And eagerly seizing, he lifted it up--
+  And drank it all off in one long, hearty sup!
+
+  It tasted so queerly; and what could it be?
+  He wondered. It neither was water nor tea!
+  Just then a thought struck him and filled him with fear:
+  "Oh! it must be the poison for rats, I declare!"
+  And loudly he called on his dear, sleeping wife,
+  And begged her to rise; "for," said he, "on my life
+  I fear it was _poison_ the bowl did contain.
+  _Oh dear! yes_, it _was_ poison; I now feel the pain!"
+  "And what made you dry, sir?" the wife sharply cried.
+  "'Twould serve you just right if from poison you died;
+  And you've done a _fine_ job, and you'd now better march,
+  _For just see, you brute, you have drunk all my starch!_"
+
+
+
+
+THE GREEN GOOSE.
+
+
+  Mr. Bogardus "gin a treat,"
+  And a green goose, best of birds to eat,
+  Delicious, savory, fat and sweet,
+  Formed the dish the guests to greet;
+      But such, we know,
+      Is small for a "blow,"
+      And many times around won't go;
+  So Mr. Bogardus chanced to reflect,
+  And with a wisdom circumspect,
+  He sent round cards to parties select,
+  Some six or so the goose to dissect,
+      The day and hour defining;
+  And then he laid in lots of things,
+  That might have served as food for kings,
+  Liquors drawn from their primal springs,
+  And all that grateful comfort brings
+      To epicures in dining.
+
+  But Mr. Bogardus's brother Sim,
+  With moral qualities rather dim,
+  Copied the message sent to him,
+      In his most clerkly writing,
+  And sent it round to Tom, and Dick,
+  And Harry, and Jack, and Frank, and Nick,
+  And many more, to the green goose "pick"
+      Most earnestly inviting;
+  He laid it on the green goose thick,
+      Their appetites exciting.
+
+  'Twas dinner time by the Old South Clock;
+  Bogardus waited the sounding knock
+  Of friends to come at the moment, "chock,"
+  To try his goose, his game, his hock,
+  And hoped they would not dally;
+  When one, and two, and three, and four,
+  And running up the scale to a score,
+  And adding to it many more,
+  Who all their Sunday fixings wore,
+  Came in procession to the door,
+  And crowded in on his parlor floor,
+  Filling him with confusion sore,
+  Like an after-election rally!
+
+  "Gentlemen," then murmured he,
+  "To what unhoped contingency
+  Am I owing for this felicity,
+  A visit thus unexpected?"
+  Then they held their cards before his eyes,
+  And he saw, to his infinite surprise,
+  That some sad dog had taken a rise
+  On him, and his hungry friends likewise,
+      And _whom_ he half suspected;
+  But there was Sim,
+  Of morals dim,
+  With a face as long, and dull, and grim,
+      As though _he_ the ire reflected.
+
+  Then forth the big procession went,
+  With mirth and anger equally blent;
+  To think they didn't get the scent
+  Of what the cursed missive meant
+      Annoyed some of 'em deeply;
+  They felt they'd been caught by a green goose bait,
+  And plucked and skinned, and then, light weight,
+      Had been sold very cheaply.
+
+MORAL.
+
+  Keep your weather eye peeled for trap,
+  For we never know just what may hap,
+      Nor if we shall be winners;
+  Remembering that one green goose
+  Will be of very little use
+      'Mongst twenty hungry sinners.
+
+
+
+
+MIGRATORY BONES,[2]
+
+SHOWING THE VAGABONDISH TENDENCY OF BONES THAT ARE LOOSE.
+
+
+  We all have heard of Dr. Redman,
+      The man in New York who deals with dead men,
+      Who sits at a table,
+      And straightway is able
+  To talk with the spirits of those who have fled, man!
+      And gentles and ladies
+      Located in Hades,
+  Through his miraculous mediation,
+      Declare how they feel,
+      And such things reveal
+  As suits their genius for impartation.
+  'Tis not with any irreverent spirit
+  I give the tale, or flout it, or jeer it;
+      For many good folk
+      Not subject to joke
+  Declare for the fact that they both see and hear it.
+      It comes from New York, though,
+      And it might be hard work, though,
+  To bring belief to any point near it.
+
+      Now this Dr. Redman,
+      Who deals with dead men,
+  Once cut up a fellow whose spirit had fled, man,
+      Who (the fellow) perchance
+      Had indulged in that dance
+  Performed at the end of a hempen thread, man;
+      And the cut-up one,
+      (A sort of a gun!)
+  Like Banquo, though he was dead, wasn't done,
+  Insisted in very positive tones
+  That he'd be ground to calcined manure,
+      Or any other evil endure,
+  Before he'd give up his right to his bones!
+  And then, through knocks, the resolute dead man
+  Gave his bones a bequest to Redman.
+      In Hartford, Conn.,
+      This matter was done,
+  And Redman the bones highly thought on,
+      When, changed to New York
+      Was the scene of his work,
+  In conjunction with Dr. Orton.
+
+  Now mark the wonder that here appears:
+  After a season of months and years,
+    Comes up again the dead man,
+  Who in a very practical way,
+  Says he'll bring his bones some day,
+      And give them again to Redman.
+      When, sure enough
+      (Though some that are rough
+      Might call the narrative "devilish tough"),
+      One charming day
+      In the month of May,
+  As Orton and Redman walked the street
+      Through the severing air,
+      From they knew not where,
+      Came a positive bone, all bleached and bare.
+  That dropped at the doctor's wondering feet!
+
+      Then the sprightly dead man
+      Knocked out to Redman
+  The plan that lay in his ghostly head, man:
+      He'd carry the freight,
+      Unheeding its weight;
+  They needn't question how, or about it;
+      But they might be sure
+      The bones he'd procure
+  And not make any great bones about it.
+  From that he made it a special point
+  Each day for their larder to furnish a joint!
+
+  From overhead, and from all around,
+  Upon the floor, and upon the ground,
+        Pell-mell,
+        Down fell
+      Low bones, and high bones,
+      Jaw bones, and thigh bones,
+  Until the doctors, beneath their power,
+  Ducked like ducks in a thunder-shower!
+      Armfuls of bones,
+      Bagfuls of bones,
+      Cartloads of bones,
+      No end to the multitudinous bones,
+  Until, forsooth, this thought gained head, man,
+  That this invisible friend, the dead man,
+      Had chartered a band
+      From the shadowy land,
+      Who had turned to work with a busy hand,
+  And boned all their bones for Dr. Redman!
+
+  Now, how to account for all the mystery
+  Of this same weird and fantastical history?
+      That is the question
+      For people's digestion,
+  And calls aloud for instant untwistery!
+      Of this we are certain,
+      By this lift of the curtain,
+  That still they're alive for work or enjoyment,
+      Though I must confess
+      That I scarcely can guess
+  Why they don't choose some useful employment.
+
+[Footnote 2: Dr. Redman, of New York, was a noted medium, and it was
+said that, for a while, wherever he might be, bones would be dropped
+all about him, to the confusion and wonder of everybody. These bones,
+he said, were brought him by a spirit, whose bones were of no further
+use to him.]
+
+
+
+
+THE RED CHIGNON.
+
+(FOR FEMALE CHARACTERS ONLY.)
+
+
+CHARACTERS.
+
+  MISS PRISCILLA PRECISE, { Principal of a genteel Boarding
+                                   { School for Young Ladies.
+
+  HETTY GRAY,   }
+  FANNY RICE,   } Pupils.
+  LIZZIE BOND,  }
+  HANNAH JONES, }
+  MRS. LOFTY, a fashionable Lady.
+
+SCENE.--_Parlor in_ MISS PRECISE'S _Establishment._
+
+_Piano_ R., _Lounge_ L., _Chairs_ C.
+
+_Enter_ HETTY, FANNY, _and_ LIZZIE, R., _laughing._
+
+_Hetty._ O, such a fright!
+
+_Fanny._ Such a stupid!
+
+_Lizzie._ I never saw such a ridiculous figure in the whole course of
+my life!
+
+_Hetty._ I should think she came from the back-woods.
+
+_Fanny._ Who is she, any way?
+
+_Lizzie._ She's the daughter of the rich Mr. Jones, a man, who, three
+years ago, was the proprietor of a very small saw-mill away down east.
+He managed to scrape together a little money, which he invested in
+certain railroad stocks, which nobody thought would ever pay. They
+did, however, and he has, no doubt to his own astonishment, made a
+great deal of money.
+
+_Hetty._ And that accounts for Miss Precise's partiality. Well, I'm
+not going to associate myself with her; and I mean to write to
+father this very day, and tell him to take me home. She dresses so
+ridiculously!
+
+_Lizzie._ And talks so horridly!
+
+_Fanny._ And plays so wretchedly!
+
+_Hetty._ O, girls, don't you think I caught her at the piano this
+morning playing Yankee Doodle and whistling an accompaniment!
+
+_Fanny._ Whistling!
+
+_Lizzie._ Good gracious! what would Miss Precise say. If there's
+anything she forbids, it's whistling.
+
+_Hetty._ Yes, and such a reader! I heard her reciting Longfellow's
+Excelsior; and such reading, and such gestures! (_Recites._)
+
+  "The shades of night were falling fast,
+  As through an All-pine village past--"
+
+(_All laugh._)
+
+_Fanny._ O, it's ridiculous!
+
+_Lizzie._ And then her dress! O, girls, I've made a discovery!
+
+_Fanny._ What is it? What is it?
+
+_Hetty._ O, do tell us!
+
+_Lizzie._ Well, then, you must be secret.
+
+_Fanny and Hetty._ Of course, of course!
+
+_Lizzie._ Well, yesterday, at just twelve o'clock, I was in the hall;
+the door-bell rang; I opened it; there was a box for Miss Hannah
+Jones; I took it; I carried it to her room; I opened--
+
+_Fanny and Hetty._ The box?
+
+_Lizzie._ The door; she wasn't there. I put it on the table; it
+slipped off; the cover rolled off; and such a sight!
+
+_Fanny._ What was it?
+
+_Hetty._ O, do tell us!
+
+_Lizzie._ Four--great--red--
+
+_Fanny and Hetty._ What? What?
+
+_Lizzie._ Chignons!
+
+_Hetty._ Chignons? Why, Miss Precise has forbidden our wearing them.
+
+_Fanny._ O, it's horrible!
+
+_Lizzie._ Ain't it? And I did want one so bad!
+
+_Hetty._ But she cannot wear them.
+
+_Lizzie._ We shall see! Now comes Miss Precise's trial. She has taken
+Hannah Jones because her father is rich. She worships money; but if
+there is anything she hates, it is chignons. If she can stand this
+test, it will be the best thing in the world for us. Then we'll all
+have them.
+
+_Hetty._ Of course we will.
+
+_Fanny._ But I don't like the idea of having such an interloper here.
+She's no company for us.
+
+_Enter_ MISS PRECISE, L. _She stands behind the Girls with folded
+arms._
+
+_Hetty._ Indeed she isn't! I think Miss Precise is real mean to allow
+her to stay.
+
+_Lizzie._ She'd better go where she belongs,--among the barbarians!
+
+_Miss Precise._ And pray, whom are you consigning to a place among the
+barbarians, young ladies?
+
+_Hetty._ Good gracious!
+
+_Fanny._ O, dear! O, dear!
+
+_Lizzie._ O, who'd have thought!
+
+(_They separate_, HETTY _and_ FANNY, L., LIZZIE, R., MISS PRECISE, C.)
+
+_Miss P._ Speak, young ladies; upon whom has your dread anathema been
+bestowed?
+
+_Lizzie._ Well, Miss Precise, if I must tell, it's that hateful new
+pupil, Miss Jones. I detest her.
+
+_Fanny._ I can't abide her.
+
+_Hetty._ She's horrible!
+
+_Lizzie._ So awkward!
+
+_Fanny._ Talks so badly!
+
+_Hetty._ And dresses so ridiculously!
+
+_Lizzie._ If she stays here, I shan't!
+
+_Fanny._ Nor I.
+
+_Hetty._ Nor I.
+
+_Miss P._ Young ladies, are you pupils of the finest finishing-school
+in the city? Are you being nursed at the fount of learning? Are you
+being led in the paths of literature by my fostering hands?
+
+_Lizzie._ Don't know. S'pose so.
+
+_Miss P._ S'pose so! What language! S'pose so! Is this the fruit of
+my teaching? Young ladies, I blush for you!--you, who should be the
+patterns of propriety! Let me hear no more of this. Miss Jones is
+the daughter of one of the richest men in the city, and, as such, she
+should be respected by you.
+
+_Lizzie._ She's a low, ignorant girl.
+
+_Miss P._ Miss Bond!
+
+_Hetty._ With arms like a windmill.
+
+_Miss P._ Miss Gray!
+
+_Fanny._ A voice like a peacock.
+
+_Miss P._ Miss Rice!
+
+_Hetty, Lizzie, and Fanny._ O, she's awful!
+
+_Miss P._ Young ladies! I'm astonished! I'm shocked! I'm
+thunderstruck! Miss Jones is my pupil. She is your associate. As such,
+you will respect her. Let me hear no more of this. Go to your
+studies. I highly respect Miss Jones. Imitate her. She's not given to
+conspiracies. She's not forever gossiping. Be like her, and you will
+deserve my respect. To your studies. Miss Jones is a model for your
+imitation. [_Exit_, L.
+
+_Hetty._ Did you ever!
+
+_Fanny._ No, I never!
+
+_Lizzie._ A model for imitation! Girls, we'll have some fun out
+of this. Imitate Miss Jones! I only hope she'll put on one of her
+chignons. [_Exeunt._
+
+_Enter_ HANNAH JONES, R., _extravagantly dressed, with a red chignon,
+followed by_ MRS. LOFTY.
+
+_Hannah._ Come right in, marm; this is our setting-room, where we
+receive callers. Take a seat.
+
+(MRS. LOFTY _sits on lounge_.)
+
+_Mrs. Lofty._ Will you please call your mistress at once?
+
+_Hannah._ My mistress? Law, neow, I s'pose yeou take me for a hired
+gal. Yeou make me laugh! Why, my pa's richer than all the rest of
+'em's pas put together. I deon't look quite so scrumptious as the rest
+o 'em, p'r'aps, but I'm one of the scholars here.
+
+_Mrs. L._ I beg your pardon. No offence was intended.
+
+_Hannah._ Law, I don't mind it. Yeou see our folks come from deown
+east, and we haven't quite got the hang of rich folks yit. That's why
+I'm here to git polished up. Miss Precise is the schoolmarm, but she's
+so stiff, I don't expect she'll make much of me. I do hate airs. She
+makes the girls tend tu door, because she's too poor to keep help.
+
+_Mrs. L._ Will you please speak to her? I have not much time to spare,
+as this is my charity day.
+
+_Hannah._ Charity day! Pray, what's that?
+
+_Mrs. L._ I devote one day in the week to visiting poor people, and
+doing what I can to alleviate their misfortunes.
+
+_Hannah._ Well, marm, that's real clever in you. I do like to see rich
+folks look arter the poor ones. Won't you please to let me help you?
+I don't know the way among the poor yit, but I'm going to find out.
+Here's my pocket-book; there's lots uv money in it; and if you'll
+take and use it for the poor folks, I'll be obleeged. (_Gives
+pocket-book._)
+
+_Mrs. L._ O, thank you, thank you! you are very kind; I will use it,
+for I know just where it is needed. Can you really spare it?
+
+_Hannah._ Spare it? Of course I can. I know where to git lots more;
+and my pa says, 'What's the use of having money, if you don't do good
+with it?' Law, I forgot all about Miss Precise. You just make yourself
+to home, and I'll call her. [_Exit_, L.
+
+_Mrs. L._ A rough diamond. She has a kind heart. I hope she'll not be
+spoiled in the hands of Miss Precise. (_Opens pocket-book._) What a
+roll of bills! I must speak to Miss Precise before I use her money.
+She may not be at liberty to dispose of it in this wholesale manner.
+
+_Enter_ MISS PRECISE, L.
+
+_Miss P._ My dear Mrs. Lofty, I hope I have not kept you waiting.
+(_Shakes hands with her, then sits in chair_, C.)
+
+_Mrs. L._ O, no; though I'm in something of a hurry. I called to ask
+you if you could take my daughter as a pupil.
+
+_Miss P._ Well, I am rather full just now; and the duties of
+instructor are so arduous, and I am so feeble in health----
+
+_Mrs. L._ O, don't let me add to your trials. I will look elsewhere.
+
+_Miss P._ No, no; you did not hear me out. I was going to say I have
+decided to take but one more pupil.
+
+_Mrs. L._ What are the studies?
+
+_Miss P._ English branches, French, Italian, German, and Spanish
+languages, and music; all taught under my personal supervision.
+
+_Mrs. L._ Quite an array of studies; almost too much for one teacher.
+
+_Miss P._ Ah, Mrs. Lofty, the mind--the mind is capable of great
+expansion; and to one gifted with the power to lead the young in the
+flowery paths of learning, no toil is too difficult. My school is
+select, refined; nothing rough or improper is allowed to mingle with
+the high-toned elements with which I endeavour to form a fashionable
+education.
+
+_Mrs. L._ I should like to see some of your pupils.
+
+_Miss P._ O, certainly. You will take them unawares; but I flatter
+myself you will not find them unprepared. (_Strikes bell on piano._)
+
+_Enter_ FANNY, _dressed as before, but with large, red chignon on her
+head._
+
+_Miss P._ This is Miss Fanny Rice. Mrs. Lofty, Fanny. There you see
+one of my pupils who has an exquisite touch for the piano, a refined,
+delicate appreciation of the sweetest strains of the great masters.
+Fanny, my dear, take your place at the piano, and play one of those
+pieces which you know I most admire. (FANNY _sits at piano, plays
+Yankee Doodle, whistling an accompaniment._) What does this mean?
+(_Turns and looks at_ FANNY, _starts, puts her eye-glass to her
+eye.--Aside._) Heavens! that child has one of those horrible chignons
+on her head!--(_Aloud._) Miss Rice, why did you make that selection?
+
+_Fanny._ (_Imitates_ HANNAH'S _manner of speaking._) Cos I thought
+you'd like it.
+
+_Miss P._ "Cos?" O, I shall die! And why did you think I should like
+it?
+
+_Fanny._ Cos that's the way Hannah Jones does.
+
+_Miss P._ Send Miss Gray to me. (_Follows_ FANNY _to door._) And take
+that flaming turban off your head. I'll pay you for this!
+[_Exit_ FANNY, L.
+
+_Mrs. L._ Your pupil is exceedingly patriotic in her selection.
+
+_Miss P._ Yes; there's some mistake here. She's evidently not on her
+good behaviour.
+
+_Enter_ HETTY GRAY, L., _with red chignon._
+
+Ah, here's Miss Gray. Mrs. Lofty, Miss Gray. She has a sweet voice,
+and sings sentimental songs in a bewitching manner. Miss Gray, take
+your place at the piano, and sing one of my favourites.
+
+(HETTY _sits at piano, plays and sings._)
+
+  "Father and I went down to camp
+    Along with Captain Goodin,
+  And there we saw the boys and girls
+    As thick as hasty-puddin."
+
+_Miss P._ Stop! (_Looks at her through eye-glass._) She's got one of
+those hateful things on too,--chignons! Is there a conspiracy? Miss
+Gray, who taught you that song?
+
+_Hetty._ Miss Hannah Jones, if you please.
+
+_Miss P._ Go back to your studies, and send Miss Bond to me. (_Takes
+her by the ear, and leads her to the door._)
+
+_Hetty._ Ow! you hurt!
+
+_Miss P._ Silence, miss! Take off that horrid head-dress at once.
+
+[_Exit_, HETTY, L.
+
+Mrs. Lofty, how can I find words to express
+my indignation at the conduct of my pupils? I assure you, this is
+something out of the common course.
+
+_Enter_ LIZZIE, L., _with red chignon._
+
+Here is one of my smartest pupils, Miss Bond. Mrs. Lofty, Miss Bond.
+She particularly excels in reading. Miss Bond, take a book from the
+piano and read, something sweet and pathetic! something that you think
+would suit me.
+
+LIZZIE _takes a position_, L., _opens book, and reads, in imitation
+of_ HANNAH'S _voice._
+
+_Lizzie._
+
+  What is it that salutes the light,
+  Making the heads of mortals bright,
+  And proves attractive to the sight?
+        My chignon.
+
+_Miss P._ Good gracious! is the girl mad?
+
+_Lizzie._
+
+  What moves the heart of Miss Precise
+  To throw aside all prejudice,
+  And gently whisper, It is nice?
+        My chignon!
+
+_Miss P._ Chignon, indeed! Who taught you to read in that manner?
+
+_Lizzie._ Hannah Jones.
+
+_Miss P._ O, this is too bad! You, too, with one of these horrid
+things on your head? (_Snatches it off, and beats her on head with
+it._) Back to your room! You shall suffer for this! [_Exit_ LIZZIE, L.
+
+_Mrs. L._ Excuse me, Miss Precise, but your pupils all wear red
+chignons. Pray, is this a uniform you have adopted in your school?
+
+_Miss P._ O, Mrs. Lofty, I'm dying with mortification! Chignons! I
+detest them; and my positive orders to my pupils are, never to wear
+them in the house.
+
+_Hannah._ (_Outside_, L.) Wal, we'll see what Miss Precise will say to
+this.
+
+_Enters with a red chignon in each hand, followed by_ LIZZIE, HETTY,
+_and_ FANNY.
+
+_Miss P._ Good gracious! More of these horrid things!
+
+_Hannah._ Miss Precise, jest look at them! Here these pesky girls have
+been rummaging my boxes, and putting on my best chignons that pa sent
+me only yesterday. Look at them! They're teetotally ruined!
+
+_Miss P._ Why, Miss Jones, you've got one on your head now!
+
+_Hannah._ Of course I have. Have you got anything to say against it?
+
+_Miss P._ O, no; only it don't match your hair.
+
+_Hannah._ What of that? Pa always goes for the bright colours, and so
+do I.
+
+_Lizzie._ Miss Precise, I thought pupils were forbidden to wear them.
+
+_Miss P._ Well, yes--no--I must make exceptions. Miss Jones has
+permission to wear them.
+
+_Lizzie._ Then I want permission.
+
+_Hetty._ And so do I.
+
+_Fanny._ And so do I.
+
+_Miss P._ First tell me what is the meaning of this scene we have just
+had.
+
+_Lizzie._ Scene? Why, didn't you tell us to take Miss Jones as a model
+for imitation? Haven't we done it?
+
+_Miss P._ But Miss Jones doesn't whistle.
+
+_Hannah._ Whistle? I bet I can. Want to hear me?
+
+_Miss P._ No. She don't sing comic songs.
+
+_Hannah._ Yes, she does.
+
+_Lizzie._ Yes, and she wears chignons. As we must imitate her, and
+hadn't any of our own, we appropriated hers.
+
+_Miss P._ Shame, shame! What will Mrs. Lofty say?
+
+_Mrs. L._ That she rather enjoyed it. I saw mischief in their eyes as
+they came in. And now, girls, I'm going to tell you what Miss Jones
+does that you _don't_ know. A short time ago she placed in my hands
+her pocket-book, containing a large roll of bills, to be distributed
+among the poor.
+
+_Lizzie._ Why, isn't she splendid?
+
+_Hetty._ Why, she's "mag."
+
+_Fanny._ O, you dear old Hannah. (_Kisses her._)
+
+_Mrs. L._ I'm going to send my daughter here to school, and I shall
+tell her to make all the friends she can; but her first friend must be
+Hannah Jones.
+
+_Hannah._ Well, I'm sure, I'm obleeged to you.
+
+_Lizzie._ O, Miss Precise, we are so sorry we have acted so! Let
+us try again, and show Mrs. Lofty that we have benefited by your
+instruction.
+
+_Miss P._ Not now. If Mrs. Lofty will call again, we will try to
+entertain her. I see I was in the wrong to give you such general
+directions. I say now, imitate Hannah Jones--her warm heart, her
+generous hand.
+
+_Mrs. L._ And help her, by your friendship, to acquire the knowledge
+which Miss Precise so ably dispenses.
+
+_Lizzie._ We will, we will.
+
+_Miss P._ Only, ladies, avoid whistling.
+
+_Hetty._ Of course, of course.
+
+_Miss P._ And comic songs!
+
+_Fanny._ O, certainly.
+
+_Lizzie._ And there is one more thing we shall be sure to avoid.
+
+_Miss P._ What is that?
+
+_Lizzie._ The wearing of red chignons.
+
+[_Exeunt._
+
+
+
+
+THE KNIFE-GRINDER.
+
+GEORGE CANNING.
+
+FRIEND OF HUMANITY.
+
+  Needy Knife-grinder! whither are you going?
+  Rough is the road,--your wheel is out of order,--
+  Bleak blows the blast; your hat has got a hole in 't,
+                          So have your breeches!
+
+  Weary Knife-grinder! little think the proud ones,
+  Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike-
+  Road, what hard work 't is crying all day 'Knives and
+                          Scissors to grind O!
+
+  Tell me, Knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives?
+  Did some rich man tyrannically use you?
+  Was it the squire? or parson of the parish?
+                          Or the attorney?
+
+  Was it the squire, for killing of his game? or
+  Covetous parson, for his tithes distraining?
+  Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little
+                          All in a lawsuit?
+
+  (Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine?)
+  Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,
+  Ready to fall as soon as you have told your
+                          Pitiful story.
+
+
+
+KNIFE-GRINDER.
+
+  Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir,
+  Only last night, a drinking at the Chequers,
+  This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were
+                          Torn in a scuffle.
+
+  Constables came up for to take me into
+  Custody; they took me before the justice;
+  Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish-
+                          Stocks for a vagrant.
+
+  I should be glad to drink your Honor's health in
+  A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence;
+  But for my part, I never love to meddle
+                          With politics, sir.
+
+
+FRIEND OF HUMANITY.
+
+  I give thee sixpence! I will see thee hang'd first,--
+  Wretch! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance--
+  Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,
+                          Spiritless outcast!
+
+[Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport
+of enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.]
+
+
+
+
+PREACHING TO THE POOR.
+
+
+    Father Taylor once said, "'Tis of no use to preach to empty
+    stomachs."
+
+  The parson preached in solemn way,
+  --A well-clad man on ample pay,--
+  And told the poor they were sinners all,
+  Depraved and lost by Adam's fall;
+  That they must repent, and save their souls.
+  A hollow-eyed wretch cried, "_Give us coals!_"
+
+  Then he told of virtue's pleasant path,
+  And that of ruin and of wrath;
+  How the slipping feet of sinners fell
+  Quick on the downward road to h----,
+  To suffer for sins when they are dead;
+  And the hollow voice answered, "_Give us bread!_"
+
+  Then he spoke of a land of love and peace,
+  Where all of pain and woe shall cease,
+  Where celestial flowers bloom by the way,
+  Where the light is brighter than solar day,
+  And there's no cold nor hunger there.
+  "Oh," says the voice, "_Give us clothes to wear!_"
+
+  Then the good man sighed, and turned away,
+  For such depravity to pray,
+  That had cast aside the heavenly worth
+  For the transient and fleeting things of earth!
+  And his church that night, to his content,
+  Raised his salary fifty per cent.
+
+
+
+
+THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED.
+
+BY C.B. SOUTHEY.
+
+  Tread softly--bow the head;
+    In reverent silence bow;
+  No passing bell doth toll,
+  Yet an immortal soul
+    Is passing now.
+
+  Stranger! however great,
+    With lowly reverence bow;
+  There's one in that poor shed,
+  One by that paltry bed,
+    Greater than thou.
+
+  Beneath that beggar's roof,
+    Lo! Death doth keep his state;
+  Enter--no crowds attend;
+  Enter--no guards defend
+    This palace gate.
+
+  That pavement, damp and cold,
+    No smiling courtiers tread;
+  One silent woman stands,
+  Lifting with meagre hands
+    A dying head.
+
+  No mingling voices sound--
+    An infant wail alone:
+  A sob suppressed--again
+  That short, deep gasp, and then
+    The parting groan.
+
+  Oh! change!--Oh! wondrous change!--
+    Burst are the prison bars--
+  This moment there, so low,
+  So agonized, and now
+    Beyond the stars!
+
+  Oh! change--stupendous change!
+    There lies the soulless clod!
+  The sun eternal breaks--
+  The new immortal wakes
+    Wakes with his God!
+
+
+
+
+A HORSE-CAR INCIDENT.
+
+
+No matter what horse-car, but it happened that I had to go a mile or
+two, and held up my cane to attract the attention of the driver or
+the conductor of one of them, which I did, after some difficulty. I
+am bound to say it was not on the Touchandgo road, for the officers
+employed there have an instinctive knowledge whether a man wishes to
+ride or not, and indeed often by the magic of the upraised finger they
+draw people in to ride who had hardly any previous intention of it. I
+have been attracted in this way, and found myself to my astonishment,
+seated in the car, confident that I had signified no disposition to do
+so. In this instance, however, I would ride, and got in.
+
+There were the usual passengers in the car--the respectable people
+going out of town, who were reading the last editions of the papers,
+the women who had been shopping, the servant girls who had been in
+to visit their friends, feeling no interest in one another, and all
+absorbed in their own reflections, as I was. I was thinking seriously,
+when--my eye was attracted by some glittering object on the floor,
+beneath the opposite seat.
+
+Of course everybody is attracted by glitter. A piece of glass in the
+moonlight may be a diamond, and show is far ahead of substance in
+influencing men, from the illusion which affects short-sighted vision.
+Thus this glittering object. What was it?--a diamond pin dropped by a
+former passenger? No, it could not be this, because it appeared to be
+round, and bigger than a pin stone could be. Could it be a bracelet?
+No, for it was too small. I directed my gaze more earnestly towards it
+in my doubt, and saw that it was a QUARTER, bright and sparkling with
+the freshness of new mint about it, so it seemed.
+
+This I determined to make mine at the first chance, for a woman was
+sitting very near it, and I dreaded any confusion I might cause, by a
+sudden plunge, through the motion of the cars; so, whistling at a
+low breath, as if indifferent, but keeping my eye upon the prize,
+I awaited the opportunity that should insure me the coveted
+one-and-sixpence. It soon came: the bell rang, and the lady opposite,
+with her arms full of bundles, walked out, leaving the object of my
+ardent regard more distinctly in view. It seemed to me that every one
+in the car had an eye on that quarter, which I felt was mine by right
+of discovery, and which I was determined to have.
+
+As the coach started I rose and fairly tumbled over into the
+just-vacated seat, taking care to drop in such a way as to screen the
+glittering bait. I looked at my fellow-passengers, and found that
+all were staring at me, as though they were reading my secret. The
+conductor had come inside the door, and was looking at me, and a heavy
+gentleman on the same seat with me leaned far out on his cane, so that
+he could take in my whole person with his glance, as though I were a
+piece of property on which he had to estimate. I felt my face burn,
+and a general discomfort seized me, as a man sometimes feels when he
+has done a wrong or a foolish act; though I couldn't think the act I
+was about to perform was wrong, and no one could say it was foolish
+in one to try to get a quarter of a dollar in this day of postal
+currency. At length I stooped down as if to adjust something about my
+boot, and slipped the object of my solicitude into my hand, unseen, as
+I believed.
+
+"What is it?" asked the conductor.
+
+"What's what?" said I, with affected smartness.
+
+"What you just found," he persisted.
+
+"I was pulling my pants down over my boot," I prevaricated.
+
+"That's all humbug," said he; "you found something in the car, and it
+belongs to the company."
+
+"Prove that I found any thing," said I, angrily.
+
+"Young man," said the voice of the big man who was leaning on his
+cane, still looking at me, "it is as bad to lie about a thing as it is
+to steal. I saw you pick something up, and to me it had the appearance
+of money." He struck his cane on the floor as he spoke, and grasped it
+firmer, as if to clinch his remark.
+
+"Yes," said the conductor; "and we don't want nothing of the kind
+here, and what's more, we won't have it; so hand over."
+
+"My fine fellow," said I, prepared for a crisis, "I know my rights,
+and, without admitting that I have found any thing, I contend that if
+I had, in this public conveyance, which is as public as the street to
+him who pays for a ride in it, that which I find in it is mine after I
+have made due endeavour to find out its owner. Money being an article
+impossible to identify, unless it is marked, if I had found it, it
+would have been mine--according to Whately, Lycurgus, and Jew Moses."
+
+"Hang your authorities," said he; "I don't know any thing about 'em,
+but this I know,--that money belongs to the Touchandgo Horse Railroad
+Company, and I'll have it. Ain't I right, Mr. Diggs?" addressing a
+gentleman with glasses on, reading the Journal.
+
+"I think you are," replied he, looking at me over the top of his
+spectacles, as though he were shooting from behind a breastwork;
+"I think the pint is clear, and that it belongs to the company to
+advertise it and find out the owner."
+
+"Well," I put in, "suppose they don't find the owner; who has it?"
+
+"The company, I should think," said he, folding his paper preparatory
+to getting out.
+
+"That's it," said the conductor, taking up the thread as he put the
+passenger down; "and now I want that money." He looked ugly.
+
+"What money?" I queried.
+
+"The money you picked up on the floor."
+
+I saw that I was in a place of considerable difficulty, involving a
+row on one side and imputation of villany on the other, and studied
+how to escape.
+
+"Well," said I, "if, in spite of the authorities I have quoted, you
+insist upon my giving this up which I hold in my hand,--the value of
+which I do not know,--I shall protest against your act, and hold the
+company responsible."
+
+"Responsible be----blowed," replied he, severely; "shell out."
+
+The people in the car were much excited. The fat man on the seat had
+risen up, though still in sitting position, and balanced himself upon
+his toes to get a better view. I unclosed my hand and deposited in
+the conductor's a round piece of tin that had been punched out by some
+tin-man and hammered smooth bearing a close resemblance to money!
+
+The disappointment of every one was intense. The conductor intimated
+that if he met me in society he would give me my money's worth, the
+fat man muttered something about my being an "imposture," several lady
+passengers looked bluely at me, and only one laughed heartily at the
+whole affair, as I did. It was a queer incident.
+
+
+
+
+SOCRATES SNOOKS.
+
+
+  Mister Socrates Snooks, a lord of creation,
+  The second time entered the married relation:
+  Xantippe Caloric accepted his hand,
+  And they thought him the happiest man in the land,
+  But scarce had the honeymoon passed o'er his head,
+  When, one morning, to Xantippe, Socrates said,
+  "I think, for a man of my standing in life,
+  This house is too small, as I now have a wife:
+  So, as early as possible, carpenter Carey
+  Shall be sent for to widen my house and my dairy."
+
+  "Now, Socrates, dearest," Xantippe replied,
+  "I hate to hear every thing vulgarly _my'd_;
+  Now, whenever you speak of your chattels again,
+  Say, _our_ cow house, _our_ barn yard, _our_ pig pen."
+  "By your leave, Mrs. Snooks, I will say what I please
+  Of _my_ houses, _my_ lands, _my_ gardens, _my_ trees."
+  "Say _our_," Xantippe exclaimed in a rage.
+  "I won't, Mrs. Snooks, though you ask it an age!"
+
+  Oh, woman! though only a part of man's rib,
+  If the story in Genesis don't tell a fib,
+  Should your naughty companion e'er quarrel with you,
+  You are certain to prove the best man of the two.
+  In the following case this was certainly true;
+  For the lovely Xantippe just pulled off her shoe,
+  And laying about her, all sides at random,
+  The adage was verified--"Nil desperandum."
+
+  Mister Socrates Snooks, after trying in vain,
+  To ward off the blows which descended like rain--
+  Concluding that valour's best part was discretion--
+  Crept under the bed like a terrified Hessian:
+  But the dauntless Xantippe, not one whit afraid,
+  Converted the siege into a blockade.
+
+  At last, after reasoning the thing in his pate,
+  He concluded 't was useless to strive against fate:
+  And so, like a tortoise protruding his head,
+  Said, "My dear, may we come out from under _our_ bed?"
+  "Hah! hah!" she exclaimed, "Mr. Socrates Snooks,
+  I perceive you agree to my terms by your looks:
+  Now, Socrates--hear me--from this happy hour,
+  If you'll only obey me, I'll never look sour."
+  'T is said the next Sabbath, ere going to church,
+  He chanced for a clean pair of trousers to search:
+  Having found them, he asked, with a few nervous twitches,
+  "My dear, may we put on our new Sunday breeches?"
+
+
+
+
+PAUL REVERE'S RIDE.
+
+H.W. LONGFELLOW.
+
+
+  Listen, my children, and you shall hear
+  Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
+  On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five:
+  Hardly a man is now alive
+  Who remembers that famous day and year.
+
+  He said to his friend--"If the British march
+  By land or sea from the town to-night,
+  Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
+  Of the North-Church tower, as a signal-light--
+  One if by land, and two if by sea;
+  And I on the opposite shore will be,
+  Ready to ride and spread the alarm
+  Through every Middlesex village and farm,
+  For the country-folk to be up and to arm."
+
+  Then he said good-night, and with muffled oar
+  Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
+  Just as the moon rose over the bay,
+  Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
+  The Somerset, British man-of-war:
+  A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
+  Across the moon, like a prison-bar,
+  And a huge, black hulk, that was magnified
+  By its own reflection in the tide.
+
+  Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street
+  Wanders and watches with eager ears,
+  Till in the silence around him he hears
+  The muster of men at the barrack-door,
+  The sound of arms and the tramp of feet,
+  And the measured tread of the grenadiers
+  Marching down to their boats on the shore.
+
+  Then he climbed to the tower of the church,
+  Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
+  To the belfry-chamber overhead,
+  And startled the pigeons from their perch
+  On the sombre rafters, that round him made
+  Masses and moving shapes of shade--
+  Up the light ladder, slender and tall,
+  To the highest window in the wall,
+  Where he paused to listen and look down
+  A moment on the roofs of the quiet town,
+  And the moonlight flowing over all.
+
+  Beneath, in the church-yard, lay the dead
+  In their night-encampment on the hill,
+  Wrapped in silence so deep and still,
+  That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread
+  The watchful night-wind as it went
+  Creeping along from tent to tent,
+  And seeming to whisper, "All is well!"
+  A moment only he feels the spell
+  Of the place and the hour, the secret dread
+  Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
+  For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
+  On a shadowy something far away,
+  Where the river widens to meet the bay--
+  A line of black, that bends and floats
+  On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.
+
+  Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
+  Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride,
+  On the opposite shore waited Paul Revere.
+  Now he patted his horse's side,
+  Now gazed on the landscape far and near,
+  Then impetuous stamped the earth,
+  And turned and tightened his saddle-girth;
+  But mostly he watched with eager search
+  The belfry-tower of the old North-Church,
+  As it rose above the graves on the hill,
+  Lonely, and spectral, and sombre, and still.
+
+  And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height,
+  A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
+  He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
+  But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
+  A second lamp in the belfry burns!
+
+  A hurry of hoofs in a village-street,
+  A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
+  And beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
+  Struck out by a steed that flies fearless and fleet:
+  That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
+  The fate of a nation was riding that night;
+  And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
+  Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
+
+  It was twelve by the village-clock,
+  When he crossed the bridge into Medford town,
+  He heard the crowing of the cock,
+  And the barking of the farmer's dog,
+  And felt the damp of the river-fog,
+  That rises when the sun goes down.
+
+  It was one by the village-clock,
+  When he rode into Lexington.
+  He saw the gilded weathercock
+  Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
+  And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,
+  Gazed at him with a spectral glare,
+  As if they already stood aghast
+  At the bloody work they would look upon.
+
+  It was two by the village-clock,
+  When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
+  He heard the bleating of the flock,
+  And the twitter of birds among the trees,
+  And felt the breath of the morning-breeze
+  Blowing over the meadows brown,
+  And one was safe and asleep in his bed
+  Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
+  Who that day would be lying dead,
+  Pierced by a British musket-ball.
+
+  You know the rest. In the books you have read
+  How the British regulars fired and fled--
+  How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
+  From behind each fence and farmyard-wall,
+  Chasing the red-coats down the lane,
+  Then crossing the fields to emerge again
+  Under the trees at the turn of the road,
+  And only pausing to fire and load.
+
+  So through the night rode Paul Revere;
+  And so through the night went his cry of alarm
+  To every Middlesex village and farm--
+  A cry of defiance, and not of fear--
+  A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
+  And a word that shall echo for evermore!
+  For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
+  Through all our history, to the last,
+  In the hour of darkness, and peril, and need,
+  The people will waken and listen to hear
+  The hurrying hoof-beat of that steed.
+  And the midnight-message of Paul Revere.
+
+
+
+
+A PLEASURE EXERTION.
+
+MARIETTA HOLLEY.
+
+    This humorous sketch is taken from a work entitled "My
+    Opinions and Betsey Bobbet's."
+
+
+They have been havin' pleasure exertions all summer here to
+Jonesville. Every week a'most they would go off on a exertion after
+pleasure, and Josiah was all up in end to go too.
+
+That man is a well-principled man as I ever see; but if he had his
+head he would be worse than any young man I ever see to foller up
+pic-nics, and 4th of Julys, and camp meetin's, and all pleasure
+exertions. But I don't encourage him in it. I have said to him, time
+and agin, "There is a time for everything, Josiah Allen, and after
+anybody has lost all their teeth, and every mite of hair on the top of
+their head, it is time for 'em to stop goin' to pleasure exertions."
+
+But, good land! I might jest as well talk to the wind. If that man
+should get to be as old as Mr. Methusler, and be a goin' a thousand
+years old, he would prick up his ears if he should hear of an
+exertion. All summer long that man has beset me to go to 'em, for he
+wouldn't go without me. Old Bunker Hill himself hain't any sounder in
+principle than Josiah Allen, and I have had to work head-work to make
+excuses, and quell him down. But, last week, the old folks was goin'
+to have one out on the lake, on an island, and that man sot his foot
+down that go he would.
+
+We was to the breakfast-table, a talkin' it over, and says I, "I
+shan't go, for I am afraid of big water any way."
+
+Says Josiah, "You are jest as liable to be killed in one place as
+another."
+
+Says I, with a almost frigid air, as I passed him his coffee, "Mebby I
+shall be drownded on dry land, Josiah Allen; but I don't believe it."
+
+Says he, in a complainin' tone, "I can't get you started onto a
+exertion for pleasure any way."
+
+Says I, in a almost eloquent way, "I don't believe in makin' such
+exertions after pleasure. I don't believe in chasin' of her up." Says
+I, "Let her come of her own free will." Says I, "You can't catch her
+by chasin' of her up, no more than you can fetch a shower up, in
+a drewth, by goin' out doors, and running after a cloud up in the
+heavens above you. Sit down, and be patient; and when it gets ready,
+the refreshin' rain-drops will begin to fall without none of your
+help. And it is jest so with pleasure, Josiah Allen; you may chase her
+up over all the ocians and big mountains of the earth, and she will
+keep ahead of you all the time; but set down, and not fatigue yourself
+a thinkin' about her, and like as not she will come right into your
+house, unbeknown to you."
+
+"Wal," says he, "I guess I'll have another griddlecake, Samantha." And
+as he took it, and poured the maple syrup over it, he added, gently
+but firmly, "I shall go, Samantha, to this exertion, and I should be
+glad to have you present at it, because it seems jest, to me, as if I
+should fall overboard durin' the day."
+
+Men are deep. Now that man knew that no amount of religious preachin'
+could stir me up like that one speech. For though I hain't no hand to
+coo, and don't encourage him in bein' spoony at all, he knows that I
+am wrapped almost completely up in him. I went.
+
+We had got to start about the middle of the night, for the lake was
+fifteen miles from Jonesville, and the old horse bein' so slow, we had
+got to start a hour or two ahead of the rest. I told Josiah that I had
+jest as lives set up all night, as to be routed out at two o'clock.
+But he was so animated and happy at the idee of goin' that he looked
+on the bright side of everything, and he said that we would go to bed
+before dark, and get as much sleep as we commonly did! So we went to
+bed, the sun an hour high. But we hadn't more'n got settled down into
+the bed, when we heard a buggy and a single wagon stop to the gate,
+and I got up and peeked through the window, and I see it was visitors
+come to spend the evenin'--Elder Wesley Minkly and his family, and
+Deacon Dobbins' folks. Josiah vowed that he wouldn't stir one step out
+of that bed that night. But I argued with him pretty sharp, while I
+was throwin' on my clothes, and I finally got him started up. I hain't
+deceitful, but I thought, if I got my clothes all on before they came
+in, I wouldn't tell 'em that I had been to bed that time of day. And I
+did get all dressed up, even to my handkerchief pin. And I guess they
+had been there as much as ten minutes before I thought that I hadn't
+took my night-cap off. They looked dretful curious at me, and I felt
+awful meachin'. But I jest ketched it off, and never said nothin'. But
+when Josiah came out of the bedroom, with what little hair he has got
+standin' out in every direction, no two hairs a layin' the same way,
+I up and told 'em. I thought mebby they wouldn't stay long. But Deacon
+Dobbins' folks seemed to be all waked up on the subject of religion,
+and they proposed we should turn it into a kind of a conference
+meetin'; so they never went home till after ten o'clock.
+
+It was most eleven o'clock when Josiah and me got to bed agin. And
+then jest as I was gettin' into a drowse, I heard the cat in the
+buttery, and I got up to let her out. And that rousted Josiah up, and
+he thought he heard the cattle in the garden, and he got up and went
+out. And there we was a marchin' round most all night. And if we would
+get into a nap, Josiah would think it was mornin', and he would start
+up and go out to look at the clock. I lost myself once, for I dreampt
+that Josiah was a droundin', and Deacon Dobbins was on the shore a
+prayin' for him. It started me so, that I jest ketched hold of Josiah
+and hollered. It skairt him awfully, and says he, "What does ail
+you, Samantha? I hain't been asleep before to-night, and now you have
+rousted me up for good. I wonder what time it is?" And then he got out
+of bed again, and went out and looked at the clock. It was half-past
+one, and he said "he didn't believe we had better go to sleep again
+for fear we would be too late for the exertion, and he wouldn't miss
+that for nothin'."
+
+"Exertion," says I, in a awful cold tone; "I should think we had had
+exertion enough for one spell."
+
+But I got up at 2 o'clock, and made a cup of tea as strong as I could,
+for we both felt beat out, worse than if we had watched in sickness.
+
+But, as bad and wore out as Josiah felt bodily, he was all animated
+in his mind about what a good time he was a goin' to have. He acted
+foolish, and I told him so. I wanted to wear my brown and black
+gingham, and a shaker; but Josiah insisted that I should wear a new
+lawn dress that he had brought me home as a present, and I had got
+just made up. So, jest to please him, I put it on, and my best bonnet.
+And that man, all I could do and say, would wear a pair of pantaloons
+I had been a makin' for Thomas Jefferson. They was gettin' up a
+military company in Thomas J.'s school, and these pantaloons was white
+with a blue stripe down the sides, a kind of uniform. Josiah took a
+awful fancy to 'em; and, says he,
+
+"I will wear 'em, Samantha; they look so dressy."
+
+Says I, "They hain't hardly done. I was goin' to stitch that blue
+stripe on the left leg on again. They haint finished as they ought to
+be, and I would not wear 'em. It looks vain in you."
+
+Says he, "I will wear 'em, Samantha. I will be dressed up for once."
+
+I didn't contend with him. Thinks I, we are makin' fools of ourselves
+by goin' at all, and if he wants to make a little bigger fool of
+himself, I won't stand in his light. And then I had got some machine
+oil onto 'em, so I felt that I had got to wash 'em any way, before
+Thomas J. took 'em to school. So he put 'em on.
+
+I had good vittles, and a sight of 'em. The basket wouldn't hold 'em
+all. So Josiah had to put a bottle of red rhaspberry jell into the
+pocket of his dress coat, and lots of other little things, such as
+spoons, and knives, and forks, in his pantaloons and breast pockets.
+He looked like Captain Kidd, armed up to the teeth, and I told him so.
+But, good land, he would have carried a knife in his mouth if I had
+asked him, he felt so neat about goin', and boasted so, on what a
+splendid exertion it was going to be.
+
+We got to the lake about eight o'clock, being about the first ones
+there; but they kep' a comin', and before 10 o'clock we all got
+there. There was about 20 old fools of us, when we got all collected
+together. And about 10 o'clock we sot sail for the island. Josiah
+havin' felt so animated and tickled about the exertion, was worked up
+awfully when, just after we had got well out onto the lake, the wind
+took his hat off and blew it away. He had made up his mind to look so
+pretty that day, and be so dressed up, that it worked him up awfully.
+And then the sun beat down onto him: and if he had had any hair onto
+his head it would have seemed more shady. But I did the best I could
+by him; I stood by him, and pinned on his red bandanna handkerchief
+onto his head. But as I was a fixin' it on, I see there was something
+more than mortification that ailed him. The lake was rough, and the
+boat rocked, and I see he was beginning to be awful sick. He looked
+deathly. Pretty soon I felt bad too. Oh, the wretchedness of that
+time! I have enjoyed poor health considerable in my life, but never
+did I enjoy so much sickness, in so short a time, as I did on that
+pleasure exertion to the island. I suppose our bein' up all night
+a'most made it worse. When we reached the island we was both weak as
+cats.
+
+I set right down on a stun, and held my head for a spell, for it did
+seem as if it would split open. After awhile I staggered up onto my
+feet, and finally I got so I could walk straight, and sense things a
+little. Then I began to take the things out of my dinner basket. The
+butter had all melted, so we had to dip it out with a spoon. And a lot
+of water had swashed over the side of the boat, so my pies, and tarts,
+and delicate cake, and cookies, looked awful mixed up, but no worse
+than the rest of the company's did. But we did the best we could, and
+begun to make preparations to eat, for the man that owned the boat
+said he knew it would rain before night, by the way the sun scalded.
+There wasn't a man or a woman there but what the perspiration jest
+poured down their faces. We was a haggered and melancholy lookin' set.
+There was a piece of woods a little ways off, but it was up quite a
+rise of ground, and there wasn't one of us but what had the rheumatiz,
+more or less. We made up a fire on the sand, though it seemed as if it
+was hot enough to steep the tea and coffee as it was.
+
+After we got the fire started, I histed a umberell, and sat down under
+it, and fanned myself hard, for I was afraid of a sunstroke.
+
+Wal, I guess I had sat there ten minutes or more, when all of a sudden
+I thought, Where is Josiah? I hadn't seen him since we had got there.
+I riz right up and asked the company, almost wildly, "If they had
+seen my companion, Josiah?" They said "No, they hadn't." But Celestine
+Wilkins' little girl, who had come with her grandpa and grandma
+Gowdey, spoke up, and says she, "I seen him a goin' off towards the
+woods; he acted dreadfully strange, too, he seemed to be a walkin' off
+sideways."
+
+"Had the sufferin's we had undergone made him delirious?" says I to
+myself; and then I started off on the run towards the woods, and old
+Miss Bobbet, and Miss Gowdey, and Sister Minkley, and Deacon Dobbins'
+wife, all rushed after me. Oh, the agony of them 2 or 3 minutes, my
+mind so distracted with forebodin's, and the perspiration a pourin'
+down. But, all of a sudden, on the edge of the woods we found him.
+Miss Gowdey weighed 100 pounds less than me; had got a little ahead of
+me. He sat backed up against a tree in a awful cramped position, with
+his left leg under him. He looked dretful uncomfortable, but when Miss
+Gowdey hollered out: "Oh, here you be; we have been skairt about you;
+what is the matter?" he smiled a dretful sick smile, and says he: "Oh,
+I thought I would come out here and meditate a spell. It was always a
+real treat to me to meditate."
+
+Jest then I came up, a pantin' for breath, and as the women all turned
+to face me, Josiah scowled at me, and shook his fist at them 4 wimmen,
+and made the most mysterious motions with his hands towards 'em.
+But the minute they turned 'round he smiled in a sickish way, and
+pretended to go to whistlin'.
+
+Says I, "What is the matter, Josiah Allen? What are you off here for?"
+
+"I am a meditatin', Samantha."
+
+The wimmen happened to be a lookin' the other way for a minute, and he
+looked at me as if he would take my head off, and made the strangest
+motions towards 'em; but the minute they looked at him he would
+pretend to smile that deathly smile.
+
+Says I, "Come, Josiah Allen, we're goin' to have dinner right away,
+for we are afraid it will rain."
+
+"Oh, wal," says he, "a little rain, more or less, hain't a goin' to
+hinder a man from meditatin'."
+
+I was wore out, and says I: "Do you stop meditatin' this minute,
+Josiah Allen."
+
+Says he: "I won't stop, Samantha. I let you have your way a good deal
+of the time; but when I take it into my head to meditate, you hain't a
+goin' to break it up."
+
+Says I: "Josiah Allen, come to dinner."
+
+"Oh, I hain't hungry," says he. "The table will probably be full. I
+had jest as leves wait."
+
+"Table full!" says I. "You know jest as well as I do that we are
+eatin' on the ground. Do you come and eat your dinner this minute."
+
+"Yes, do come," says Miss Bobbet.
+
+"Oh," says he, with that ghastly smile, a pretendin' to joke; "I have
+got plenty to eat here, I can eat muskeeters."
+
+The air was black with 'em; I couldn't deny it.
+
+"The muskeeters will eat you, more likely," says I. "Look at your face
+and hands."
+
+"Yes, they have eat considerable of a dinner out of me, but I don't
+begrech 'em. I hain't small enough, I hope, to begrech 'em one meal."
+
+Miss Bobbet and the rest turned to go back, and the minute we were
+alone he said:
+
+"Can't you bring 40 or 50 more wimmen up here? You couldn't come here
+a minute without a lot of other wimmen tied to your heels!"
+
+I began to see daylight, and then Josiah told me.
+
+It seems he had set down on that bottle of rhaspberry jell. That blue
+stripe on the side wasn't hardly finished, as I said, and I hadn't
+fastened my thread properly; so when he got to pullin' at 'em to
+try to wipe off the jell, the thread started, and bein' sewed on a
+machine, that seam jest ripped right open from top to bottom. That was
+what he had walked off sideways towards the woods for. Josiah Allen's
+wife hain't one to desert a companion in distress. I pinned 'em up as
+well as I could, and I didn't say a word to hurt his feelin's, only I
+jest said this to him, as I was a fixin' 'em: "Josiah Allen, is this
+pleasure?" Says I: "You was determined to come."
+
+"Throw that in my face again, will you? What if I wuz? There goes a
+pin into my leg. I should think I had suffered enough without your
+stabbin' of me with pins."
+
+"Wal, then, stand still, and not be a caperin' round so. How do you
+suppose I can do anything with you a tousin' round so?"
+
+"Wal, don't be so agrevatin', then."
+
+I fixed 'em as well as I could, but they looked pretty bad, and then,
+there they was all covered with jell, too. What to do I didn't know.
+But finally I told him I would put my shawl onto him. So I doubled
+it up corner-ways, as big as I could, so it almost touched the ground
+behind, and he walked back to the table with me. I told him it was
+best to tell the company all about it, but he jest put his foot down
+that he wouldn't, and I told him if he wouldn't that he must make his
+own excuses to the company about wearin' the shawl. So he told 'em
+that he always loved to wear summer shawls; he thought it made a man
+look so dressy.
+
+But he looked as if he would sink all the time he was a sayin' it.
+They all looked dretful curious at him, and he looked as meachin' as
+if he had stole a sheep, and he never took a minute's comfort, nor I
+nuther. He was sick all the way back to the shore, and so was I. And
+jest as we got into our wagons and started for home, the rain begun to
+pour down. The wind turned our old umberell inside out in no time. My
+lawn dress was most spilte before, and now I give up my bunnet. And I
+says to Josiah:
+
+"This bunnet and dress are spilte, Josiah Allen, and I shall have to
+buy some new ones."
+
+"Wal! wal! who said you wouldn't?" he snapped out.
+
+But it wore on him. Oh, how the rain poured down. Josiah havin'
+nothin' but his handkerchief on his head felt it more than I did. I
+had took a apron to put on a gettin' dinner, and I tried to make him
+let me pin it on to his head. But says he, firmly:
+
+"I hain't proud and haughty, Samantha, but I do feel above ridin' out
+with a pink apron on for a hat."
+
+"Wal, then," says I, "get as wet as sop if you had ruther."
+
+I didn't say no more, but there we jest sot and suffered. The rain
+poured down, the wind howled at us, the old horse went slow, the
+rheumatiz laid holt of both of us, and the thought of the new bunnet
+and dress was a wearin' on Josiah, I knew.
+
+After I had beset him about the apron, we didn't say hardly a word for
+as much as 13 miles or so; but I did speak once, as he leaned forward
+with the rain a drippin' offen his bandanna handkerchief onto his
+white pantaloons. I says to him in stern tones:
+
+"Is this pleasure, Josiah Allen?"
+
+He gave the old mare a awful cut, and says he: "I'd like to know what
+you want to be so agrevatin' for?"
+
+I didn't multiply any more words with him, only as we drove up to our
+door-step, and he helped me out into a mud puddle, I says to him:
+
+"Mebby you'll hear to me another time, Josiah Allen?"
+
+And I'll bet he will. I hain't afraid to bet a ten-cent bill that that
+man won't never open his mouth to me again about a PLEASURE EXERTION.
+
+
+
+
+SHAMUS O'BRIEN, THE BOLD BOY OF GLINGALL--A TALE OF '98
+
+BY SAMUEL LOVER.
+
+
+  Jist afther the war, in the year '98,
+  As soon as the boys wor all scattered and bate,
+  'Twas the custom, whenever a pisant was got,
+  To hang him by thrial--barrin' sich as was shot.
+  There was trial by jury goin' on by daylight,
+  There was martial-law hangin' the lavins by night.
+  It's them was hard times for an honest gossoon:
+  If he missed in the judges--he'd meet a dragoon;
+  An' whether the sodgers or judges gev sentence,
+  The divil a much time they allowed for repentance,
+  An' it's many's the fine boy was then on his keepin'
+  Wid small share iv restin', or atin', or sleepin',
+  An' because they loved Erin, an' scorned to sell it,
+  A prey for the bloodhound, a mark for the bullet--
+  Unsheltered by night, and unrested by day,
+  With the heath for their barrack, revenge for their pay;
+  An' the bravest an' hardiest boy iv them all
+  Was SHAMUS O'BRIEN, from the town iv Glingall.
+  His limbs were well set, an' his body was light,
+  An' the keen-fanged hound had not teeth half so white;
+  But his face was as pale as the face of the dead,
+  And his cheek never warmed with the blush of the red;
+  An' for all that he wasn't an ugly young bye,
+  For the divil himself couldn't blaze with his eye,
+  So droll an' so wicked, so dark and so bright,
+  Like a fire-flash that crosses the depth of the night!
+  An' he was the best mower that ever has been,
+  An' the illigantest hurler that ever was seen,
+  An' his dancin' was sich that the men used to stare,
+  An' the women turn crazy, he done it so quare;
+  An' by gorra, the whole world gev it into him there.
+  An' it's he was the boy that was hard to be caught,
+  An' it's often he run, an' it's often he fought,
+  An' it's many the one can remember right well
+  The quare things he done: an' it's often I heerd tell
+  How he lathered the yeomen, himself agin four,
+  An' stretched the two strongest on old Galtimore.
+  But the fox must sleep sometimes, the wild deer must rest,
+  An' treachery prey on the blood iv the best;
+  Afther many a brave action of power and pride,
+  An' many a hard night on the mountain's bleak side,
+  An' a thousand great dangers and toils over past,
+  In the darkness of night he was taken at last.
+
+  Now, SHAMUS, look back on the beautiful moon,
+  For the door of the prison must close on you soon,
+  An' take your last look at her dim lovely light,
+  That falls on the mountain and valley this night;
+  One look at the village, one look at the flood,
+  An' one at the sheltering, far distant wood;
+  Farewell to the forest, farewell to the hill,
+  An' farewell to the friends that will think of you still;
+  Farewell to the pathern, the hurlin' an' wake,
+  And farewell to the girl that would die for your sake,
+  An' twelve sodgers brought him to Maryborough jail,
+  An' the turnkey resaved him, refusin' all bail;
+  The fleet limbs wor chained, an' the sthrong hands wor bound,
+  An' he laid down his length on the cowld prison-ground,
+  An' the dreams of his childhood kem over him there
+  As gentle an' soft as the sweet summer air,
+  An' happy remembrances crowding on ever,
+  As fast as the foam-flakes dhrift down on the river,
+  Bringing fresh to his heart merry days long gone by,
+  Till the tears gathered heavy and thick in his eye.
+  But the tears didn't fall, for the pride of his heart
+  Would not suffer one drop down his pale cheek to start;
+  An' he sprang to his feet in the dark prison cave,
+  An' he swore with the fierceness that misery gave,
+  By the hopes of the good, an' the cause of the brave,
+  That when he was mouldering in the cold grave
+  His enemies never should have it to boast
+  His scorn of their vengeance one moment was lost;
+  His bosom might bleed, but his cheek should be dhry,
+  For undaunted he lived, and undaunted he'd die.
+  Well, as soon as a few weeks was over and gone,
+  The terrible day iv the thrial kem on,
+  There was sich a crowd there was scarce room to stand,
+  An' sodgers on guard, an' dhragoons sword-in-hand;
+  An' the court-house so full that the people were bothered,
+  An' attorneys an' criers on the point iv bein' smothered;
+  An' counsellors almost gev over for dead,
+  An' the jury sittin' up in their box overhead;
+  An' the judge settled out so detarmined an' big,
+  With his gown on his back, and an illegant new wig;
+  An' silence was called, an' the minute it was said
+  The court was as still as the heart of the dead,
+  An' they heard but the openin' of one prison lock,
+  An' SHAMUS O'BRIEN kem into the dock.
+  For one minute he turned his eye round on the throng,
+  An' he looked at the bars, so firm and so strong,
+  An' he saw that he had not a hope nor a friend,
+  A chance to escape, nor a word to defend;
+  An' he folded his arms as he stood there alone,
+  As calm and as cold as a statue of stone;
+  And they read a big writin', a yard long at laste,
+  An' JIM didn't understand it, nor mind it a taste,
+  An' the judge took a big pinch iv snuff, and he says,
+  "Are you guilty or not, JIM O'BRIEN, av you plase?"
+
+  An' all held their breath in the silence of dhread,
+  An' SHAMUS O'BRIEN made answer and said:
+  "My lord, if you ask me, if in my life-time
+  I thought any treason, or did any crime
+  That should call to my cheek, as I stand alone here,
+  The hot blush of shame, or the coldness of fear,
+  Though I stood by the grave to receive my death-blow
+  Before GOD and the world I would answer you, no!
+  But if you would ask me, as I think it like,
+  If in the rebellion I carried a pike,
+  An' fought for ould Ireland from the first to the close,
+  An' shed the heart's blood of her bitterest foes,
+  I answer you, yes; and I tell you again,
+  Though I stand here to perish, it's my glory that then
+  In her cause I was willing my veins should run dhry,
+  An' that now for her sake I am ready to die."
+  Then the silence was great, and the jury smiled bright,
+  An' the judge wasn't sorry the job was made light;
+  By my sowl, it's himself was the crabbed ould chap!
+  In a twinklin' he pulled on his ugly black cap.
+  Then SHAMUS' mother in the crowd standin' by,
+  Called out to the judge with a pitiful cry:
+  "O, judge! darlin', don't, O, don't say the word!
+  The crathur is young, have mercy, my lord;
+  He was foolish, he didn't know what he was doin';
+  You don't know him, my lord--O, don't give him to ruin!
+  He's the kindliest crathur, the tendherest-hearted;
+  Don't part us forever, we that's so long parted.
+  Judge, mavourneen, forgive him, forgive him, my lord,
+  An' GOD will forgive you--O, don't say the word!"
+  That was the first minute that O'BRIEN was shaken,
+  When he saw that he was not quite forgot or forsaken;
+  An' down his pale cheeks, at the word of his mother,
+  The big tears wor runnin' fast, one afther th' other;
+  An' two or three times he endeavoured to spake,
+  But the sthrong, manly voice used to falther and break;
+  But at last, by the strength of his high-mounting pride,
+  He conquered and masthered his grief's swelling tide,
+  "An'," says he, "mother, darlin', don't break your poor heart,
+  For, sooner or later, the dearest must part;
+  And GOD knows it's betther than wandering in fear
+  On the bleak, trackless mountain, among the wild deer,
+  To lie in the grave, where the head, heart, and breast,
+  From thought, labour, and sorrow, forever shall rest.
+  Then, mother, my darlin', don't cry any more,
+  Don't make me seem broken, in this, my last hour;
+  For I wish, when my head's lyin' undher the raven,
+  No thrue man can say that I died like a craven!"
+  Then towards the judge SHAMUS bent down his head,
+  An' that minute the solemn death-sentince was said.
+
+  The mornin' was bright, an' the mists rose on high,
+  An' the lark whistled merrily in the clear sky;
+  But why are the men standin' idle so late?
+  An' why do the crowds gather fast in the street?
+  What come they to talk of? what come they to see?
+  An' why does the long rope hang from the cross-tree?
+  O, SHAMUS O'BRIEN! pray fervent and fast,
+  May the saints take your soul, for this day is your last;
+  Pray fast an' pray sthrong, for the moment is nigh,
+  When, sthrong, proud, an' great as you are, you must die.
+  An' fasther an' fasther, the crowd gathered there,
+  Boys, horses, and gingerbread, just like a fair;
+  An' whiskey was sellin', and cussamuck too,
+  An' ould men and young women enjoying the view.
+  An' ould TIM MULVANY, he med the remark,
+  There wasn't sich a sight since the time of NOAH'S ark,
+  An' be gorry, 'twas thrue for him, for devil sich a scruge,
+  Sich divarshin and crowds, was known since the deluge,
+  For thousands were gathered there, if there was one,
+  Waitin' till such time as the hangin' 'id come on.
+
+  At last they threw open the big prison-gate,
+  An' out came the sheriffs and sodgers in state,
+  An' a cart in the middle, an' SHAMUS was in it,
+  Not paler, but prouder than ever, that minute.
+  An' as soon as the people saw SHAMUS O'BRIEN,
+  Wid prayin' and blessin', and all the girls cryin',
+  A wild wailin' sound kem on by degrees,
+  Like the sound of the lonesome wind blowin' through trees.
+  On, on to the gallows the sheriffs are gone,
+  An' the cart an' the sodgers go steadily on;
+  An' at every side swellin' around of the cart,
+  A wild, sorrowful sound, that id open your heart.
+  Now under the gallows the cart takes its stand,
+  An' the hangman gets up with the rope in his hand;
+  An' the priest, havin' blest him, goes down on the ground,
+  An' SHAMUS O'BRIEN throws one last look round.
+  Then the hangman dhrew near, an' the people grew still,
+  Young faces turned sickly, and warm hearts turn chill;
+  An' the rope bin' ready, his neck was made bare,
+  For the gripe iv the life-strangling chord to prepare;
+  An' the good priest has left him, havin' said his last prayer,
+  But the good priest done more, for his hands he unbound,
+  And with one daring spring JIM has leaped on the ground;
+  Bang! bang! goes the carbines, and clash goes the sabres;
+  He's not down! he's alive still! now stand to him, neighbours!
+  Through the smoke and the horses he's into the crowd,--
+  By the heavens, he's free!--than thunder more loud,
+  By one shout from the people the heavens were shaken--
+  One shout that the dead of the world might awaken.
+  The sodgers ran this way, the sheriffs ran that,
+  An' Father MALONE lost his new Sunday hat;
+  To-night he'll be sleepin' in Aherloe Glin,
+  An' the divil's in the dice if you catch him ag'in.
+  Your swords they may glitter, your carbines go bang,
+  But if you want hangin', it's yourself you must hang.
+
+  He has mounted his horse, and soon he will be
+  In America, darlint, the land of the free.
+
+
+
+
+"WHICH AM DE MIGHTIEST, DE PEN OR DE SWORD?"
+
+    The "Colored Debating Society" of Mount Vernon, Ohio, had some
+    very interesting meetings. The object of the argument on a
+    particular evening was the settlement, at once and forever, of
+    the question.
+
+
+Mr. Larkins said about as follows: "Mr. Chaarman, what's de use ob a
+swoard unless you's gwyne to waar? Who's hyar dat's gwyne to waar? I
+isn't, Mr. Morehouse isn't, Mrs. Morehouse isn't, Mr. Newsome isn't;
+I'll bet no feller wot speaks on the swoard side is any ideer ob gwyne
+to waar. Den, what's de use ob de swoard? I don't tink dar's much show
+for argument in de matter."
+
+Mr. Lewman said: "What's de use ob de pen 'less you knows how to
+write? How's dat? Dat's what I wants to know. Look at de chillun ob
+Isr'l--wasn't but one man in de whole crowd gwine up from Egyp' to
+de Promis' Lan' cood write, an' he didn't write much. [A voice in the
+audience, "Who wrote de ten comman'ments, anyhow, you bet." Cheers
+from the pen side.] Wrote 'em? wrote 'em? Not much; guess not; not
+on stone, honey. Might p'r'aps cut 'em wid a chisel. Broke 'em all,
+anyhow, 'fore he got down de hill. Den when he cut a new set, de
+chillun ob Isr'l broke 'em all again. Say he did write 'em, what
+good was it? So his pen no 'count nohow. No, saar. De _swoard's_ what
+fotched 'em into de Promis' Lan', saar. Why, saar, it's ridiculous.
+Tink, saar, ob David a-cuttin' off Goliah's head wid a _pen_, saar!
+De ideer's altogedder too 'posterous, saar. De _swoard_, saar, de
+_swoard_ mus' win de argument, saar."
+
+Dr. Crane said: "I tink Mr. Lewman a leetle too fas'. He's a-speakin'
+ob de times in de dim pas', when de mind ob man was crude, an' de han'
+ob man was in de ruff state, an' not tone down to de refinement ob
+cibilized times. Dey wasn't educated up to de use ob de pen. Deir
+han's was only fit for de ruff use ob de swoard. Now, as de modern
+poet says, our swoards rust in deir cubbards, an' peas, sweet peas,
+cover de lan'. An' what has wrot all dis change? _De pen._ Do I take
+a swoard now to get me a peck ob sweet taters, a pair ob chickens,
+a pair ob shoes? No, saar. I jess take my pen an' write an order for
+'em. Do I want money? I don't git it by de edge ob de swoard; I writes
+a check. I want a suit ob clothes, for instance--a stroke ob de pen,
+de mighty pen, de clothes is on de way. I'se done."
+
+Mr. Newsome said: "Wid all due 'spect to de learned gemman dat's jus'
+spoke, we mus' all agree dat for smoovin' tings off an' a-levelin'
+tings down, dere's notting equals de swoard."
+
+Mr. Hunnicut said: "I agrees entirely wid Mr. Newsome; an' in answer
+to what Dr. Crane says, I would jess ask what's de use ob drawin' a
+check unless you's got de money in de bank, or a-drawin' de order on
+de store unless de store truss you? S'pose de store do truss, ain't
+it easier to sen' a boy as to write a order? If you got no boy handy,
+telegraf. No use for a pen--not a bit. Who ebber heard of Mr. Hill's
+pen? Nobody, saar. But his swoard, saar--de swoard ob ole Bunker Hill,
+saar--is known to ebbery chile in de lan'. If it hadden been for de
+swoard ob ole Bunker Hill, saar, whaar'd we niggers be to-night,
+saar? whaar, saar? Not hyar, saar. In Georgia, saar, or wuss, saar. No
+cullud man, saar, should ebber go back, saar, on de swoard, saar."
+
+Mr. Hunnicut's remarks seemed to carry a good deal of weight with the
+audience. After speeches by a number of others, the subject was handed
+over to the "committee," who carried it out and "sot on it." In due
+time they returned with the followin' decision:
+
+"De committee decide dat de swoard has de most pints an' de best
+backin', an' dat de pen is de most beneficial, an' dat de whole ting
+is about a stan'-off."
+
+
+
+
+JUVENILE PUGILISTS.
+
+S.C. CLEMENS.
+
+
+"Yes, I've had a good many fights in my time," said old John Parky,
+tenderly manipulating his dismantled nose, "and it's kind of queer,
+too, for when I was a boy the old man was always telling me better. He
+was a good man and hated fighting. When I would come home with my nose
+bleeding or with my face scratched up, he used to call me out in the
+woodshed, and in a sorrowful and discouraged way say, 'So, Johnny,
+you've had another fight, hey? How many times have I got to tell
+ye how disgraceful and wicked it is for boys to fight? It was only
+yesterday that I talked to you an hour about the sin of fighting, and
+here you've been at it again. Who was it with this time? _With Tommy
+Kelly, hey?_ Don't you know any better than to fight a boy that weighs
+twenty pounds more than you do, besides being two years older? Ain't
+you got a spark of sense about ye? I can see plainly that you are
+determined to break your poor father's heart by your reckless conduct.
+What ails your finger? _Tommy bit it?_ Drat the little fool! Didn't ye
+know enough to keep your finger out of his mouth? _Was trying to jerk
+his cheek off, hey?_ Won't you never learn to quit foolin' 'round a
+boy's mouth with yer fingers? You're bound to disgrace us all by such
+wretched behaviour. You're determined never to be nobody. Did you
+ever hear of Isaac Watts--that wrote, "Let dogs delight to bark and
+bite"--sticking his fingers in a boy's mouth to get 'em bit, like a
+fool? I'm clean discouraged with ye. Why didn't ye go for his nose,
+the way Jonathan Edwards, and George Washington, and Daniel Webster
+used to do, when they was boys? _Couldn't 'cause he had ye down?_
+That's a purty story to tell me. It does beat all that you can't learn
+how Socrates and William Penn used to gouge when they was under, after
+the hours and hours I've spent in telling you about those great
+men! It seems to me sometimes as if I should have to give you up in
+despair. It's an awful trial to me to have a boy that don't pay any
+attention to good example, nor to what I say. What! _You pulled out
+three or four handfuls of his hair?_ H'm! Did he squirm any? Now if
+you'd a give him one or two in the eye--but as I've told ye many
+a time, fighting is poor business. Won't you--for your _father's_
+sake--_won't you_ promise to try and remember that? H'm! Johnny, how
+did it--ahem--which licked?"
+
+"'_You licked him?_ Sho! Really? Well, now, I hadn't any idea you
+could lick that Tommy Kelly! I don't believe John Bunyan, at ten years
+old, could have done it. Johnny, my boy, you can't think how I hate to
+have you fighting every day or two. I wouldn't have had him lick _you_
+for five, no, not for ten dollars! Now, sonny, go right in and wash
+up, and tell your mother to put a rag on your finger. And, Johnny,
+don't let me hear of your fighting again!'"
+
+"I never see anybody so down on fighting as the old man, was, but
+somehow he never could break me from it."
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD MAN IN THE STYLISH CHURCH.
+
+JOHN H. YATES.
+
+    Additional effect may be given to this piece by any one who
+    can impersonate the old man.
+
+
+  Well, wife, I've been to church to-day--been to a stylish one--
+  And, seein' you can't go from home, I'll tell you what was done;
+  You would have been surprised to see what I saw there to-day;
+  The sisters were fixed up so fine they hardly bowed to pray.
+  I had on these coarse clothes of mine, not much the worse for wear,
+  But then they knew I wasn't one they call a millionaire;
+  So they led the old man to a seat away back by the door--
+  'Twas bookless and uncushioned--_a reserved seat for the poor_.
+  Pretty soon in came a stranger with gold ring and clothing fine;
+  They led him to a cushioned seat far in advance of mine.
+  I thought that wasn't exactly right to seat him up so near,
+  When he was young, and I was old and very hard to hear.
+  But then there's no accountin' for what some people do;
+  The finest clothing nowadays oft gets the finest pew,
+  But when we reach the blessed home, all undefiled by sin,
+  We'll see wealth beggin' at the gate, while poverty goes in.
+  I couldn't hear the sermon, I sat so far away,
+  So, through the hours of service, I could only "watch and pray;"
+  Watch the doin's of the Christians sitting near me, round about;
+  Pray God to make them pure within, as they were pure without.
+  While I sat there, lookin' 'round upon the rich and great,
+  I kept thinkin' of the rich man and the beggar at his gate;
+  How, by all but dogs forsaken, the poor beggar's form grew cold,
+  And the angels bore his spirit to the mansions built of gold.
+  How, at last, the rich man perished, and his spirit took its flight,
+  From the purple and fine linen to the home of endless night;
+  There he learned, as he stood gazin' at the beggar in the sky,
+  "It isn't all of life to live, nor all of death to die."
+  I doubt not there were wealthy sires in that religious fold,
+  Who went up from their dwellings like the Pharisee of old,
+  Then returned home from their worship, with a head uplifted high,
+  To spurn the hungry from their door, with naught to satisfy.
+  Out, out with such professions! they are doin' more to-day
+  To stop the weary sinner from the Gospel's shinin' way
+  Than all the books of infidels; than all that has been tried
+  Since Christ was born at Bethlehem--since Christ was crucified.
+  How simple are the works of God, and yet how very grand;
+  The shells in ocean caverns, the flowers on the land;
+  He gilds the clouds of evenin' with the gold right from his throne,
+  Not for the rich man _only_--not for the poor alone.
+  Then why should man look down on man because of lack of gold?
+  Why seat him in the poorest pew because his clothes are old?
+  A heart with noble motives--a heart that God has blest--
+  May be beatin' Heaven's music 'neath that faded coat and vest.
+  I'm old--I may be childish--but I love simplicity;
+  I love to see it shinin' in a Christian's piety.
+  Jesus told us in His sermons in Judea's mountains wild,
+  He that wants to go to Heaven must be like a little child.
+  Our heads are growin' gray, dear wife; our hearts are beatin' slow;
+  In a little while the Master will call us for to go.
+  When we reach the pearly gateways, and look in with joyful eyes,
+  We'll see _no stylish worship_ in the temple of the skies.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD MAN IN THE MODEL CHURCH.
+
+JOHN H. YATES.
+
+
+    A companion to the foregoing.
+
+  Well, wife, I've found the model church! I worshipped there to-day!
+  It made me think of good old times before my hairs were gray;
+  The meetin' house was fixed up more than they were years ago,
+  But then I felt, when I went in, it wasn't built for show.
+  The sexton didn't seat me away back by the door;
+  He knew that I was old and deaf, as well as old and poor;
+  He must have been a Christian, for he led me boldly through
+  The long isle of that crowded church to find a pleasant pew.
+  I wish you'd heard the singin'; it had the old-time ring;
+  The preacher said, with trumpet voice: "Let all the people sing!"
+  The tune was "Coronation," and the music upward rolled,
+  Till I thought I heard the angels striking all their harps of gold.
+  My deafness seemed to melt away; my spirit caught the fire;
+  I joined my feeble, trembling voice with that melodious choir,
+  And sang as in my youthful days: "Let angels prostrate fall;
+  Bring forth the royal diadem, and crown him Lord of all."
+  I tell you, wife, it did me good to sing that hymn once more;
+  I felt like some wrecked mariner who gets a glimpse of shore;
+  I almost wanted to lay down this weather-beaten form,
+  And anchor in that blessed port, forever from the storm.
+  The prechen'? Well, I can't just tell all that the preacher said;
+  I know it wasn't written; I know it wasn't read;
+  He hadn't time to read it, for the lightnin' of his eye
+  Went flashin' 'long from pew to pew, nor passed a sinner by.
+  The sermon wasn't flowery; 'twas simple Gospel truth;
+  It fitted poor old men like me; it fitted hopeful youth;
+  'Twas full of consolation for weary hearts that bleed;
+  'Twas full of invitations to Christ and not to creed.
+  The preacher made sin hideous in Gentiles and in Jews;
+  He shot the golden sentences down in the finest pews;
+  And--though I can't see very well--I saw the falling tear
+  That told me hell was some ways off, and heaven very near.
+  How swift the golden moments fled within that holy place;
+  How brightly beamed the light of heaven from every happy face;
+  Again I longed for that sweet time when friend shall meet with
+          friend,
+  "When congregations ne'er break up, and Sabbath has no end."
+  I hope to meet that minister--that congregation, too--
+  In that dear home beyond the stars that shine from heaven's blue;
+  I doubt not I'll remember, beyond life's evenin' gray,
+  The happy hour of worship in that model church to-day.
+  Dear wife, the fight will soon be fought--the victory soon be won;
+  The shinin' goal is just ahead; the race is nearly run;
+  O'er the river we are nearin', they are throngin' to the shore,
+  To shout our safe arrival where the weary weep no more.
+
+
+
+
+THE SAN FRANCISCO AUCTIONEER.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+Now, ladies and gentlemen, I have the honour of putting up a fine
+pocket-handkerchief, a yard wide, a yard long, and almost a yard
+thick; one-half cotton, and t'other half cotton too, beautifully
+printed with stars and stripes on one side, and the stripes and stars
+on t'other. It will wipe dust from the eyes so completely as to be
+death to demagogues, and make politics as bad a business as printing
+papers. Its great length, breadth and thickness, together with its
+dark colour, will enable it to hide dirt, and never need washing.
+Going at one dollar? seventy-five cents? fifty cents? twenty-five
+cents? one bit? Nobody wants it! Oh, thank you, sir! Next,
+gentlemen--for the ladies won't be permitted to bid on this
+article--is a real, simon pure, tempered, highly-polished, keen-edged
+Sheffield razor; bran spanking new; never opened before to sunlight,
+moonlight, starlight, daylight or gaslight; sharp enough to shave a
+lawyer or cut a disagreeable acquaintance or poor relation; handle of
+buck-horn, with all the rivets but the two at the ends of pure
+gold. Who will give two dollars? one dollar? half a dollar? Why, ye
+long-bearded, dirty-faced reprobates, with not room on your phizzes
+for a Chinese woman to kiss, I'm offering you a bargain at half a
+dollar! Well, I'll throw in this strop at half a dollar! razor
+and strop! a recent patent; two rubs upon it will sharpen the city
+attorney; all for four bits; and a piece of soap, sweeter than roses,
+lathers better than a school-master, and strong enough to wash all the
+stains from a California politician's countenance, all for four bits.
+Why, you have only to put the razor, strop and soap under your pillow
+at night, and wake up in the morning clean shaved. Won't anybody give
+two bits, then, for the lot? I knew I would sell them! Next,
+ladies and gentlemen, I offer three pair socks, hose, stockings, or
+half-hose, just as you're a mind to call them, knit by a machine
+made on purpose, out of cotton wool. The man that buys these will be
+enabled to walk till he gets tired; and, provided his boots are big
+enough, needn't have any corns; the legs are as long as bills against
+the corporation, and as thick as the heads of the members of the
+legislature. Who wants 'em at one half dollar? Thank-ee, madame,
+the money. Next I offer you a pair of boots made especially for San
+Francisco, with heels long enough to raise a man up to the Hoadley
+grades, and nails to ensure against being carried over by a land
+slide; legs wide enough to carry two revolvers and a bowie-knife, and
+the upper of the very best horse leather. A man in these boots can
+move about as easy as the State Capitol. Who says twenty dollars? All
+the tax-payers ought to buy a pair to kick the council with, everybody
+ought to buy a pair to kick the legislature with, and they will be
+found of assistance in kicking the bucket especially if somebody
+should kick at being kicked. Ten dollars for legs, uppers and soles!
+while souls, and miserable souls at that, are bringing twenty thousand
+dollars in Sacramento! Ten dollars! ten dollars! gone at ten dollars!
+Next is something that you ought to have, gentlemen,--a lot of good
+gallowses--sometimes called suspenders. I know that some of you will,
+after a while, be furnished at the State's expense, but you can't tell
+which one, so buy where they're cheap. All that deserve to be hanged
+are not supplied with a gallows; if so, there would be nobody to make
+laws, condemn criminals, or hang culprits, until a new election. Made
+of pure gum-elastic--stretch like a judge's conscience, and last as
+long as a California office-holder will steal; buckles of pure iron,
+and warranted to hold so tight that no man's wife can rob him of his
+breeches; are, in short, as strong, as good, as perfect, as effectual
+and as bona-fide as the ordinance against Chinese shops on Dupont
+Street--gone at twenty-five cents.
+
+
+
+
+PAT-ENT GUN.
+
+
+  I've heard a good joke on Emerald Pat,
+  Who kept a few brains and a brick in his hat;
+  He was bound to go hunting; so taking his gun
+  He rammed down a charge--this was load number one;
+  Then he put in the priming, and when all was done,
+  By way of experiment, he thought he would try
+  And see if by perchance he might hit the "bull's eye."
+
+  He straightened himself until he made a good figure,
+  Took a deliberate aim and then pulled the trigger.
+  Click! went the hammer, but nothing exploded;
+  "And sure," muttered Paddy, "the gun isn't loaded."
+  So down went another charge, just as before,
+  Unless this contained a grain or two more;
+  Once more he made ready and took a good aim
+  And pulled on the trigger--effect quite the same.
+  "I wonder, can this be, still shootin'?" said Pat;
+  "I put down a load, now I'm certain of that;
+  I'll try it again, and then we shall see!"
+  So down went the cartridge of load number three.
+  Then trying again with a confident air,
+  And succeeding no better, he gave up in despair.
+  Just at that moment he happened to spy
+  His friend, Michael Milligan, hurrying by.
+  "Hello, Mike! Come here and try on my gun;
+  I've been trying to shoot until I'm tired and done!"
+  So Mike took the gun and picked up the powder,
+  Remarking to Pat, "it would make it go louder."
+  Then placing it firmly against his right arm,
+  And never suspecting it might do him harm,
+  He pointed the piece in the proper direction,
+  And pulled on the trigger without more reflection,
+  When off went the gun like a county election
+  Where whisky and gin have exclusive selection
+  Of those who are chosen to guard the inspection--
+  There's a great deal of noise--and some little inspection,
+  And Michael "went off" in another direction.
+  "Hold on!" shouted Pat, "Hold on to the gun,
+  I put in three loads, and you fired off but one!
+  Get up, and be careful, don't hold it so level,
+  Or else we are both us gone to the--cemetery!"
+  "I'm goin'," says Michael, "it's time that I wint,
+  I've got meself kicked and I'll just take the hint."
+
+  Now, old boys, and young, here's a moral for you;
+  Don't make Pat your pattern whatever you do.
+  Don't carry too much in the crown of your hat;
+  Of all things you lodge there beware of the bat!
+
+  I don't mean the little mouse flying in the air,
+  The ladies so fear that may get into their hair,
+  But the dangerous brick bat, so much worse than that,
+  Nobody can wear it that isn't a "flat,"
+  And then don't forget it is one of Old Nick's
+  Diabolical methods of playing his tricks
+  On foolish young men who become "perfect bricks;"
+  He don't give the hint until _after_ he kicks!
+
+
+
+
+A PSALM OF LIFE.
+
+H.W. LONGFELLOW.
+
+
+  Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
+    "Life is but an empty dream!"
+  For the soul is dead that slumbers,
+    And things are not what they seem.
+
+  Life is real! life is earnest!
+    And the grave is not its goal;
+  "Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
+    Was not spoken of the soul.
+
+  Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
+    Is our destined end or way;
+  But to act that each to-morrow,
+    Find us farther than to-day.
+
+  Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
+    And our hearts, though stout and brave,
+  Still, like muffled drums, are beating,
+    Funeral marches to the grave.
+
+  In the world's broad field of battle.
+    In the bivouac of Life,
+  Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
+    Be a hero in the strife!
+
+  Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
+    Let the dead Past bury its dead!
+  Act--act in the living Present!
+    Heart within, and God o'erhead.
+
+  Lives of great men all remind us
+    We can make our lives sublime,
+  And departing, leave behind us
+    Footprints on the sands of time.
+
+  Footprints, that perhaps another,
+    Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
+  A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
+    Seeing, shall take heart again.
+
+  Let us, then, be up and doing,
+    With a heart for any fate;
+  Still achieving, still pursuing
+    Learn to labour and to wait.
+
+
+
+
+THE LAST MAN.
+
+THOMAS CAMPBELL.
+
+
+All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, the sun himself must die,
+before this mortal shall assume its immortality! I saw a vision in my
+sleep that gave my spirit strength to sweep adown the gulf of Time!
+I saw the last of human mould that shall Creation's death behold, as
+Adam saw her prime! The Sun's eye had a sickly glare, the earth with
+age was wan; the skeletons of nations were around that lonely man!
+Some had expired in fight--the brands still rusted in their bony
+hands; in plague and famine some. Earth's cities had no sound or
+tread, and ships were drifting with the dead to shores where all was
+dumb. Yet, prophet-like, that Lone One stood, with dauntless words and
+high, that shook the sere leaves from the wood as if a storm passed
+by, saying--"We are twins in death, proud Sun! thy face is cold, thy
+race is run, 'tis mercy bids thee go; for thou ten thousand years hast
+seen the tide of human tears--that shall no longer flow. What though
+beneath thee, man put forth his pomp, his pride, his skill; and arts
+that made fire, flood, and earth, the vassals of his will?--yet mourn
+I not thy parted sway, thou dim, discrowned king of day; for all those
+trophied arts and triumphs, that beneath thee sprang, healed not a
+passion or a pang entailed on human hearts. Go! let Oblivion's curtain
+fall upon the stage of men! nor with thy rising beams recall life's
+tragedy again! Its piteous pageants bring not back, nor waken flesh
+upon the rack of pain anew to writhe, stretched in Disease's shapes
+abhorred, or mown in battle by the sword, like grass beneath the
+scythe! Even I am weary in yon skies to watch thy fading fire: test
+of all sumless agonies, behold not me expire! My lips, that speak thy
+dirge of death, their rounded gasp and gurgling breath to see, thou
+shalt not boast; the eclipse of Nature spreads my pall, the majesty
+of Darkness shall receive my parting ghost! The spirit shall return to
+Him who gave its heavenly spark; yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim
+when thou thyself art dark! No! it shall live again, and shine in
+bliss unknown to beams of thine; by Him recalled to breath, who
+captive led captivity, who robbed the grave of victory, and took the
+sting from Death! Go, Sun, while mercy holds me up on Nature's awful
+waste, to drink this last and bitter cup of grief that man shall
+taste,--go! tell the night that hides thy face thou saw'st the last of
+Adam's race on earth's sepulchral clod, the darkening universe defy to
+quench his immortality, or shake his trust in God!"
+
+
+
+
+THE MANTLE OF ST. JOHN DE MATHA.
+
+JOHN G. WHITTIER.
+
+A LEGEND OF "THE RED, WHITE, AND BLUE."
+
+A.D. 1154-1864.
+
+
+  A strong and mighty Angel,
+    Calm, terrible and bright,
+  The cross in blended red and blue
+    Upon his mantle white!
+
+  Two captives by him kneeling,
+    Each on his broken chain,
+  Sang praise to God who raiseth
+    The dead to life again!
+
+  Dropping his cross-wrought mantle,
+    "Wear this," the Angel said;
+  "Take thou, O Freedom's priest, its sign--
+    The white, the blue, the red."
+
+  Then rose up John de Matha
+    In the strength the Lord Christ gave,
+  And begged through all the land of France
+    The ransom of the slave.
+
+  The gates of tower and castle
+    Before him open flew,
+  The drawbridge at his coming fell,
+    The door-bolt backward drew.
+
+  For all men owned his errand,
+    And paid his righteous tax;
+  And the hearts of lord and peasant
+    Were in his hands as wax.
+
+  At last, outbound from Tunis,
+    His bark her anchor weighed,
+  Freighted with seven score Christian souls
+    Whose ransom he had paid.
+
+  But, torn by Paynim hatred,
+    Her sails in tatters hung;
+  And on the wild waves rudderless,
+    A shattered hulk she swung.
+
+  "God save us!" cried the captain,
+    For naught can man avail:
+  O, woe betide the ship that lacks
+    Her rudder and her sail!
+
+  "Behind us are the Moormen;
+    At sea we sink or strand:
+  There's death upon the water,
+    There's death upon the land!"
+
+  Then up spake John de Matha:
+    "God's errands never fail!
+  Take thou the mantle which I wear,
+    And make of it a sail."
+
+  They raised the cross-wrought mantle,
+    The blue, the white, the red;
+  And straight before the wind off-shore
+    The ship of Freedom sped.
+
+  "God help us!" cried the seamen,
+    "For vain is mortal skill;
+  The good ship on a stormy sea
+    Is drifting at its will."
+
+  Then up spake John de Matha:
+    "My mariners, never fear!
+  The Lord whose breath has filled her sail
+    May well our vessel steer!"
+
+  So on through storm and darkness
+    They drove for weary hours;
+  And lo! the third gray morning shone
+    On Ostia's friendly towers.
+
+  And on the walls the watchers
+    The ship of mercy knew--
+  They knew far off its holy cross,
+    The red, the white, the blue.
+
+  And the bells in all the steeples
+    Rang out in glad accord,
+  To welcome home to Christian soil
+    The ransomed of the Lord.
+
+  So runs the ancient legend
+    By bard and painter told;
+  And lo! the cycle rounds again,
+    The new is as the old!
+
+  With rudder foully broken,
+    And sails by traitors torn,
+  Our country on a midnight sea
+    Is waiting for the morn.
+
+  Before her, nameless terror;
+    Behind, the pirate foe;
+  The clouds are black above her,
+    The sea is white below.
+
+  The hope of all who suffer,
+    The dread of all who wrong,
+  She drifts in darkness and in storm,
+    How long, O Lord! how long?
+
+  But courage, O my mariners!
+    Ye shall not suffer wreck,
+  While up to God the freedman's prayers
+    Are rising from your deck.
+
+  Is not your sail the banner
+    Which God hath blest anew,
+  The mantle that de Matha wore,
+    The red, the white, the blue?
+
+  Its hues are all of heaven--
+    The red of sunset's dye
+  The whiteness of the moonlit cloud,
+    The blue of morning's sky.
+
+  Wait cheerily, then, O mariners,
+    For daylight and for land;
+  The breath of God is on your sail,
+    Your rudder in His hand.
+
+  Sail on, sail on, deep freighted
+    With blessings and with hopes;
+  The saints of old with shadowy hands
+    Are pulling at your ropes.
+
+  Behind ye, holy martyrs
+    Uplift the palm and crown;
+  Before ye, unborn ages send
+    Their benedictions down.
+
+  Take heart from John de Matha!--
+    God's errands never fail!
+  Sweep on through storm and darkness,
+    The thunder and the hail!
+
+  Sail on! The morning cometh,
+    The port ye yet shall win;
+  And all the bells of God shall ring
+    The good ship bravely in!
+
+
+
+
+THE POLISH BOY.
+
+ANN S. STEPHENS.
+
+
+  Whence come those shrieks so wild and shrill,
+    That cut, like blades of steel, the air,
+  Causing the creeping blood to chill
+    With the sharp cadence of despair?
+
+  Again they come, as if a heart
+    Were cleft in twain by one quick blow,
+  And every string had voice apart
+    To utter its peculiar woe.
+
+  Whence came they? from yon temple where
+  An altar, raised for private prayer,
+  Now forms the warrior's marble bed
+  Who Warsaw's gallant armies led.
+
+  The dim funereal tapers throw
+  A holy lustre o'er his brow,
+  And burnish with their rays of light
+  The mass of curls that gather bright
+  Above the haughty brow and eye
+  Of a young boy that's kneeling by.
+
+  What hand is that, whose icy press
+    Clings to the dead with death's own grasp,
+  But meets no answering caress?
+    No thrilling fingers seek its clasp?
+  It is the hand of her whose cry
+    Rang wildly, late, upon the air,
+  When the dead warrior met her eye
+    Outstretched upon the altar there.
+
+  With pallid lip and stony brow
+  She murmurs forth her anguish now.
+  But hark! the tramp of heavy feet
+  Is heard along the bloody street;
+  Nearer and nearer yet they come
+  With clanking arms and noiseless drum.
+  Now whispered curses, low and deep,
+  Around the holy temple creep;
+  The gate is burst; a ruffian band
+  Rush in and savagely demand,
+  With brutal voice and oath profane,
+  The startled boy for exile's chain.
+
+  The mother sprang with gesture wild,
+  And to her bosom clasped her child;
+  Then with pale cheek and flashing eye
+  Shouted with fearful energy,
+  "Back, ruffians, back, nor dare to tread
+  Too near the body of my dead;
+  Nor touch the living boy--I stand
+  Between him and your lawless band.
+  Take me, and bind these arms, these hands,
+  With Russia's heaviest iron bands,
+  And drag me to Siberia's wild
+  To perish, if 'twill save my child!"
+
+  "Peace, woman, peace!" the leader cried,
+  Tearing the pale boy from her side,
+  And in his ruffian grasp he bore
+  His victim to the temple door.
+
+  "One moment!" shrieked the mother; "one!
+  Will land or gold redeem my son?
+  Take heritage, take name, take all,
+  But leave him free from Russian thrall!
+  Take these!" and her white arms and hands
+  She stripped of rings and diamond bands,
+  And tore from braids of long black hair
+  The gems that gleamed like starlight there;
+  Her cross of blazing rubies last
+  Down at the Russian's feet she cast.
+  He stooped to seize the glittering store--
+  Upspringing from the marble floor,
+  The mother, with a cry of joy,
+  Snatched to her leaping heart the boy.
+  But no! the Russian's iron grasp
+  Again undid the mother's clasp.
+  Forward she fell, with one long cry
+  Of more than mortal agony.
+
+  But the brave child is roused at length,
+    And breaking from the Russian's hold,
+  He stands, a giant in the strength
+    Of his young spirit, fierce and bold.
+  Proudly he towers; his flashing eye,
+    So blue, and yet so bright,
+  Seems kindled from the eternal sky,
+    So brilliant is its light.
+  His curling lips and crimson cheeks
+  Foretell the thought before he speaks;
+  With a full voice of proud command
+  He turned upon the wondering band:
+  "Ye hold me not! no, no, nor can!
+  This hour has made the boy a man!
+  I knelt before my slaughtered sire,
+  Nor felt one throb of vengeful ire.
+  I wept upon his marble brow,
+  Yes, wept! I was a child; but now--
+  My noble mother, on her knee,
+  Hath done the work of years for me!"
+
+  He drew aside his broidered vest,
+  And there, like slumbering serpent's crest,
+  The jeweled haft of poniard bright
+  Glittered a moment on the sight.
+  "Ha! start ye back! Fool! coward! knave!
+  Think ye my noble father's glaive
+  Would drink the life-blood of a slave?
+  The pearls that on the handle flame
+  Would blush to rubies in their shame;
+  The blade would quiver in thy breast,
+  Ashamed of such ignoble rest.
+  No! Thus I rend the tyrant's chain,
+  And fling him back a boy's disdain!"
+
+  A moment and the funeral light
+  Flashed on the jeweled weapon bright;
+  Another, and his young heart's blood
+  Leaped to the floor, a crimson flood.
+  Quick to his mother's side he sprang,
+  And on the air his clear voice rang:
+  "Up, mother, up! I'm free! I'm free!
+  The choice was death or slavery.
+  Up, mother, up! Look on thy son!
+  His freedom is forever won;
+  And now he waits one holy kiss
+  To bear his father home in bliss--
+  One last embrace, one blessing--one!
+  To prove thou knowest, approvest thy son.
+  What! silent yet? Canst thou not feel
+  My warm blood o'er my heart congeal?
+  Speak, mother, speak! lift up thy head!
+  What! silent still? Then art thou dead?
+  ----Great God, I thank Thee! Mother, I
+  Rejoice with thee--and thus--to die!"
+  One long, deep breath, and his pale head
+  Lay on his mother's bosom--dead.
+
+
+
+
+THAT HIRED GIRL.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+When she came to work for the family on Congress street, the lady of
+the house sat down and told her that agents, book-peddlers, hat-rack
+men, picture sellers, ash-buyers, rag-men, and all that class of
+people, must be met at the front door and coldly repulsed, and Sarah
+said she'd repulse them if she had to break every broomstick in
+Detroit.
+
+And she did. She threw the door open wide, bluffed right up at 'em,
+and when she got through talking, the cheekiest agent was only too
+glad to leave. It got so after awhile that peddlers marked that house,
+and the door-bell never rang except for company.
+
+The other day, as the girl of the house was wiping off the spoons, the
+bell rang. She hastened to the door, expecting to see a lady, but
+her eyes encountered a slim man, dressed in black and wearing a
+white necktie. He was the new minister, and was going around to get
+acquainted with the members of his flock, but Sarah wasn't expected to
+know this.
+
+"Ah--um--is--Mrs.--ah!"
+
+"Git!" exclaimed Sarah, pointing to the gate.
+
+"Beg pardon, but I would like to see--see--"
+
+"Meander!" she shouted, looking around for a weapon; "we don't want
+any flour-sifters here!"
+
+"You're mistaken," he replied, smiling blandly. "I called to--"
+
+"Don't want anything to keep moths away--fly!" she exclaimed, getting
+red in the face.
+
+"Is the lady in?" he inquired, trying to look over Sarah's head.
+
+"Yes, the lady is in, and I'm in, and you are out!" she snapped; "and
+now I don't want to stand here talking to a fly-trap agent any longer!
+Come lift your boots!"
+
+"I'm not an agent," he said, trying to smile. "I'm the new--"
+
+"Yes, I know you--you are the new man with the patent flat-iron, but
+we don't want any, and you'd better go before I call the dog."
+
+"Will you give the lady my card, and say that I called?"
+
+"No, I won't; we are bored to death with cards and handbills and
+circulars. Come, I can't stand here all day."
+
+"Didn't you know that I was a minister?" he asked as he backed off.
+
+"No, nor I don't know it now; you look like the man who sold the woman
+next door a dollar chromo for eighteen shillings."
+
+"But here is my card."
+
+"I don't care for cards, I tell you! If you leave that gate open I
+will have to fling a flower-pot at you!"
+
+"I will call again," he said, as he went through the gate.
+
+"It won't do any good!" she shouted after him; "we don't want no
+prepared food for infants--no piano music--no stuffed birds! I know
+the policemen on this beat, and if you come around here again, he'll
+soon find out whether you are a confidence man or a vagrant!"
+
+And she took unusual care to lock the door.
+
+
+
+
+THE BELL OF THE "ATLANTIC."
+
+MRS. SIGOURNEY.
+
+
+  Toll, toll, toll!
+    Thou bell by billows swung,
+  And, night and day, thy warning words
+    Repeat with mournful tongue!
+  Toll for the queenly boat,
+    Wrecked on yon rocky-shore!
+  Sea-weed is in her palace halls--
+    She rides the surge no more.
+
+  Toll for the master bold,
+    The high-souled and the brave,
+  Who ruled her like a thing of life
+    Amid the crested wave!
+  Toll for the hardy crew,
+    Sons of the storm and blast,
+  Who long the tyrant ocean dared;
+    But it vanquished them at last.
+
+  Toll for the man of God,
+    Whose hallowed voice of prayer
+  Rose calm above the stifled groan
+    Of that intense despair!
+  How precious were those tones,
+    On that sad verge of life,
+  Amid the fierce and freezing storm,
+    And the mountain billows strife!
+
+  Toll for the lover, lost
+    To the summoned bridal train
+  Bright glows a picture on his breast,
+    Beneath th' unfathomed main.
+  One from her casement gazeth
+    Long o'er the misty sea:
+  He cometh not, pale maiden--
+    His heart is cold to thee?
+
+  Toll for the absent sire,
+    Who to his home drew near,
+  To bless a glad, expecting group--
+    Fond wife, and children dear!
+  They heap the blazing hearth,
+    The festal board is spread,
+  But a fearful guest is at the gate:--
+    Room for the sheeted dead!
+
+  Toll for the loved and fair,
+    The whelmed beneath the tide--
+  The broken harps around whose strings
+    The dull sea-monsters glide!
+  Mother and nursling sweet,
+    Reft from the household throng;
+  There's bitter weeping in the nest
+    Where breathed their soul of song.
+
+  Toll for the hearts that bleed
+    'Neath misery's furrowing trace;
+  Toll for the hapless orphan left,
+    The last of all his race!
+  Yea, with thy heaviest knell,
+    From surge to rocky shore,
+  Toll for the living--not the dead,
+    Whose mortal woes are o'er.
+
+  Toll, toll, toll!
+    O'er breeze and billow free;
+  And with thy startling lore instruct
+    Each rover of the sea.
+  Tell how o'er proudest joys
+    May swift destruction sweep,
+  And bid him build his hopes on high--
+    Lone teacher of the deep!
+
+
+
+
+THE OWL--A SMALL BOY'S COMPOSITION.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+Wen you come to see a owl cloce it has offle big eyes, and wen you
+come to feel it with your fingers, wich it bites, you fine it is
+mosely fethers, with only jus meat enuf to hole 'em to gether.
+
+Once they was a man thot he would like a owl for a pet, so he tole a
+bird man to send him the bes one in the shop, but wen it was brot he
+lookt at it and squeezed it, and it diddent sute. So the man he rote
+to the bird man and said Ile keep the owl you sent, tho it aint like
+I wanted, but wen it's wore out you mus make me a other, with littler
+eyes, for I spose these eyes is number twelves, but I want number
+sixes, and then if I pay you the same price you can aford to put in
+more owl.
+
+Owls have got to have big eyes cos tha has to be out a good deal at
+nite a doin bisnis with rats and mice, wich keeps late ours. They is
+said to be very wise, but my sisters young man he says any boddy coud
+be wise if they woud set up nites to take notice.
+
+That feller comes to our house jest like he used to, only more, and
+wen I ast him wy he come so much he said he was a man of sience, like
+me, and was a studyin arnithogaly, which was birds. I ast him wot
+birds he was a studyin, and he said anjils, and wen he said that my
+sister she lookt out the winder and said wot a fine day it had turn
+out to be. But it was a rainin cats and dogs wen she said it. I never
+see such a goose in my life as that girl, but Uncle Ned, wich has been
+in ole parts of the worl, he says they is jes that way in Pattygong.
+
+In the picture alphabets the O is some times a owl, and some times
+it is a ox, but if I made the picters Ide have it stan for a oggur to
+bore holes with. I tole that to ole gaffer Peters once wen he was to
+our house lookin at my new book, and he said you is right, Johnny, and
+here is this H stan for harp, but hoo cares for a harp, wy don't they
+make it stan for a horgan? He is such a ole fool.
+
+
+
+
+THE FLOWERS.
+
+HOWITT.
+
+    [In reciting this sweetly beautiful little poem its noble
+    truths should be uttered with emphatic, but not noisy
+    elocution. There is sufficient variety in the different
+    stanzas for the speaker to display much taste and feeling.]
+
+
+  God might have bade the earth bring forth
+      Enough for great and small,
+  The oak-tree and the cedar-tree,
+      Without a flower at all.
+
+  We might have had enough, enough
+      For every want of ours,
+  For luxury, medicine and toil,
+      And yet have had no flowers.
+
+  The one within the mountain mine
+      Requireth none to grow;
+  Nor does it need the lotus-flower
+      To make the river flow.
+
+  The clouds might give abundant rain;
+      The nightly dews might fall,
+  And the herb that keepeth life in man
+      Might yet have drunk them all.
+
+  Then wherefore, wherefore were they made,
+      All dyed with rainbow-light,
+  All fashioned with supremest grace
+      Upspringing day and night:--
+
+  Springing in valleys green and low,
+      And on the mountains high,
+  And in the silent wilderness
+      Where no man passes by?
+
+  Our outward life requires them not--
+      Then wherefore had they birth?--
+  To minister delight to man,
+      To beautify the earth;
+
+  To comfort man--to whisper hope,
+      Whene'er his faith is dim,
+  For who so careth for the flowers
+      Will much more care for him!
+
+
+
+
+THE HYPOCHONDRIAC.
+
+
+Good morning, Doctor; how do you do? I haint quite so well as I have
+been; but I think I'm some better than I was. I don't think that last
+medicine you gin me did me much good. I had a terrible time with the
+ear-ache last night; my wife got up and drapt a few draps of Walnut
+sap into it, and that relieved it some; but I didn't get a wink of
+sleep till nearly daylight. For nearly a week, Doctor, I've had the
+worst kind of a narvous head-ache; it has been so bad sometimes that I
+thought my head would bust open. Oh, dear! I sometimes think that I'm
+the most afflictedest human that ever lived.
+
+Since this cold weather sot in, that troublesome cough, that I have
+had every winter for the last fifteen year, has began to pester me
+agin.
+
+(_Coughs._) Doctor, do you think you can give me anything that will
+relieve this desprit pain I have in my side?
+
+Then I have a crick, at times, in the back of my neck so that I can't
+turn my head without turning the hull of my body. (_Coughs._)
+
+Oh, dear! What shall I do! I have consulted almost every doctor in the
+country, but they don't any of them seem to understand my case. I have
+tried everything that I could think of; but I can't find anything that
+does me the leastest good. (_Coughs._)
+
+Oh this cough--it will be the death of me yet! You know I had my right
+hip put out last fall at the rising of Deacon Jones' saw mill;
+its getting to be very troublesome just before we have a change of
+weather. Then I've got the sciatica in my right knee, and sometimes
+I'm so crippled up that I can hardly crawl round in any fashion.
+
+What do you think that old white mare of ours did while I was out
+plowing last week? Why, the weacked old critter, she kept a backing
+and backing, on till she back'd me right up agin the colter, and
+knock'd a piece of skin off my shin nearly so big. (_Coughs._)
+
+But I had a worse misfortune than that the other day, Doctor. You see
+it was washing-day--and my wife wanted me to go out and bring in a
+little stove-wood--you know we lost our help lately, and my wife has
+to wash and tend to everything about the house herself.
+
+I knew it wouldn't be safe for me to go out--as it was a raining at
+the time--but I thought I'd risk it any how. So I went out, pick'd
+up a few chunks of stove-wood, and was a coming up the steps into the
+house, when my feet slipp'd from under me, and I fell down as sudden
+as if I'd been shot. Some of the wood lit upon my face, broke down the
+bridge of my nose, cut my upper lip, and knock'd out three of my front
+teeth. I suffered dreadfully on account of it, as you may suppose, and
+my face ain't well enough yet to make me fit to be seen, specially
+by the women folks. (_Coughs._) Oh, dear! but that ain't all, Doctor,
+I've got fifteen corns on my toes--and I'm afeard I'm a going to have
+the "yallar janders." (_Coughs._)
+
+
+
+
+THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.
+
+BYRON.
+
+    [This sweetly mournful refrain, should be delivered with sad
+    earnestness; as though the speaker was describing the fate of
+    his own family.]
+
+
+  They grew in beauty side by side,
+    They filled our home with glee;
+  Their graves are severed, far and wide,
+    By mount, and stream, and sea.
+  The same fond mother bent at night
+    O'er each fair sleeping brow;
+  She had each folded flower in sight,
+    Where are those dreamers now?
+
+  One, 'midst the forests of the West,
+    By a dark stream is laid,--
+  The Indian knows his place of rest,
+    Far in the cedar shade.
+  The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one,
+    He lies where pearls lie deep;
+  He was the loved of all, but none
+    O'er his low bed may weep.
+
+  One sleeps where southern vines are drest
+    Above the noble slain:
+  He wrapt his colours round his breast,
+    On a blood-red field of Spain.
+  And one--o'er her the myrtle showers
+    Its leaves, by soft winds fanned;
+  She faded 'midst Italian flowers,--
+    The last of that bright band.
+
+  And parted thus they rest, who played
+    Beneath the same green tree;
+  Whose voices mingled as they prayed
+    Around one parent knee!
+  They that with smiles lit up the hall,
+    And cheered with song the hearth,--
+  Alas! for love, if thou wert all,
+    And nought beyond, oh, earth!
+
+
+
+
+PLEDGE WITH WINE.
+
+
+"Pledge with wine--pledge with wine!" cried the young and thoughtless
+Harry Wood. "Pledge with wine," ran through the brilliant crowd.
+
+The beautiful bride grew pale--the decisive hour had come, she pressed
+her white hands together, and the leaves of her bridal wreath trembled
+on her pure brow; her breath came quicker, her heart beat wilder.
+
+"Yes, Marion, lay aside your scruples for this once," said the Judge,
+in a low tone, going towards his daughter; "the company expect it, do
+not so seriously infringe upon the rules of etiquette;--in your own
+house act as you please; but in mine, for this once please me."
+
+Every eye was turned towards the bridal pair. Marion's principles were
+well known. Henry had been a convivialist, but of late his friends
+noticed the change in his manners, the difference in his habits--and
+to-night they watched him to see, as they sneeringly said, if he was
+tied down to a woman's opinion so soon.
+
+Pouring a brimming beaker, they held it with tempting smiles toward
+Marion. She was very pale, though more composed, and her hand shook
+not, as smiling back, she gratefully accepted the crystal tempter and
+raised it to her lips. But scarcely had she done so when every hand
+was arrested by her piercing exclamation of "Oh, how terrible!" "What
+is it?" cried one and all, thronging together, for she had slowly
+carried the glass at arm's length, and was fixedly regarding it as
+though it were some hideous object.
+
+"Wait," she answered, while an inspired light shone from her dark
+eyes, "wait and I will tell you. I see," she added, slowly pointing
+one jewelled finger at the sparkling ruby liquid, "A sight that
+beggars all description; and yet listen; I will paint it for you if I
+can: It is a lonely spot; tall mountains, crowned with verdure, rise
+in awful sublimity around; a river runs through, and bright flowers
+grow to the waters' edge. There is a thick, warm mist that the sun
+seeks vainly to pierce; trees, lofty and beautiful, wave to the airy
+motion of the birds; but there, a group of Indians gather; they flit
+to and fro with something like sorrow upon their dark brow; and in
+their midst lies a manly form, but his cheek, how deathly; his eye
+wild with the fitful fire of fever. One friend stands beside him,
+nay, I should say kneels, for he is pillowing that poor head upon his
+breast.
+
+"Genius in ruins. Oh! the high, holy looking brow! Why should death
+mark it, and he so young? Look how he throws the damp curls! see him
+clasp his hands! hear his thrilling shrieks for life! mark how he
+clutches at the form of his companion, imploring to be saved. Oh!
+hear him call piteously his father's name; see him twine his fingers,
+together as he shrieks for his sister--his only sister--the twin of
+his soul--weeping for him in his distant native land.
+
+"See!" she exclaimed, while the bridal party shrank back, the
+untasted wine trembling in their faltering grasp, and the Judge fell,
+overpowered, upon his seat; "see! his arms are lifted to heaven; he
+prays, how wildly, for mercy! hot fever rushes through his veins. The
+friend beside him is weeping; awe-stricken, the men move silently, and
+leave the living and dying together."
+
+There was a hush in that princely parlor, broken only by what seemed
+a smothered sob, from some manly bosom. The bride stood yet upright,
+with quivering lip, and tears stealing to the outward edge of her
+lashes. Her beautiful arm had lost its tension, and the glass, with
+its little troubled red waves, came slowly towards the range of her
+vision. She spoke again; every lip was mute. Her voice was low, faint,
+yet awfully distinct: she still fixed her sorrowful glance upon the
+wine-cup.
+
+"It is evening now; the great white moon is coming up, and her beams
+lay gently on his forehead. He moves not; his eyes are set in their
+sockets; dim are their piercing glances; in vain his friend whispers
+the name of father and sister--death is there. Death! and no soft
+hand, no gentle voice to bless and soothe him. His head sinks back!
+one convulsive shudder! he is dead!"
+
+A groan ran through the assembly, so vivid was her description, so
+unearthly her look, so inspired her manner, that what she described
+seemed actually to have taken place then and there. They noticed also,
+that the bridegroom hid his face in his hands and was weeping.
+
+"Dead!" she repeated again, her lips quivering faster and faster, and
+her voice more and more broken; "and there they scoop him a grave; and
+there without a shroud, they lay him down in the damp reeking earth.
+The only son of a proud father, the only idolized brother of a fond
+sister. And he sleeps to-day in that distant country, with no stone to
+mark the spot. There he lies--my father's son--my own twin brother!
+a victim to this deadly poison. Father," she exclaimed, turning
+suddenly, while the tears rained down her beautiful cheeks, "father,
+shall I drink it now?"
+
+The form of the old Judge was convulsed with agony. He raised his
+head, but in a smothered voice he faltered--"No, no, my child, in
+God's name, no."
+
+She lifted the glittering goblet, and letting it suddenly fall to the
+floor it was dashed into a thousand pieces. Many a tearful eye watched
+her movements, and instantaneously every wine-glass was transferred to
+the marble table on which it had been prepared. Then, as she looked at
+the fragments of crystal, she turned to the company, saying:--"Let no
+friend, hereafter, who loves me, tempt me to peril my soul for wine.
+Not firmer the everlasting hills than my resolve, God helping me,
+never to touch or taste that terrible poison. And he to whom I have
+given my hand; who watched over my brother's dying form in that last
+solemn hour, and buried the dear wanderer there by the river in that
+land of gold, will, I trust, sustain me in that resolve. Will you not,
+my husband?"
+
+His glistening eyes, his sad, sweet smile was her answer.
+
+The Judge left the room, and when an hour later he returned, and with
+a more subdued manner took part in the entertainment of the bridal
+guests, no one could fail to read that he, too, had determined to dash
+the enemy at once and forever from his princely rooms.
+
+Those who were present at that wedding, can never forget the
+impression so solemnly made. Many from that hour forswore the social
+glass.
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+W. NICHOLSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, WAKEFIELD.
+
+
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+RECITERS AND PENNY READINGS.
+
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+THE BEAUTIFUL RECITER;
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+and Dialogues, with a Selection of Martial, and Oratorical Pieces, in
+Prose and Verse Price 1s. 6d.
+
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+THE EXCELSIOR RECITER;
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+Comprising Sentimental, Pathetic, Witty and Humourous Pieces;
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+Temperance and Band of Hope Meetings. By Professor Duncan. Price 1s.
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+
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+THE CHOICE RECITER;
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+entertainment of Social, Temperance and other Popular Gatherings. By
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+
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+THE TEMPERANCE ORATOR;
+
+Comprising Speeches, Readings, Dialogues, and Illustrations of the
+Evils of Intemperance, &c., in Prose & Verse. By Professor Duncan. 1s.
+
+Recitations from SHAKESPERE, and other Popular Authors. By Professor
+Duncan. 6d.
+
+
+THE RECITER FOR THE MILLIONS;
+
+Consisting of Entertaining, Comic, and Humorous Pieces, Prose and
+Poetry, many of which are original. By Professor Duncan. Cloth 9d.
+Stiff Covers 6d.
+
+
+THE SABBATH SCHOOL RECITER,
+
+Adapted for Anniversaries, Tea Parties, Band of Hope Meetings, Social
+Gatherings, &c. Price 1s. Bound, can also be had in 2 Parts, at 6d.
+each.
+
+
+The TEMPERANCE SPEAKER, First & Second Series, Price 6d. each. Bound
+together, Cloth, 1s.
+
+
+London: Published by W NICHOLSON & SONS,
+
+20, WARWICK SQUARE, PATERNOSTER ROW. E.C.
+
+
+
+
+Humorous Books.
+
+Published by W. Nicholson & Sons, _London_.
+
+
+PUNCH MADE FUNNIER BY JUDY.
+
+Full of Rollicking, Laughable, and Witty Pieces. 6d.
+
+
+JOLLY LAUGHS FOR JOLLY FOLKS,
+
+Or Funny Jests and Stories, Jocular and Laughable Anecdotes,
+Jonathanisms, John Bullers, and Paddyisms. 6d.
+
+
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+
+And to drive dull care away. By Andrew Hate-Gloom. Cloth Gilt Side 9d.
+Stiff Covers 6d. 1d extra by Post.
+
+
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+
+Comprising some of the Choicest Specimens of Anecdote, Wit, Humour,
+Poetical Effusions, &c., extant. By Richard Brisk Esq. Cloth, 1s. By
+Post 1s 2d.
+
+
+THE MERRY COMPANION
+
+For all readers. Containing a Choice Selection of the most Humorous
+Anecdotes, Droll Sayings, Wit, Fun, and Comical Incidents, in Prose
+and Poetry. To enliven dull hours. By Dr Merry. Cloth, 1s. By Post 1s
+2d.
+
+
+THE BOOK TO KEEP THE SPIRITS UP
+
+In dull and gloomy hours. Comprising Manifestations of Fun, Mirth,
+Humour, Drollery, Repartee, Wit, with Laughable Anecdotes, Incidents
+and Poetry. By John Brighte Esq. Price 1s. By Post 2d. extra.
+
+
+THE BOOK TO BRIGHTEN A GLOOMY FACE:
+
+Or the Book to kill Gloom, Melancholy, Low Spirits, Nervousness,
+Solemncholy, Dark Anticipations, Soul-killing Forbodings, and thoughts
+of Suicide. By Cicero Merrysides. Price 1s. By Post 1s. 2d.
+
+
+The FUNNIEST OF ALL FUN, and WITTIEST OF ALL WIT. Containing Jaw
+Cracking Tales. 1s.
+
+"_A Cheerful heart robs the Physician of his fee._"--_Virgil._
+
+Catalogues may be had on Application.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+Obvious punctuation erors have been repaired.
+
+There are a few pieces which contain some dialect. All dialect, period
+spelling, etc., has been preserved.
+
+
+Typographical errors have been corrected.
+
+
+Errata:
+
+p. 15: one instance of 'Snider' corrected to 'Snyder' for consistency.
+
+p. 36: 'heayy' corrected to 'heavy' - "Poor Patrick toiled beneath his
+heavy load."
+
+p. 36: 'hiltop' corrected to 'hilltop' - "A hilltop gained,..."
+
+p. 47: 'tress' corrected to 'trees' - "from the straightest trees;"
+
+p. 74: 'Abl,' corrected to 'Alb' - "_Alb._ Not once, yet."
+
+p. 101: 'too' corrected to 'to' - "darting restlessly to and fro,"
+
+p. 103: 'beautitul' corrected to 'beautiful' - "This beautiful poem
+should be recited"
+
+p. 111: 'hugh' corrected to 'huge' - "his huge bulk and strength"
+
+p. 125: 'Peace's' corrected to 'Pease's' - "JUNO, Miss Pease's
+coloured help."
+
+p. 126: 'Bres' corrected to 'Bress' - "_Juno._ Bress my soul!"
+
+p. 141: 'it's' corrected to 'its' - "along with its good-will and
+friendliness;"
+
+p. 155: 'quite' corrected to 'quiet' - "A little meek-faced, quiet
+village child,"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Universal Reciter, by Various
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