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There is n't another creature living
She's married since, - a parson's wife ; Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, "T was better for her that we should part, So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving
Better the soberest, prosiest life To such a miserable, thankless master!
Than a blasted home and a broken heart. No, sir ! see him wag his tail and grin! I have seen her ? Once : I was weak and spent
By George ! it makes my old eyes water ! On the dusty road, a carriage stopped ; That is, there's something in this gin
But little she dreamed, as on she went, That chokes a fellow. But no matter !
Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped i We'll have some music, if you're willing, You've set me talking, sir ; I'm sorry ; And Roger (hem ! what a plague a cough is, It makes me wild to think of the change !
What do you care for a beggar's story? Shall march a little. Start, you villain !
Is it amusing ? you find it strange ? Stand straight ! 'Bout face ! Salute your offi- I had a mother so proud of me !
'T was well she died before Do you know Put up that paw! Dress! Take.your rifle ! If the happy spirits in heaven can sec (Some dogs have arms, you see !) Now hold The ruin and wretchedness here below ?
your Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle,
Another glass, and strong, to deaden To aid a poor old patriot soldier !
This pain ; then Roger and I will start.
I wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden, March ! Halt! Now show how the rebel shakes
Aching thing in place of a heart ? When he stands up to hear his sentence. He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could, Now tell us how many drams it takes
No doubt, remembering things that were, To honor a jolly new acquaintance.
A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food,
The night's before us, fill the glasses !
there ! - it
You rascal ! limber your lazy feet !
For supper and bed, or starve in the street. Why not reform ? That's easily said ;
Not a very gay life to lead, you think? But I've gone through such wretched treat But soon we shall go where lodgings are free, ment,
And the sleepers need neither victuals nor Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread,
drink; And scarce remembering what meat meant, The sooner the better for Roger and me! That my poor stomach 's past reform ;
J. T. TROWBRIDGE. And there are times when, mad with thinking, I'd sell out heaven for something warm To prop a horrible inward sinking.
THE POOR MAN AND THE FIEND.
Is there a way to forget to think?
A FIEND once met a humble man At your age, sir, home, fortune, friends,
At night, in the cold dark street, A dear girl's love, -- but I took to drink, And led him into a palace fair,
The same old story; you know how it ends. Where music circled sweet; If you could have seen these classic features, And light and warmth cheered the wanderer's You need n't laugh, sir ; they were not then
heart, Such a burning libel on God's creatures ;
From frost and darkness screened, I was one of your handsome men !
Till his brain grew mad beneath the joy,
And he worshipped before the fiend. If you had seen her, so fair and young,
Whose head was happy on this breast ! Ah! well if he ne'er had knelt to that fiend, If you could have heard the songs I sung
For a taskmaster grim was he ; When the wine went round, you would n't have And he said, “One half of thy life on earth guessed
I enjoin thee to yield to me ; That ever I, sir, should be straying
And when, from rising till set of sun, From door to door, with fiddle and dog,
Thou hast toiled in the heat or snow, Ragged and penniless, and playing
Let thy gains on mine altar an offering be" ; To you to-night for a glass of grog!
And the poor man ne'er said “No!"
The poor man had health, more dear than gold; , Canst drink the waters of the crispéd spring ?
O sweet content !
Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine
own tears? And the fiend, his god, cried hoarse and loud,
O punishment ! “Thy strength thou must forego,
Then he that patiently want's burden bears
No burden bears, but is a king, a king !
O sweet content ! O sweet, O sweet content !
Work apace, apace, apace, apace;
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny !
And he laughed in fearful mirth :
SWEET IS THE PLEASURE.
Sweet is the pleasure
Itself cannot spoil !
Is not true leisure
One with true toil ?
Thou that wouldst taste it,
Still do thy best;
Use it, not waste it, -
Else 't is no rest.
Wouldst behold beauty
Near thee? all round !
Only hath duty
Such a sight found.
Rest is not quitting
The busy career;
Rest is the fitting
Of self to its sphere.
"T is the brook's motion,
Clear without strife,
Fleeing to ocean
After its life.
Nowhere hath knelt;
Heart never felt.
The highest and best ;
"T is onwards ! unswerving, THE HAPPY HEART.
And that is true rest.
REV. MR. MACLELLAN.
JOHN SULLIVAN DWIGHT.
screened, eath the jos, the fiend
elt to that fent
Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers ?
O sweet content!
O punishment !
Work apace, apace, apace, apace ;
Honest labor bears a lovely face ;
THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.
The village smithy stands;
With large and sinewy hands ;
Are strong as iron bands.
the life on earth
an offering be”; aid "No!"