« 이전계속 »
He stood in the gate of the temple he had periled his life to save;
&nd the face of the hero, my children, was the sable face of a slave I
With folded arms he was speaking, in tones that were clear not loud,
A.nd his eyes, ablaze in their sockets, burnt into the eyes of the crowd:—
"You may keep your gold: I scorn it!—but answer me, ye who can,
If the deed I have done before you be not the deed of a mant"
He stepped but a short space backward; and from all the
women and men There were only sobs for answer; and the mayor called for
^.nd the great seal of the city, that he might read who ran: A.nd the slave who saved St. Michael's went out from its door, a man.
THE SCHOOLMASTER'S SLEEP—Ben Wood Davm.
Upon that summer day,—
A heaviness of spirit
And nameless sense of pain,
But struggled all in vain.
The drowsy schoolroom murmur
He knew his school were watching
He knew, and for a moment,
To battle off the stupor
In vain! for with the effort,
Mis breath came faint and faint«r,
And then arose an uproar.
And boundless was the glee
The schoolmaster to see.
The dunce tried all his antics,
To gain one shout of laughter
See, now he points his finger
And rolls his eyes and chatters
And all the little urchins
And with the tears of laughter
An hour now was passing,
And greater grew the tumult
Until a little maiden,
With grave concern and wonder,
Stole softly to the master
And started back in terror—
"HEZ" AND THE LANDLORD.
In a quiet little Ohio village, many years ago, was a tarem where the stages always changed, and the passengers expected to get breakfast. The landlord of the said hotel was noted for his tricks upon travelers, who were allowed to get fairly seated at the table, when the driver would blow his horn (after taking his " horn,") and sing out," Stage ready, gentlemen!"—whereupon the passengers were obliged to hurry out to take their seats, leaving a scarcely-tasted breakfast behind them, for which, however, they had to fork over fifty cents. One day, when the stage was approaching the house of this obliging landlord, a passenger said that he had often heard of the landlord's trick, and he was afraid they would not be able to eat any breakfast.
"What!—how? No breakfast!" exclaimed the rest.
"Exactly so, gents, and you may as well keep your seats and tin."
"Don't they expect passengers to breakfast?"
"Oh, yes \ they expect you to it, but not to eat it. I am under the impression that there is an understanding between the landlord and the driver, that for sundry and various drinks, &c., the latter starts before you can scarcely commence eating."
"What on earth air you all talking about? Ef you calkelate I'm goin' to pay four-and-ninepence for my breakfast, and not get the valee on't, yo're mistakin," said a voice from a back seat, the owner of which was one Hezekiah Spaulding —though " tew hum " they call him " Hez" for short. "I'm goin' to get my breakfast here, and not pay nary red cent till I do."
"Then you'll be left."
"Not as you knows on, I won't."
"Well, we'll see," said the other, as the stage drove up to the door, and the landlord, ready " to do the hospitable," says—
"Breakfast just ready, gents! Take a wash, gents? Here's water, basins, towels, and soap."
After performing the ablutions, they all proceeded to the dining-room, and commenced a fierce onslaught upon the edibles, though Hez took his time. Scarcely had they tasted their coffee, when they heard the unwelcome sound of the horn, and the driver exclaim—" Stage ready!" Up rise eight grumbling passengers, pay their fifty cents, and take their seats.
"All on board, gents?" inquires the host.
"One missing," said they.
Proceeding to the dining-room, the host finds Hez very coolly helping himself to an immense piece of steak, the siz» of a horse's hip.
"You'll be left, sir! Stage going to start!"
"Well, I hain't nothing to say agin it," drawled out Hez.
"Can't wait sir—better take your seat."
"I'll be gall-darned ef I dew, nother, till I've got my breakfast! I paid for it, and I'm goin' to get the valee on't; and ef you calkelate I hain't, you are mistakin."
So the stage did start, and left Hez, who continued his attack upon the edibles. Biscuits, coffee, &c., disappeared before the eyes of the astonished landlord.
"Say, squire, them there cakes is 'bout eat—fetch on another grist on'em. You" (to the waiter,) "'nother cup of that ere coffee. Pass them eggs. Raise your own pork, squire? This is 'mazin' nice ham. Land 'bout here tolerable cheap, squire? Hain't much maple timber in these parts, hev ye? Dew right smart trade, squire, I calkelate?" And thus Hez kept quizzing the landlord until he had made a hearty meal.
"Say, squire, now I'm 'bout to conclude paying my devowen to this ere table, but jest give us a bowl of bread and milk to top off with, and I d be much obleeged tew ye."
So out go the landlord and waiter for the bowl, milk, and bread, and set them before him.
"Spoon, tew, ef you please."
But no spoon could be found. Landlord was sure he had plenty of silver ones lying on the table when the stage stopped.
"Say, dew ye? dew ye think them passengers is goin' to pay ye for breakfuss and not get no compensashunt"
"Ah, what? Do you think any of the passengers took them?"
"Dew I thinkt No, I don't think, but I'm sartin. Efthey air all as green as yew 'bout here, I'm goin' to locate immediately, and tew wonst.
The landlord rushes out to the stable, and starts a man off after the stage, which had gone about three miles. The man overtakes the stage, and says something to the driver in a low tone. He immediately turns back, and on arriving at the hotel, Hez comes out, takes his seat, and says—
"How air yew, gents? I'm rotted glad to see yew."
"Can you point out the man you think has the spoons?" asked the landlord.
"Pint him out? Sartinly I ken. Say, squire, 1 paid yew four-and-ninepence for a breakfuss, and I calkelate I got th* valee on't! You'll find them spoons in the coffee-pot."
"Go ahead I All aboard, driver."
The landlord stared.
TRUE SOURCE OF CONTENTMENT.
A man in his carriage was riding along,
A gaily-dressed wife by his side;
And he like a king in his pride.
A wood-sawyer stood on the street aa they passed;
The carriage and couple he eyed,
"I wish I was rich and could ride."
The man in the carriage remarked to his wife,
"One thing I would do if I could— I'd give all my wealth for the strength and the health
Of the man' who is sawing the wood."
A pretty young maid with a bundle of work,
Whose face as the morning was fair,
While humming a love-breathing air.
She looked in the carriage, the lady she saw,
Arrayed in apparel so fine.
Those satins and laces were mine."
The lady looked out on the maid with her work,
So fair in her calico dress,
Her beauty and youth to possess."
Thus it is in this world, whatever our lot,
Our minds and our time we employ
Ungrateful for what wo enjoy.
We welcome the pleasure for which we have sighed,
The heart has a void in it still,
That nought but Religion can fill.