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My little boy—I'll give 'em leave to match him, if they can;
My little girl—I can't contrive how it should happen thus— That God could pick that sweet bouquet, and fling it down to us!
My wife, she says that han'some. face will some day make a stir;
And then I laugh, because she thinks the child resembles her.
She'll meet me half-way down the hill, and kiss me, anyway;
And light my heart up with her smiles, when I go home today!
If there's a heaven upon the earth, a fellow knows it when
But let my creed be right or wrong, or be it as it may.
THE WORLD FOR SALE—Ralph Hoyt.
The world for sale !—Hang out the sign;
Call every traveler here to me:
And set me from earth's bondage free?
The bauble from my soul away;
The world at auction here to-day!
It is a glorious thing to see,—
Ah, it has cheated me so sore!
For side! It shall be mine no more.
I would not have vou purchase dear:
Who bids?—Who'll buy the splendid tear?
Here's Wealth in glittering heaps of gold ;—
Who bids t—but let me tell you fair, A baser lot was never sold;
Who'll buy the heavy heaps of care?
A goodly landscape all may trace;
Who'll buy himself a burial-place?
Here's Love, the dreamy potent spell
That beauty flings around the heart;
Tig going,—love and 1 must part!
All over the enchanter's reign;
An hour of bliss,—an age of pain!
And Friendship,—rarest gem of earth,
(Whoe'er hath found the jewel his?} Frail, fickle, false, and little worth,—
Who bids for friendship—as it is? Tis going! Coi.no !—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 renown'd,— Now purchase, and a world command!—
And be with a world's curses crown'd!
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 I are now at strife,
Nor ever may unite again.
And So\o! For sale my tuneless lute;
Sweet solace, mine no more to hold; The chords that charmed my soul-are mute,
I cannot wake the notes of old! Or e'en were mine a wizard shell.
Could chain a world in rapture high; Yet now a sad farewell!—farewell!
Must on its last faint echoes die.
Ambition, Fashion, Show, and Pride,—
I part from all forever now;
Has taught my haughty heart to bow.
And still its aching throb to bear;—
How heavy, once so free from care!
No more for mo life's fitful dream;—
Bright vision, vanishing away!
My sinking soul a surer stay.
I weep, yet humbly kiss the rod;
My Faitii, my Birle, and my God.
WHEN DUTY BEGINS—Charles Dicken*.
O fate-remembered, much-forgotten, mouthing, braggart duty! always owed,—and seldom paid in any other coin than punishment and wrath,—when will mankind begin to know thee! When will men acknowledge thee in thy neglected cradle and thy stunted youth, and not begin their recognition in thy sinful manhood and thy desolate old age! O ermined judge! whose duty to society is now to doom the ragged criminal to punishment and death, hast thou never, Man, a duty to discharge in barring up the hundred open gates that wooed him to the felon's dock, and throwing but ajai the portals to a decent life. O prelate, prelate! whose duty to society it is to mourn in melancholy phrase the sad degeneracy of these bad times in which thy lot of honors has been cast, did nothing go before thy elevation to the lofty seat, from which thou dealest out thy homilies to other farriers for dead men's shoes, whose duty to society has not begun. O magistrate!—so rare a country gentleman and brave a squire,—had you no duty to society before the ricks were blazing and the mob were mad; or did it spring up armed and booted from the earth, a corps of yeomanry, full grown.
THE MENAGERIE.—J. Honeywell.
Did you ever! No, I never!
Mercy on us, what a smell!
Gracious! how the jackals yell.
Doing with that pole of his? Bless your precious little heart,
He's stirring up the beastesses!
Children! don't you go so near!
Goodness! there's the Afric cowses. What's the matter with the child?
Why, the monkey's tore his trowsers'. Here's the monstrous elephant,—
I'm all a tremble at the sight;
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,
Standmg safe behind the bars; Goodness me! how like a flag,
All except the corner stars!
There's the bell! the birds and beaati
Now are going to be fed; So, my little darlings, come,
It's time for you to be abed.
"Mother, 'tisn't nine o'clock!
You said we needn't go before;
Want to see the monkeys more I"
Cries the showman, " Turn 'em out!
Dim the lights!—there, that will do:
Exit father, muttering " bore!"
A SISTER PLEADS FOR A BROTHER'S LIFE
Isabella. I am a woful suitor to your honor,
Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it!
Isab. Oh just, but severe law!
Isab. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him, And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy.
Ang. I will not do't.
Isab. But can you if you would?
Ang. Look! what I will not. that I cannot do.
Isab. But might you do't, and do the world no wrong If so your heart were touched with that remorse As mine is to him?
Ang. He's sentenced; 'tis too late.