ÆäÀÌÁö À̹ÌÁö
PDF
ePub

A HELPMATE.-A. MELVILLE BELL.

When bashful single men are "well to do "
The ladies try their best to make them woo;
And, surely, if the man is worth the plot,
And to one's mind, &c., wherefore not?

All wives are "helpmates"; and each would-be wife
Helping to mate proves fit for married life.
The truth of this may not at first appear,
But by a case in point I'll make it clear.

No mortal ever had a better heart,
Or needed more this matrimonial art,
Than Mr. Slow; and many damsels vied
In showing him he would not be denied
If he would only lay aside his fear

And tell-or whisper-what they longed to hear.

Some sent him slippers to advance their suit,
Hoping to catch the lover by the foot;

Some, with a higher aim, his throat would deck
With warm cravat,-to take him by the neck;
Others gave flowers, their passion to disclose,

And even handkerchiefs,-to have him by the nose;
Gloves, cuffs, and mittens were by many planned
With wiles directly leveled at his hand!
But none had found out the successful art
To make this" eligible man "take heart.

He looked the lover, gave expressive sighs,
But only spoke the language of "sheep's eyes."
At last, one maid, who wisely judged the case
And really loved him, met him face to face.

She bantered Mr. Slow upon his ways:
"You need some one, I'm sure, to cheer your days-
Eh? did you speak?"-He could not for his life.
"I often wonder you don't get a wife!

I know some one, I think, who wouldn't frown
If you should ask her!"--O the senseless clown!
He wriggles nervously, plays with his hat,
Looks down and blushes, fumbles his cravat,-
Then seems about to speak-"Go on!"-but no;
He only sighs, and draws a face of woe.

"Are you not well? I fear you don't take care
To wrap yourself from this damp evening air.
Put in this button: there! that draws your coat
Close as a comforter about your throat,-

But I'm afraid you'll think me very bold."
"Oh no; go on!-I'm not afraid-of cold "-
"Why then go on?--I think you hardly know;
But I'll unbutton it if you say so.

"Dear me! I've pulled the butten off, I vow;
If you'd a wife, she'd sew it for you now!"

"I wish that you would "-" Eh?"-" would sew it onAnd something else!"--His modest features shone,

But not a word his palsied tongue could frame.

66

Well, 'something else' has surely got a name?" He covered up his face and whispered this,-

"I wish you'd give me something!

[ocr errors]

"""What?" "A kiss!"

Why, Mr. Slow, you are a curious elf;

A man in such a case should help himself!

For if a lady gave one, that would be

Like sealing an engagement, don't you see?"

66

"That's what I want!" Now really! Is it so?
Well, just suppose that I have not said no!"

A maiden's coyness overwhelmed him: "Ah!”
He whispered, blushing, "Thank you: ask papa!"
She laughed outright; though 'twas indeed no joke!
He thought this was the proper form; but spoke
Quite freely now, and had so much to say,
That, ere she left, he made her fix the day!
A little help quite cured his single trouble,
And very soon they loved each other double.

HOLD THE LIGHT.

Ho! thou traveler on life's highway,
Moving carelessly along,-
Pausing not to watch the shadows
Towering o'er the mighty throng;-
Stand aside, and mark how feebly
Some are struggling in the fight,
Turning on thee wistful glances-
Begging thee to hold the light!
Look! upon thy right a brother
Wanders blindly from the way;
And upon thy left a sister,

Frail and erring, turns astray;

One kind word, perchance, may save them-
Guide their wayward steps aright;

Canst thour, then, wit',hold thy counsel?

No! but fly and hold the light.

Hark! a feeble wail of sorrow

Bursts from the advancing throng;
And a little child is groping

Through the darkness, deep and long;
"Tis a timid orphan, shivering

'Neath misfortune's withering blight;
Friends, home, love, are all denied her;
Oh! in pity hold the light.

Not alone from heathen darkness,
Where the pagan bows the knee,
Worshipping his brazen image
With a blind idolatry—

Where no blessed Gospel teachings
E'er illume the soul's dark night,
Comes the cry to fellow mortals,

Wild and pleading, "Hold the light!"

Here, as well, in life's broad highway,
Are Lenighted wanderers found;
And if all the strong would heed them,
Lights would glimmer all around.
Acts of love and deeds of kindness

Then would make earth's pathway bright,
And there'd be no need of calling

"Ho! thou traveler, hold the light!"

MEASURING THE BABY.-EMMA ALICE BROWN.

We measured the riotous baby
Against the cottage-wall-

A lily grew on the threshold,
And the boy was just as tall;

A royal tiger-lily,

With spots of purple and gold,
And a heart like a jeweled chalice,
The fragrant dew to hold.

Without, the bluebirds whistled

High up in the old roof-trees,
And to and fro at the window

The red rose rocked her bees;
And the wee pink fists of the baby
Were never a moment still,
Snatching at shine and shadow
That danced on the lattice-sill,

ZZZ*

His eyes were wide as bluebells-

His mouth like a flower unblown-
Two little bare feet, like funny white mice,
Peeped out from his snowy gown;
And we thought, with a thrill of rapture
That yet had a touch of pain,

When June rolls around with her roses,
We'll measure the boy again.

Ah me! in a darkened chamber,
With the sunshine shut away,
Through tears that fell like a bitter rain,
We measured the boy to-day;

And the little bare feet, that were dimpled
And sweet as a budding rose,

Lay side by side together,

In the hush of a long repose!

Up from the dainty pillow,
White as the risen dawn,

The fair little face lay smiling,

With the light of heaven thereon;
And the dear little hands, like rose-ĺeaves
Dropped from a rose, lay still,

Never to snatch at the sunshine
That crept to the shrouded sill!
We measured the sleeping baby
With ribbons white as snow,
For the shining rosewood casket
That waited him below;

And out of the darkened chamber
We went with a childless moan-
To the height of the sinless angels
Our little one had grown.

MINOT'S LEDGE.-FITZ-JAMES O'BRIEN.

Like spectral hounds across the sky
The white clouds scud before the storm,
And naked in the howling night
The red-eyed lighthouse lifts its form.
The waves with slippery fingers clutch
The massive tower, and climb and fall,
And muttering growl with baffled rage
Their curses on the sturdy wall.
Up in the lonely tower he sits,
The keeper of the crimson light,-

Silent and awe-struck does he hear
The imprecations of the night.

The white spray beats against the panes
Like some wet ghost that down the air
Is hunted by a troop of fiends
And seeks a shelter anywhere.

He prays aloud-the lonely man-
For every soul that night at sea;
But more than all for that brave boy
Who used to gayly climb his knee,-
Young Charlie with his chestnut hair
And hazel eyes and laughing lip,-

"May Heaven look down," the old man cries, Upon my son, and on his ship."

66

While thus with pious heart he prays,

Far in the distance sounds a boom,-
He pauses, and again there rings
That sullen thunder through the room.
A ship upon the shoals to-night!
She cannot hold for one half-hour;
But clear the ropes and grappling-hooks,
And trust in the Almighty Power.

On the drenched gallery he stands
Striving to pierce the solid night;
Across the sea the red-eye throws
A steady crimson wake of light,
And where it falls upon the waves
He sees a human head float by,

With long drenched curls of chestnut hair,
And wild but fearless hazel eye.

Out with the hooks! One mighty fling!
Adown the wind the long rope curls.
Oh! will it catch? Ah, dread suspense!
While the wild ocean wilder whirls.
A steady pull- It tightens now!
Oh, his old heart will burst with joy,
As on the slippery rocks he pulls
The breathing body of his boy!

Still sweep the spectres through the sky,
Still scud the clouds before the storm,
Still naked in the howling night
The red-eyed lighthouse lifts its form.
Without, the world is wild with rage,
Unkenneled demons are abroad;
But with the father and the son
Within, there is the peace of God.

« ÀÌÀü°è¼Ó »