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him, and under this delusion he conversed with them freely.
The Japanese were very polite to him, they bowed and uttered a great many words in their own tongue; but though Josiah could not understand a syllable, he kept plying them with questions about their goods, their country, and their modes of living.
Well, you're a kind o'smart people, too. Kinder yaller in the complexion, like, but maybe ye ain't none the worse for that."
The Log Cabin was Josiah's idea of a residence. While he was examining it, the bell rang, and the police ordered his party to move out.
“But we ain't through yet. We ain't got the worth of our money,” remonstrated Josiah.
“Can't help it. Time's up.”
We next found our friends making frantic efforts to get into a car.
“Mother have you got all the children?”
"All but one, Josiah. Bless me, where is that Abe Lincoln ? Maria Jane where's your brother? There, the car's going off, and we'll be left! Josiah, ask the police to look after our Abe Lincoln. I'll die if anything happens to him.”
But the police officer refuses to search for Abe Lincoln, being otherwise engaged, and the family feeling is at panic height, when the boy appears, having been trying to sinuggle himself in to see the learned pig.
"Abe Lincoln, where was you brought up, to go after pigs in that way?” said his mother, administering a cuff; but at the same time adding, “ Josiah, that must be a curious crita ter! I wish to gracious you bad took us to see it.”
"All aboard !” was shouted.
Josiah and two of the children got into one car; his wife, four of the children, and the Brown family got into another, When the separation was discovered a loud wail was raised, “Josiah don't leave your little family!” shrieked his wife.
An officer helped Josiah back to his spouse, and the car was about moving off when another shriek attested a fresh catastrophe: the ginger-bread had fallen on the road, and the younger children were wild at the loss.
Josiah mildly asked the conductor to stop while he went back for it; but we regret to say that that depraved conductor looked wickedly at the poor man, and said some words in answer that sounded very strong, to say the least of it.
The last words we heard were from Josiah, who was saying to a fellow-passenger: “Yes sir, big affair! I never saw a Centennial before, to my knowledge; but I mean to attend 'em regular at every place after this."
Old Margery Miller sat alone,
Poor old Margery Miller!
Unsought, unknown, Strange that her heart had not turned to stone! Aye, there she sat on that Christmas eve, Seeking some dream of the past to weave, Patiently striving not to grieve. Oh! for those long, long eighty years, How had she struggled with doubts and fears, Shedding in secret unnumbered tears ! Poor old Margery Miller!
Bereft of all that my heart holds dear;
Unsought, unknown, What was that light which around her shone? Dim on the hearth burned the embers red, Yet soft and clear, on her silvered head, A light like the sunset glow was shed; Bright blossoms fell on the cottage floor, “Mother" was whispered, as oft before, And long-lost faces gleamed forth once more. Poor old Margery Miller!
No longer alone,
Beautiful angels, fair and bright,
So earnest grown,
Was she left alone? His humble child did the Lord disown? Oh! sweet was the sound of the Christmas bell, As its musical changes cose and fell, With a low refrain or a solemn swell; But sweeter by far was the blessed strain That soothed old Margery Miller's pain, And gave her comfort and peace again. Poor old Margery Miller!
In silence, alone,
Her faith had grown;
Softly he whispered her humble name.
No longer alone,
Unsought, unknown, God had not forgotten she was His own. A change o'er her pallid features passed ; She felt that her feet were nearing fast The land of safety and peace, at last. She faintly murmured, “God's name be blest!" And, folding her hands on her dying breast, She calmly sank to her dreamless rest. Faithful Margery Miller!
Without one moan,
Her spirit had flown
To the world unknown, Where true hearts never can be alono.
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day
Great day from which all other days were made; Now came still evening on, and twilight gray,
In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed. Sweet was the sound when oft at evening's close
The moping owl does to the moon complain; With louder plaint the mother spoke her woes,
Driven by the wind and battered by the rain. At length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise; Westward the star of empire takes its way
And buries madmen in the heaps they raise. Honor and shame from no condition rise,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight. “What were they made for, then, you dog?” he cries;
One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right.
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh;
Let earth, unbalanced, from her orbit fly.
Oh, give relief, and heaven will bless your store, See the blind beggar dance, the cripple sing
Arm! Arm! It is the cannon's opening roar. "Live while you live," the epicure would say,
And catch the manners living as they rise. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay,
If ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise. You see mankind the same in every age,
And as they first are fashioned always grow; He struts and frets his hour upon the stageVirtue alone is happiness below.
“Turn, gentle hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way;”
To find the better way!
An' never bro't to min'?
Poured out by hands divine?