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And, says he, when he finished, uprising
An' lifting his blue eyes above, “ Dear Lord Jesus, oh, take me to heaven,
Back again to my own mother's love!”
We stood every man like the dead;
The life-blood again, warm and red.
And clasped to the mate's rugged breast ; And his husky voice muttered “God bless you!”
As his lips to his forehead he pressed.
And gone by herself right along,
Was gathered 'round in that throng.
That ever I used you so hard.
Taut and sure, to that ugly old yard."
“Believe you!” He kissed him once more. “You'd have laid down your life for the truth, lad
Believe you! From now, evermore!”
All that day and the rest of the trip;
Pr’aps he wasn't the pet of the ship.
For all, young or old, short or tall,
Old Ben, he knows naught after all.
OUR OWN.-MARGARET E. SANGSTER.
The words unkind
Would trouble my mind
Nor given you needless pain;
We might never take back again.
For though in the quiet evening
Yet it might be
That never for me
That never come home at night!
That sorrow can ne'er set right.
But oft for “
The bitter tone,
Ah, brow with that look of scorn!
To undo the work of morn.
PASSING UNDER THE ROD.-MARY S. B, Dana.
“Whom the Lord loveth, Ho chasteneth." I saw a young bride, in her beauty and pride,
Bedeck'd in her snowy array ;
And the future looked blooming and gay:
At the shrine of idolatrous love,
By the chain which her tenderness wove.
And the chain had been sever'd in two,
And her bloom for the paleness of woe!
And wiping the tears from her eyes,
And fasten'd it firm to the skies ! There had whisper'd a voice—'t was the voice of her God, “I love thee-I love thee-pass under the rod!” I saw a young mother in tenderness bend
O'er the couch of her slumbering boy,
While the dreamer lay smiling in joy:
When its fragrance is flung on the air,
So fresh and so bright to that mother he seem’d,
As he lay in his innocence there.
Pale as marble, and silent, and cold,
And the tale of her sorrow was told !
And taken her treasure away,
And the mourner will sweetly obey :
Gazing down on a gentle young girl,
As he played with each graceful curl.
Let her use it in sadness or glee;
As she sat in the eve on his knee.
And she breathed not a word in his ear,
And he moistened her cheek with a tear.
“Grieve not for thy sister's short life,”
And he made her his own cherished wife!
On the arms of a dear gifted son,
As they saw the proud place he had won:
And its path way grew smooth to their feet,
And the whispers of fancy were sweet.
Where their hearts' dearest hopes had been laid, And the star had gone down in the darkness of night,
And the joy from their bosoms had fled.
And he led them with tenderest care:
'Twas their star shining brilliantly there! They had each heard a voice—'twas the voice of their God, I love thee- I love thee---pass under the rod!”
ASKING THE GOV'NER. Smith had just asked Mr. Thompson's daughter if she would give him a lift out of the slough of bachelordom, and she had said “yes.”
It therefore became necessary to get the old gentleman's permission, so, as Smith said, arrangements might be made to hop the conjugal twig.
Smith said he'd rather pop the interrogatory to all of old Thompson's daughters, and his sisters, and his lady-cousins, and his aunt Hannah in the country, and the whole of his female relations, than ask old Thompson. But it had to be done, and so he went down and studied out a speech which he was to disgorge at old Thompson the very first time he set eyes on him. So Smith dropped in on hiin one Sunday evening, when all the family had meandered around to chapel, and found him doing a sum in beer measure.
“ How are you, Smith ?” said old Thompson, as the former walked in, white as a piece of chalk, and trembling as if he had swallowed a condensed earthquake. Smith was afraid to answer, 'cause he wasn't sure about that speech. He knew he had to keep his grip on it while he had it there, or it would slip from him quicker than an oiled eel through an auger hole. So he blurted out:
“Mr. Thompson, sir; perhaps it may not be unknown to you that, during an extended period of some five years, I have been busily engaged in the prosecution of a commercial enterprise_”
“ Is that so, and keepin' it a secret all this time, while I thought you were keepin' shop? Well, by George, you're a 'cute soul, ain't you?”
Smith had to begin and think it over again, to get the run of it:
“Mr. Thompson, sir; perhaps it may not be unknown to you that, during the extended period of five years, I have been busily engaged in the prosecution of a commercial enterprise, with the determination to secure a sufficient maintenance"
“Sit down, Smith, and help yourself to beer. Don't stand there holding your hat like a blind beggar with paralysis.
I never have seen you behave yourself so queer in all my born days."
Smith had been knocked out again, and so he had to wander back to take a fresh start:
“Mr. Thompson, sir; it may not be unknown to you that, during an extended period of five years, I have been engaged in the prosecution of a commercial enterprise, with the determination to procure a sufficient maintenance," “Well ?” asked old Thompson, but Smith went on:
In the hope that some day I might enter wedlock, and bestow my earthly possessions upon one whom I could call my own. I have been a lonely man, sir, and have felt that it is not good for a man to be alone; therefore I would—”
Neither is it ; I'm glad you came in. How's your father?” “Mr. Thompson, sir;” said Smith, in despairing confusion, raising his voice to a yell, “it may not be unknown to you that, during an extended period of a lonely man, I have been engaged to enter wedlock, and bestowed all my enterprise on one whom I could determine to be good for certain possessions-no, I mean, that is-Mr. Thompson, sir; it may not be unknown"
"And then, again, it may. Look here, Smith ; you'd better lay down and take something warm, you ain't well.”
Smith's eyes stuck wildly out of his head with embarrassment, but he went on again :
“Mr. Thompson, sir; it may not be lonely to you to prosecute me whom a friend, for a commercial maintenance, but -but-eh-dang it--Mr. Thompson, sir: It—"
“Oh, Smith, you talk like a fool. I never saw a more firstclass idiot in the course of my whole life. What's the matter with you, anyhow?"
“Mr. Thompson, sir; said Smith, in an agony of bewilderment, “it may not be unknown that you prosecuted a lonely man who is not good for a commercial period of wedlock for some five years, but—"
“See here, Smith, you're drunk, and if you can't behave better than that, you'd better leave; if you don't, I'll chuck you out, or I'm a Dutchman.”
“Mr. Thompson, sir ;” said Smith, frantic with despair, "it may not be known to you that my earthly possessions