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What for? Because it means for me
A simple, sinless memory;
Because it means there was a time
When I, now gray with want and crime,
Old jail-bird as I am to-day,
Knew how to love and dared to pray.
What did I do? How could I know
That things would go against me so ?
How could I help it? Did I plan
The fate that bound me to that man ?-
The hard, blind fate that dragged me down
Among the wretches of the town?-
That snatched away all hope, all chance,
And i wisted every circumstance
Against me, till at last I stood
Stripped of my very womanhood ?
I could not dare to stop and think-
Was it my fault I took to drink?
No, I'm not fit for liberty;
It's not a wholesome thing for me;
The jail takes care of me too well.
Better to be locked in a cell,
Where all is clean and sleep is sweet,
Than roam the misery-haunted street;
Better the work they give is here
Than what awaits me when I'm clear;
Better the silence we must keep
Than drunken cries and curses deep;
Better the dull days free from pain
Than shattered nerves and throbbing brain;
Better the quiet, sober life
Than yonder city's desperate strife;
Better the prison's homely fare,
Better the prison's watchful care,
Better for me than liberty-
So, warden, keep a place for me!


To Lake Aghmoogenegamook,

All in the State of Maine,
A man from Wittequergaugaum came

One evening in the rain.
“I am a traveler," said he,

“Just started on a tour, And go to Nomjamskillicook

To-morrow morn at four."

He took a tavern bed that night,

And with the morrow's sun, By way of Sekledobskus went,

'With carpet-bag and guni.
A week passed on; and next we find

Our native tourist come
To that sequestered village called

From thence he went to Absequoit,

And there-quite tired of MaineHe sought the mountains of Vermont,

Upon a railroad train.
Dog-Hollow, in the Green Mount State,

Was his first stopping-place,
And then Skunk's-Misery displayed

Its sweetness and its grace.
By easy stages then he went

To visit Devil's-Den;
And Scrabble-Hollow, by the way,

Did come within his ken.
Then via Nine-Holes and Goose-Green

He traveled through the State,
And to Virginia, finally,

Was guided by his fate.
Within the Old Dominion's bounds

He wandered up and down ;-
To-day at Buzzard-Roost ensconced,

To-morrow at Hell-Town.
At Pole-Cat, too, he spent a week,

Till friends from Bull-Ring came, And made him spend a day with them

In hunting forest game.
Then, with his carpet-bag in hand,

To Dog-Town next he went; Though stopping at Free-Negro-Town,

Where half a day he spent. From thence into Negationburg

His route of travel lay, Which having gained, he left the Stato

And took a southward way. North Carolina's friendly soil

He trod at fall of night, And on a bed of softest down

He slept at Hell's-Delight.

Morn found him on the road again,

To Lazy-Level bound;
At Bull's-Tail, and Lick-Lizzard too,

Good provender he found.
But the plantations near Burnt-Coat

Were even finer still,
And made the wondering tourist feel

A soft, delicious thrill.
At Tear-Shirt, too, the scenery

Most charming did appear,
With Snatch-It in the distance far,

And Purgatory near.
But, 'spite of all these pleasant scenes,

The tourist stoutly swore,
That home is brightest after all,

And travel is a bore.
So back he went to Maine, straightway,

A little wife he took,
And now is making nutmegs at



In the land of Brittany, and long ago,

Lived one of those
Despised and desolate, whose records show

Insult and blows,
Their old inheritance of wrong, who were
Free once as the eyelids of the morn; nor care

Knew, nor annoy,

That city of joy, Heaven-chosen child, whom none to harm might dare ;-

Lived one who did as if his God stood near

Watching his deed, Slow to give answer, ever swift to hear;

Whose brain would breed, Walking alone or watching through the night, No idle thought; but he with ill would fight,

And day by day

Would wax alway
Wiser and better and nearer to the light.
And in this land a mother lost her child,

And charged the Jew

“ You

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With crucifying him, who calmly smiled

Have slain,” quoth she,“ to keep your Passover,
My son with sorceries." He answered her,

Your wit must fail;

An idle tale
Is this; what proof thereof can you prefer?”
But she went from him raging. Then he fled

Out of that land;
And those there set a price on his gray head,

Who with skilled land
Of craft had fed one daughter fair as day,
Now destitute. Soon gold before her lay

The bait of shame;

But she, aflame
With honor, flung such happiness away,
And writing told her father, who came back

By night, and bade
Her claim his life's reward. Rather the rack

Rend me," she said ;
“And shall I give him death who lile gave me?
Sell him and feed on him? Far sooner we

Both diell! Somewhere

Beyond earth's care Hereafter we shall meet; it well may beSomewhere hereafter.” “Nay, you still shall live,"

He murmured; then
Went out into the market, crying, “ Give

This price, ye men,
For me to her my daughter." But these laid
False hands on both, nor other duty paid

Than death ; for they,

Gold hair and gray,
Were slain hard by in the holy minster's shade.
After, in no long time, the little child

Returned, a stray
Fresh from the sea : it by a ship beguiled,

In the hold at play,
Had sailed unseen till the land a small speck grew.
But still the people prayed in the porch, in view

Of the blood-splashed stone,

And made no moan; * 'Twas only a Jew," the folk said, “ only a Jew!"

GLOVERSON THE MORMON.- ARTEMUS WARD. The morning on which Reginald Gloverson was to leave Great Salt Lake City with a mule-train dawned beautifully.

Reginald Gloverson was a young and thrifty Mormon, with an interesting family of twenty young and handsome wives. His unions had never been blessed with children, As often as once a year he used to go to Omaha, in Nebraska with a mule-train, for goods; but although he had performed the rather perilous journey many times with entire safety, his heart was strangely sad on this particular morning, and filled with gloomy forebodings.

The time for his departure had arrived. The high-spirited mules were at the door, impatiently champing their bits. The Mormon stood sadly among his weeping wives.

Dearest ones,” he said, “I am singularly sad at heart this morning, but do not let this depress you. The journey is a perilous one, but-pshaw! I have always come back heretofore, and why should I fear? Besides, I know that every night, as I lay down on the broad, starlit prairie, your bright faces come to me in my dreams, and make my slumbers sweet and gentle. You, Emily, with your mild blue eyes ; and you, Henrietta, with your splendid black hair; and you, Nelly, with your hair so brightly, beautifully golden; and you, Molly, with your cheeks so downy; and you, Betsey, with your wine-red lips-far more delicious, though, than any wine I ever tasted; and you, Maria, with your winsome voice; and you, Susan, with your-with yourthat is to say, Susan, with your-and the other thirteen of you, each as good and beautiful, will come to me in sweet dreams, will you not, dearestists ?”

Our own,” they lovingly chimed, “we will!" “ And so farewell!” cried Reginald. “Come to my arms, my own,” he said—“that is, as many of you as can do it conveniently at once, for I must away."

He folded several of them to his throbbing breast and drove sadly away.

But he had not gone far when the traces of the off-hind mule became unhitched. Dismounting, he essayed to adjust the trace; but ere he had fairly commenced the task,

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