With stupidest boys, he was kind and cool, The rod was scarcely known in his school; And too hard work for his poor old bones; And made him forget he was old and poor. "I need so little," he often said, "And my friends and relatives here below Won't litigate over me when I am dead," Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. But the most pleasant times that he had, of all, Over a pipe and a friendly glass; "This was the sweetest pleasure," he said, Till the house grew merry from cellar to tiles. "I'm a pretty old man,"-he gently said, "I've lingered a long while here below, But my heart is fresh, if my youth be fled!" Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. He smoked his pipe, in the balmy air, Every night when the sun went down, While the soft wind played in his silvery hair, Leaving its tenderest kisses there On the jolly old pedagogue's jolly old crown; And, feeling the kisses, he smiled and said, ""Tis a glorious world down here below; Why wait for happiness till we are dead?" There were angels waiting for him, I know,— UNCLE JO. I have in memory a little story, That few indeed would rhyme about but me; 'Tis not of love, nor fame, nor yet of glory, Although a little colored with the three- Most people thought, but there was one or two A mile or so away he had a brother,-- A rich, proud man, that people didn't hire; But Jo had neither sister, wife or mother, And baked his corn-cake, at his cabin fire, They called him dull, but he had eyes of quickness Another praise there was, might have been given, With his old pickaxe swung across his shoulder, At length, one winter when the sunbeams slanted And all looked anxiously for Uncle Jo; His spade stood there, against his own roof-tree, And when they wrapped him in the linen, fairer Of sunny hope, sometime; or where or when, None wrote his epitaph, nor saw the beauty Of the pure love that reached into the grave, He kept, despite the dark; but men less brave DREAMS AND REALITIES.-PHEBE Cary. The following poem is the last one sent by Phebe Cary to Harper's Bazar. The Bazar says: "It is the song of the dying swan, tender, and sweet, and beautiful." O Rosamond, thou fair and good, Why didst thou droop before thy time? For, looking backward through my tears If thou hadst lived to be my guide, O child of light, O golden head!— Why didst thou vanish from our sight? O friend so true, O friend so good!— And yet had this poor soul been fed Had life been always fair, Would these dear dreams that ne'er depart, If still they kept their earthly place, And gave to death, alas! Could I have learned that clear, calm faith Sometimes, I think, the things we see That what we plan we build ; That every hope that hath been crossed, That even the children of the brain But on some brighter, better shore And when on that last day we rise, Then shall we hear our Lord Say, Thou hast done with doubt and death, Shall be thy faith's reward. DREAM OF THE "FAT CONTRIBUTOR." I had a singular dream last night. "I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls," and that those halls were thronged with characters whose names are familiar in song. The entertainment was given by the " Old Folks at Home," who had invited a goodly number of the friends of "Auld Lang Syne," as well as distinguished strangers from abroad. "Rory O'More" was easily distinguished by his jolly, good-natured face, and his manner of " tazing" the girls. He was shortly joined by a fair-haired, ruddy-cheeked youth, who, in reply to a question from the master of ceremonies he had entered somewhat un-(master of) ceremoniously-replied, proudly: "Ould Ireland is me country, and Pat and Rory then proceeded to the "Irishman's Shanty," there being "Whisky in the Jug." I knew " Old Uncle Ned," as soon as I saw him scratch his bald head with his cane-brake fingers, and as he smiled, his toothless gums, wholly inadequate for the hoe-cake, confirmed my previous impression. The spruce darkey who followed him, ogling " Lucy Long" through an eyeglass, could be no other than "Dandy Jim, of Caroline." The "Bould Soger Boy" came strutting along, brandishing "The Sword of Bunker Hill," in an audacious manner; and" The Minstrel Returned from the War" |