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One night, as a slight innuendo,
When Nature was mantled in snow, He wrote in the frost on the window,
A sweet word in Latinoamo."
For that I had long understood;
Present tense and indicative mood.
But O, how man's passion will vary!
For scarcely a year had passed by, When he changed the “amo to “amare,”
But instead of an "e" was a "y." Yes, a Mary had certainly taken
The heart once so fondly my own, And I, the rejected, forsaken,
Was left to reflection alone.
Since then I've a horror of Latin,
And students uncommonly smart;
To balance the head by the heart.
Is much to one's credit, I know, But " I love" should be said in plain English,
And not with a Latin " amo."
THE SCULPTOR BOY.
Chisel in hand stood a sculptor boy,
With his marble block before him;
As an angel dream passed o'er him.
With many a sharp incision;
He had caught that angel vision.
Sculptors of life are we, as we stand
With our lives uncarved before us,
Our life dream passes o’er us.
With many a sharp incision ;-
Our lives, that angel vision.
* BLESSED IS THE MAN WHOM THOU CHASTENEST.”
SIR RICHARD GRANT.
0, Savior, whose mercy, severe in its kindness,
Has chastened my wanderings and guided my way, Adored be the power that illumined my blindness,
And weaned me from phantoms that smiled to betray.
Enchanted with all that was dazzling and fair,
I followed the rainbow I caught at the toy; And still in displeasure Thy goodness was there,
Disappointing the hope, and defeating the joy.
The blossom blushed bright, but a worm was below;
The moonlight shone fair, there was blight in the beam; Sweet whispered the breeze, but it whispered of woe,
And bitterness flowed in the soft flowing stream.
So cured of my folly, yet cured but in part,
I turned to the refuge Thy pity displayed ; And still did this eager and credulous heart
Weave visions of promise that bloomed but to fade.
I thought that the course of the pilgrim to Heaven
Would be bright as the summer, and glad as the morn; Thou show'dst me the path,-it was dark and uneven,
All rugged with rock and tangled with thorn.
I dreamed of celestial reward and renown,
I grasped at the triumph that blesses the brave,
I asked for the palm-branch, the robe and the crown,-
Subdued and instructed, at length, to Thy will,
My hopes and my longings I fain would resign; 0, give me the heart that can wait and be still,
Nor know of a wish or a pleasure but Thine.
There are mansions exempted from sin and from woe,
But they stand in a region by mortals untrod; There are rivers of joy, but they flow not below;
There is rest, but it dwells in the presence of God.
THE FRENCHMAN AND THE FLEÀ POWDER.
ORIGINAL VERSION - BY PROF. RAYMOND.
A Frenchman once--so runs a certain ditty-
Hey, there!” said she, “you Monsher Powder-man:
DADDY AND SONNY.
Daddy and I is jolly fellows; he, he! When I laugh, daddy he laughs; and when daddy laughs I laugh-he, he, he! Daddy and
me is in company - Daddy and Sonny-he, he, he! Daddy and me has got a couple of very slick dogs, home, he, he. One's name is Towse, and 'tother's name is Bowse-- he, he, he! Towse dog is very slick dog; but that Bowse dog is a very lazy dog; he, he, he! I've got a brother Pete, home, too. Pete's a very lazy fellow -- just as lazy as the Bowse dog, he, he, he! They ain't neither of them worth their salt, for they don't do nothing in the house, nor out on the house. But that Towse dog is real slick dog, I tell ye; he, he, he, he! Daddy and me has got a couple of very slick tater-patch, too, he, he. That low tater-patch is'nt worth much. We didn't spect to get more than two taters to the hill, out on that lower patch. But that upper tater-patch and that Towse dog is real slick, I tell ye! he, he, he! I've got a sweetheart, too; her name's Sukey Sinder. She and me keeps company together. I tell you what, she's real slick, he, he, he. And Daddy and me's got forty cows: Daddy's got thirty-nine, and I've got one. Mine's an ox. down and see him; he, he, he !
I ask the young man who is just forming his habits of life, or just beginning to indulge those habitual trains of thought out of which habits grow, to look around him, and mark the examples whose fortunes he would covet, or whose fate he would abhor. Even as we walk the streets, we meet with examples of each extreme. Here, behold the patriarch, whose stock of vigor three-score years and ten seems scarcely to have impaired. His erect form, his firm step, his elastic limbs, and undimmed senses, are so many certificates of good conduct; or, rather, so many jewels and orders of nobility with which nature has honored him for his fidelity to her laws. His fair complextion shows that his blood has never been corrupted; his pure
health that he never yielded his digestive apparatus to abuse; his exact language and keen apprehension, that his brain has never been drugged or stupefied by the poisons of distiller or tobacconist.