Why, there he is! Punch and Judy hunting, the young
wretch, it's that Billy as sartin as sin !
But let me get him home, with a good grip of his hair, and I'm blest if he shall have a whole bone in his skin!" Thomas Hood. - Adapted
THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM.
THE drunkard dreamed of his old retreat,-
Of his cosey place in the tap-room seat;
And the liquor gleamed on his gloating eye,
Till his lips to the sparkling glass drew nigh.
He lifted it up with an eager glance,
And sang, as he saw the bubbles dance,
"Aha! I am myself again!
Here's a truce to care, an adieu to pain.
Welcome the cup, with its creamy foam!
Farewell to work and a mopy home!
With a jolly crew and a flowing bowl,
In bar-room pleasures I love to roll!"
Like a flash, there came to the drunkard's side
His angel child, who that night had died!
With look so gentle, and sweet, and fond,
She touched his glass with her little wand;
And oft as he raised it up to drink,
She silently tapped on its trembling brink,
Till the drunkard shook from foot to crown,
And set the untasted goblet down.
"Hey, man!" cried the host, "what meaneth this?
Is the covey sick? or the dram amiss?
Cheer up, my lad! quick the bumper quaff!"
And he glared around with a fiendish laugh.
The drunkard raised his glass once more,
And looked at its depths as so oft before;
But started to see, on its pictured foam,
The face of his dead little child at home!
Then again the landlord at him sneered,
And the swaggering crowd of drunkards jeered;
But still, as he tried that glass to drink,
The wand of his dead one tapped the brink!
The landlord gasped, "I swear, my man,
Thou shalt take every drop of this flowing can!"
The drunkard bowed to the quivering brim,
Though his heart beat fast and his eye grew dim.
But the wand struck harder than before;
The glass was flung on the bar-room floor.
All around the ring the fragments lay,
And the poisonous current rolled away.
The drunkard woke. His dream was gone;
His bed was bathed in the light of morn;
But he saw, as he shook with pale, cold fear,
A beautiful angel hovering near.
He rose; and that seraph was near him still;
It checked his passion, it swayed his will,
It dashed from his lips the maddening bowl,
And victory gave to his ransomed soul!
Since ever that midnight hour he dreamed,
Our hero has been a man redeemed.
And this is the prayer that he prays alway,
And this is the prayer let us help him pray-
That angels may come, in every land,
To dash the cup from the drunkard's hand.
Rev. Charles W. Denison.
HOME from his journey, Farmer John
Arrived this morning, safe and sound,
His black coat off and his old clothes on,
"Now I'm myself," says Farmer John,
And he thinks, "I'll look around."
Up leaps the dog. "Get down, you pup!
Are you so glad you would eat me up?"
The old cow lows at the gate to greet him;
The horses prick up their ears to meet him;
"Well, well, old bay!
Ha, ha, old gray!
Do you get fed when I'm away?"
"You have n't a rib!" says Farmer John; "The cattle are round and sleek;
The colt is going to be a roan,
And a beauty, too, when he has grown ;
We'll wean the colt next week."
Says Farmer John, "When I've been off,
To call you again around the trough,
And watch you and pet you, while you drink,
Is a greater comfort than you can think!"
And he pats old bay,
And he slaps old gray
Ah, this is the comfort of going away!"
"For after all," says Farmer John,
"The best of a journey is getting home,
I've seen great sights - but would I give
This spot and the peaceful life I live,
For all their Paris and Rome?
These hills for the city's stifled air,
And big hotels all bustle and glare,
Land all houses and roads all stones,
That deafen your ears and batter your
Would you, old bay?
Would you, old gray?
That's what one gets by going away?"
"There money is king," says Farmer John; "And fashion is queen; and it's mighty queer To see how sometimes, while the man Is raking and scraping all he can,
The wife spends every year
Enough, you would think, for a score of wives, To keep them in luxury all their lives;
The place is a perfect Babylon,
To a quiet chap," said Farmer John. "You see, old bay,
I'm wiser than when I went away."
"I've found out this," says Farmer John,
"That happiness is not bought and sold
And clutched in a life of waste and hurry,
In nights of pleasure and days of worry;
And wealth is n't all in gold,
Mortgage and stocks, and ten per cent.,
But in simple ways and sweet content,
Few wants, pure hopes, and noble ends,
Some land to till, and a few good friends,
Like you, old bay,
That's what I've learned by going away."
And a happy man is Farmer John-
O, a rich and happy man is he;
He sees the peas and pumpkins growing,
The corn in tassel, the buckwheat blowing,
And fruit on vine and tree.
The large, kind oxen look their thanks.
As he rubs their foreheads and strokes their flanks, The doves light around him, and strut and coo; Says Farmer John, "I'll take you too,
And you, old bay,
And you, old gray,
Next time I travel so far away!"
THE REVOLUTIONARY RISING.
OUT of the North the wild news came,
Far flashing on its wings of flame,
Swift as the boreal light which flies
At midnight through the startled skies.
And there was tumult in the air,
The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat,
And through the wide land everywhere
The answering tread of hurrying feet:
While the first oath of Freedom's
Came on the blast from Lexington;
And Concord roused, no longer tame,
Forgot her old baptismal name,
Made bare her patriot arm of power,
And swelled the discord of the hour.
Within its shade of elm and oak
The church of Berkley Manor stood,
There Sunday found the rural folk,
And some esteemed of gentle blood.
In vain their feet with loitering tread
Passed mid the graves where rank is naught;
All could not read the lesson taught
In that republic of the dead.
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