Lit up the beauty of each angel's face
At that new utterance, smiles of joy that grew
More joyous yet, as ever and anon
Was heard the simple burden of the hymn,
"Praise God! praise God!"
And when the seraph's song
Had reached its close, and o'er the golden lyre
Silence hung brooding,--when the eternal courts
Rang with the echoes of his chant sublime,
Still through the abysmal space that wandering voice
Came floating upward from its world afar,
Still murmured sweet on the celestial air,
"Praise God! praise God!"
MY FRIEND'S SECRET.
I found my friend in his easy chair,
With his heart and his head undisturbed by a care;
The smoke of a Cuba outpoured from his lips,
His face like the moon in a semi-eclipse;
His feet, in slippers, as high as his nose,
And his chair tilted back to a classical pose.
I marvelled much such contentment to see--
The secret whereof I begged he'd give me.
He puffed away with re-animate zest,
As though with an added jollity blest.
"I'll tell you, my friend," said he, in a pause,
"What is the very 'identical' cause.
"Don't fret!--Let this be the first rule of your life;--
Don't fret with your children, don't fret with your wife;
Let everything happen as happen it may,
Be cool as a cucumber every day;
If favourite of fortune or a thing of its spite,
Keep calm, and believe that all is just right.
"If you're blown up abroad or scolded at home,
Just make up your mind to let it all come:
If people revile you or pile on offence,
'Twill not make any odds a century hence.
For all the reviling that malice can fling,
A little philosophy softens the sting.
"Run never in debt, but pay as you go;
A man free from debt feels a heaven below;
He rests in a sunshine undimmed by a dun,
And ranks 'mid the favoured as A No. 1.
It needs a great effort the spirit to brace
'Gainst the terror that dwells in a creditor's face.
"And this one resolve you should cherish like gold,
--It has ever my life and endeavour controlled,--
If fortune assail, and worst comes to worst,
And business proves bad, its bubbles all burst,
Be resolved, if disaster your plans circumvent,
That you will, if you fail, owe no man a cent."
There was Bunsby's deep wisdom revealed in his tone,
Though its depth was hard to fathom I own;
"For how can I fail," I said to myself,
"If to pay all my debts I have enough pelf?"
Then I scratched my sinciput, battling for light,
But gave up the effort, supposing 'twas right;
And herein give out, as my earnest intent,
Whenever I fail to owe no man a cent.
VAIN REGRETS.
A seedy old beggar asked alms of me
As he sat 'neath the shade of a wayside tree.
He was beggared in purse and beggared in soul,
And his voice betrayed a pitiful dole,
As he sang a song, to a dismal pitch,
With the burden, "IF THINGS WAS ONLY SICH!"
"If things was only sich," said he,
"You should see what a wonderful man I'd be;
No beggar I, by the wayside thrown,
But I'd live in a palace and millions own,
And men would court me if I were rich--
As I'd be if things was only sich."
"If things was only sich," said he,
"I'd be lord of the land and lord of the sea;
I would have a throne and be a king,
And rule the roast with a mighty swing--
I'd make a place in Fame's bright niche;
I'd do it if things was only sich."
"If things was only sich," said he,
"Rare wines I'd quaff from the far countree,
I'd cloth myself in dazzling garb,
I'd mount the back of the costly barb,
And none should ask me wherefore or which--
Did it chance that things was only sich."
"If things was only sich," said he,
"I'd love the fairest and they'd love me;
Yon dame, with a smile that warms my heart,
Might have borne with me life's better part,
But lost to me, here in poverty's ditch,
What were mine if things was only sich."
Thus the old beggar moodily sung,
And his eyes dropped tears as his hands he wrung.
I could but pity to hear him berate,
In dolorous tones the decrees of Fate,
That laid on his back its iron switch,
While he cried, "If things was only sich."
"If things was only sich!"--e'en all
Might the past in sad review recall;
But little the use and little the gain,
Exhuming the bones of buried pain,
And whether we're poor or whether we're rich,
We'll say not, "If things was only sich."
ON THE SHORES OF TENNESSEE.
E.L. BEERS.
The opening verses should be given in a low, almost plaintive
tone; when the flag is seen, the exclamations should be
ejaculated with spirit and rapturous delight. Care should
be taken not to give the negro _patois_ too broad, or it may
prove a defect; where properly spoken it is really a beauty:
"Move my arm-chair, faithful Pompey
In the sunshine bright and strong,
For this world is fading, Pompey--
Massa won't be with you long;
And I fain would hear the south wind
Bring once more the sound to me,
Of the wavelets softly breaking
On the shores of Tennessee.
"Mournful though the ripples murmur
As they still the story tell,
How no vessels float the banner
That I've loved so long and well.
I shall listen to their music,
Dreaming that again I see
Stars and stripes on sloop and shallop
Sailing up the Tennessee;
"And, Pompey, while old Massa's waiting
For Death's last dispatch to come,
If that exiled starry banner
Should come proudly sailing home.
You shall greet it slave no longer--
Voice and hand shall both be free
That shout and point to Union colors
On the waves of Tennessee."
"Massa's berry kind to Pompey;
But old darkey's happy here.
Where he's tended corn and cotton
For dese many a long gone year.
Over yonder, Missis' sleeping--
No one tends her grave like me:
Mebbe she would miss the flowers
She used to love in Tennessee.
"'Pears like, she was watching Massa--
If Pompey should beside him stay,
Mebbe she'd remember better
How for him she used to pray;
Telling him that way up yonder
White as snow his soul would be,
If he served the Lord of Heaven
While he lived in Tennessee."
Silently the tears were rolling
Down the poor old dusky face,
As he stepped behind his master,
In his long-accustomed place.
Then a silence fell around them,
As they gazed on rock and tree
Pictured in the placid waters
Of the rolling Tennessee;--
Master, dreaming of the battle
Where he fought by Marion's side,
When he bid the haughty Tarleton
Stoop his lordly crest of pride;--
Man, remembering how yon sleeper
Once he held upon his knee,
Ere she loved the gallant soldier,
Ralph Vervair of Tennessee.
Still the south wind fondly lingers
'Mid the veteran's silver hair;
Still the bondman close beside him
Stands behind the old arm-chair,
With his dark-hued hand uplifted,
Shading eyes, he bends to see
Where the woodland, boldly jutting,
Turns aside the Tennessee.
Thus he watches cloud-born shadows
Glide from tree to mountain-crest,
Softly creeping, aye and ever
To the river's yielding breast.
Ha! above the foliage yonder
Something flutters wild and free
"Massa! Massa! Hallelujah!
The flag's come back to Tennessee!"
"Pompey, hold me on your shoulder,
Help me stand on foot once more,
That I may salute the colors
As they pass my cabin door.
Here's the paper signed that frees you,
Give a freeman's shout with me--
'God and Union!' be our watchword
Evermore in Tennessee!"
Then the trembling voice grew fainter,
And the legs refused to stand;
One prayer to Jesus--and the soldier
Glided to the better land.
When the flag went down the river
Man and master both were free;
While the ring-dove's note was mingled
With the rippling Tennessee.
THE BLACK REGIMENT. PORT HUDSON.
MAY 27, 1863.
GEO. H. BOKER.
Dark as the clouds of even,
Ranked in the western heaven,
Waiting the breath that lifts
All the dread mass, and drifts
Tempest and falling brand
Over a ruined land;--
So still and orderly,
Arm to arm, knee to knee,
Waiting the great event
Stands the black regiment.
Down the long dusky line
Teeth gleam and eye-balls shine,
And the bright bayonet,
Bristling, and firmly set,
Flashed with a purpose grand,
Long, ere the sharp command
Of the fierce rolling drum
Told them their time had come,
Told them what work was sent
For the black regiment.
"Now," the flag-sergeant cried,
"Though death and hell betide,
Let the whole nation see
If we are fit to be
Free in this land; or bound
Down, like the whining hound,--
Bound with red stripes of pain
In our cold chains again!"
Oh! what a shout there went
From the black regiment!
"Charge!" trump and drum awoke,
Onward the bondmen broke:
Bayonet and sabre stroke
Vainly opposed their rush.
Through the wild battle's crush,
With but one thought aflush,
Driving their lords like chaff,
In the guns' mouths they laugh;
Or at the slippery brands
Leaping with open hands,
Down they tear man and horse,
Down in their awful course;
Trampling with bloody heel
Over the crashing steel,
All their eyes forward bent,
Rushed the black regiment.
"Freedom!" their battle-cry,--
"Freedom! or learn to die!"
Ah! and they meant the word,
Not as with us 'tis heard,
Not a mere party shout:
They gave their spirits out;
Trusted the end to God,
And on the glory sod
Rolled in triumphant blood.
Glad to strike one free blow,
Whether for weal or woe;
Glad to breathe one free breath,
Though on the lips of death,
Praying--alas! in vain!--
That they might fall again,
So they could once more see
That burst to liberty!
This was what "freedom" lent
To the black regiment.
Hundreds on hundreds fell;
But they are resting well;
Scourges and shackles strong
Never shall do them wrong.
O, to the living few,
Soldiers, be just and true!
Hail them as comrades tried;
Fight with them side by side;
Never in field or tent,
Scorn the black regiment.
THE THIEF OF TIME.
CHARACTERS.
JOHN RAY, }
CHARLEY CHEERFUL, } School-boys.
RALPH READY, }
MR. HANKS, a Deaf Gentleman.
JOHN CLOD, a Countryman.
PATSY FLINN, an Irishman.
SCENE.--_A Quiet Place in the Country._
_Enter_ RALPH READY, R., _with School-books_.
_Ralph._ Twenty minutes of nine. I can take it easy this morning. How
glad I am I staid at home last night and studied "Spartacus." It's
Declamation Day, and I want to win the highest mark. If I fail, it
will not be for want of study. I believe I'm all right. (_Declaims._)
"Ye call me Chief--"[1]
[Footnote 1: The dialogue can be lengthened, if necessary,
by allowing Charley and Ralph to declaim the whole of their
pieces.]
_Enter_ CHARLEY CHEERFUL, L.
_Charley._ (_Clapping his hands._) Bravo! Bravo! Spartacus. "They
do well to call _you_ chief!" number one in arithmetic, history, and
geography; and to-day I've no doubt we shall call you number one in
declamation.
_Ralph._ Ah, Charley, glad to see you. Are you all ready for the
contest?
_Charley._ Yes, Ralph. (_Declaims._)
"Again to the battle, Achaians;
Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance."
_Ralph._ I see "a foeman worthy of my steel." Well, Charley, good luck
to you.
_Charley._ The same to you. I believe we are about equally matched. I
want to take the highest mark, but if I am to be defeated, there's no
one to whom I'd sooner surrender the "victor's laurels" than to you.
_Ralph._ And I can heartily say the same of you; but we must both look
out. John Ray told the boys yesterday he was bound to have the highest
mark.
_Charley._ I don't fear him.
_Ralph._ But he's a good declaimer, Charley.
_Charley._ I'll acknowledge that; but you know he's a terrible fellow
for putting off study until the last moment. It was only yesterday
morning Master Jones decided to have declamation to-day. The only time
we had to prepare was yesterday noon, last night, and this morning.
_Ralph._ Time enough, Charley.
_Charley._ Certainly. But I know John Ray hasn't employed it.
Yesterday noon he went boating; last night I'm afraid he visited
Hopkins's melon patch; and this morning I saw him from my window
playing ball.
_Ralph._ Then we've not much to fear from him; but here he is, puffing
like a porpoise.
_Enter_ JOHN RAY, L., _with a book._
_John._ Hallo, boys! what's the time?
_Charley._ Eighteen minutes of nine. All ready for the declamation?
_John._ Not yet; there's time enough.
_Ralph._ Time enough! What have you selected?
_John._ "Tell's Address." I'm going to pitch into it now. I can do it
in eighteen minutes.
_Charley._ Why, you haven't left it till now?
_John._ Of course I have. Time enough, I tell you. I've got a
locomotive memory, you know. None of your slow coaches. I shall only
have to read it over two or three times.
_Ralph._ But why didn't you take it up before?
_John._ What's the use? I went boating yesterday; and last night I
went--somewhere else.
_Charley._ Yes! you took a _melon_choly walk. Hey, John?
_John._ What do you mean by that?
_Charley._ No matter. You'd better study Tell's Address, if you expect
to be ready by nine o'clock.
_John._ So I had. Well, you run along, and let me have this place to
myself. It's a quiet place. So good by. I'll see you by nine o'clock,
with Tell's Address perfect.
_Charley._ Well, good luck to you. Come Ralph.
_Ralph._ I say, Ray; what's the proverb about the "thief of time"?
_John._ Who do you call a thief?
_Ralph._ A slow coach, that will rob you of your laurels spite of your
locomotive memory. Come along Charley. [_Exeunt_ CHARLEY _and_ RALPH
R.
_John._ Now, who told them I was after melons last night. (_Opens
book._) "Tell's Address." Won't I astonish those lads! What's the use
of wasting time in study before it's needed? (_Reads._)
"Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again."
_Enter_ MR. HANKS, L.
_Mr. Hanks._ Look here, boy; where's Mr. Simmons's house?
_John._ O, bother! Over by the mill.
_Mr. H._ Hey?
_John._ Over by the mill.
_Mr. H._ Over that hill? Good gracious! You don't mean I've got to
travel as far as that, do you, in the hot sun?
_John._ No, no; it's only a little ways.
_Mr. H._ Only a little blaze! It's an awful hot morning.
_John._ O, dear! this old fellow is as deaf as a post. (_Very loud._)
Mr.--Simmons--lives--down--by--the--mill.
_Mr. H._ O, he does! Why didn't you say so before? Down that way?
(_Points_ R.)
_John._ (_Loud._) Yes! To--the--right! That--old--wooden--one--ahead!
_Mr. H._ Who do you call an old wooden head?
_John._ O, dear! I never shall get that piece. You don't understand.
I--said--wooden--house.
_Mr. H._ Hey?
_John._ O, dear! O, dear! (_Points_ R.) That's Mr.
Simmons's--house--down--there!
_Mr. H._ O, yes. Thank you, thank you. I'm a little hard of hearing.
_John._ I see you are. Suffering from a cold?
_Mr. H._ Hey?
_John._ O, what a nuisance! Is it--from a cold you--suffer?
_Mr. H._ Old buffer, indeed! Be more respectful to your elders, young
man; more respectful.
[_Exit_, R.
_John._ I've got rid of him at last, and five minutes gone. O, dear!
(_Reads._)
"Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again!"
_Enter_ MR. HANKS, R.
_Mr. H._ Did you say right or left?
_John._ Good gracious! the man's back! To--the right! To the right!
Follow the stream.
_Mr. H._ Hey?
_John._ Follow--the--stream--as--it--flows.
_Mr. H._ Follow my nose! You're an impudent scamp! I'll ask you no
more questions. [_Exit_, R.
_John._ I hope you won't. This comes of trying to do a good-natured
act. O, dear! that address! (_Reads._)
"Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again!"
_Enter_ JOHN CLOD, L.
_Clod._ I say, sonny; yer hain't seen nothin' of a keow, have yer,
here or hereabouts?
_John._ No, I haven't seen no cow.
_Clod._ Well, don't git mad. It's plaguy strange where that are
keow has travelled tew. Brand new keow dad brought hum from market
yesterday. What on airth shall I do? She's a brindle, short horns.
Yeou hain't seen her?
_John._ No, I haven't seen her. I've seen no cows or cattle of any
kind. It's no use stopping here.
_Clod._ Well, I dunno what's to be did. Marm, she dropped her bakin',
and scooted one way; dad quit ploughin', and scooted another; and I've
been scootin' every which way. Ain't heard a keow moo--mooing, have
yer?
_John._ I don't believe there's a cow within forty miles of here.
_Clod._ Sho! yer jokin' neow. Neow, see here; I kinder think yeou dew
know somethin' about that keow. Jest tell me where she is, and I don't
mind ginning yer fo'pence.
_John._ I tell you again, I know nothing about your cow. I'm studing
my lesson; and if you don't clear out and leave me in peace, I shall
never get it.
_Clod._ Sho! Well, I don't want to hender ye, but I should like to
know what's become of that are keow. [_Exit_, R.
_John._ Gone at last. Was ever a fellow so plagued! I've only got
eight minutes, and I must study. (_Goes to back of stage, and walks up
and down, studying._)
_Enter_ PATSY FLINN, L.
_Patsy._ Begorra, it's a foine irrant I's on ony way. It's all along
iv thim watthermillons, bad luck to 'em! Slaping swately on my bid
last night thinking uv the bould b'ys that fit, blid, and run away
from Canady, I heerd a v'ice in the millon patch, "Here's a bouncer,
b'ys." Faix, didn't I lept out uv that bid, and didn't I hurry on
my clo'es, and didn't I take a big shtick, and didn't I run fur the
patch, and didn't I find nobody? To be sure I did! So this morning,
Mr. Hopkins sinds me to the school-house to find the b'ys that invadid
the sacred retrait, which is the millon-patch. But how will I find
thim? Begorra, I should know that v'ice; and I'll make the whole
school shtand up togither one by one and shout, "Here's a bouncer!"
that I will.
_John._ (_Coming down_ R. _of stage._) Now let's see how much I know.
(_Declaims._)
"Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again!"
_Patsy._ By my sowl, that's the v'ice of my dr'ams!
_John._ "I hold to you the hands you first beheld,
To show they still are free."
_Patsy._ Fray, is it, begorra! Ye'll not hould thim long, me b'y!
_John._ "Methinks I hear
A spirit in your echoes answer me."
_Patsy._ Begorra, ye'll soon hear an Irish echo ax ye something else!
_John._ "And bid your tenant welcome to his home
again!"
_Patsy._ Begorra, you're wilcome to no more watermillons, ye'll find!
_John._ "Ye guards of Liberty!"
_Patsy._ Ye little blackguard!
_John._ "I'm with you once again! I hold my hands to you,
To show they still are free!"
_Patsy._ Begorra, they're stained with watermillons, sure!
_John._ "I rush to you,
As though I could embrace you!"
(_Runs into_ PATSY'S _arms._)
_Patsy._ Come on, I'm waiting for you! O, you blackguard! O, yes
spalpeen! I've got yes!
_John._ Who are you? What do you want? Let me go!
_Patsy._ Niver! Ye must go along wid me, my fine lad; there's a bill a
waiting for you at farmer Hopkins's.
_John._ Farmer Hopkins! But I shall be late for school.
_Patsy._ O, niver mind the school. You'll get a little uv it there,
from a nice big cowhide.
_John._ Let me go, I say!
_Patsy._ Quit your howling, and come along.
_John._ I won't. Help! Help! Help!
_Enter_ CHARLEY _and_ RALPH, R.
_Charley._ What's the matter, Ray?
_Ralph._ Hallo, Patsy! What's to pay now?
_Patsy._ A small bill for watermillons, Master Ralph.
_Ralph._ O, I see; you're found out, Ray!
_John._ Well, I wan't the only one in the patch last night.
_Ralph._ But you're the only one found out; so you must take the
consequences.
_Charley._ Master Jones sent us to look for you; it's five minutes
after nine.
_John._ O, dear, what's to become of me!
_Ralph._ You must get to school at once. Patsy, I'll be answerable for
John Ray's appearance at Farmer Hopkins's after school. Won't that do?
_Patsy._ To be sure it will. I can depind upon you, Master Ralph. But
mind and cape an eye on that chap; fur it's my opinion he's a little
cracked; he's bin ravin' about crags, and peaks, and liberty like a
full-blooded Fenian. I'll go home and practise a bit wid that cowhide.
[_Exit_, L.
_Charley._ Well, John, got your piece?
_John._ Got my piece? No. I've been bothered to death!
_Ralph._ You've been keeping company with the "thief of time."
_John._ I'd like to know what you mean by that.
_Ralph._ I'll tell you. You should have studied your piece yesterday
noon; but, instead of that, you went boating. You should have studied
last night; but instead of that, you got into a scrape, which promises
to make trouble for you; and this morning you played ball instead of
taking time for your work.
_John._ Well, I meant to have studied it yesterday, but I thought I
had plenty of time. I wanted a little recreation.
_Charley._ Yes, John; but you should look out for the lessons first,
and not neglect them. Come, let's go to school.
_John._ And be at the foot of the class. I don't like this.
_Ralph._ You'll find a remedy for it in the copy-book.
_John._ What is it?
_Ralph._ A warning to the dilatory--"Procrastination is the thief of
time."
[_Exeunt_, R.
THE RAIN-DROPS.
T.H. EVANS.
A farmer had a field of corn of rather large extent,
In tending which, with anxious care, much time and toil he spent;
But after working long and hard, he saw, with grief and pain,
His corn began to droop and fade, because it wanted rain.
So sad and restless was his mind, at home he could not stop,
But to his field repaired each day to view his withering crop.
One day, when he stood looking up, despairing, at the sky,
Two little rain-drops in the clouds his sad face chanced to spy.
"I very sorry feel," said one, "to see him look so sad;
I wish I could do him some good; indeed, I should be glad.
Just see the trouble he has had; and if it should not rain,
Why, all his toil, and time, and care he will have spent in vain."
"What use are you," cried number two, "to water so much ground?
You're nothing but a drop of rain, and could not wet one mound."
"What you have said," his friend replied, "I know is very true;
But I'm resolved to do my best, and more I cannot do.
I'll try to cheer his heart a bit: so now I'm off--here goes!"
And down the little rain-drop fell upon the farmer's nose.
"Whatever's that?" the farmer cried. "Was it a drop of rain?
I do believe it's come at last; I have not watched in vain."
Now, when the second rain-drop saw his willing friend depart,
Said he, "I'll go as well, and try to cheer the farmer's heart."
But many rain-drops by this time had been attracted out,
To see and hear what their two friends were talking so about.
"We'll go as well," a number cried, "as our two friends have gone.
We shall not only cheer his heart, but water, too, his corn.
We're off! we're off!" they shout with glee, and down they fell so
fast.
"O bless the Lord!" the farmer cried, "the rain has come at last."
The corn it grew and ripened well, and into food was dressed,
Because a little rain-drop said, "I'll try, and do my best."
This little lesson, children dear, you'll not forget I'm sure;
Try, do your best, do what you can--angels can do no more.
THE SCOLDING OLD DAME.
There once was a toper--I'll not tell his name--
Who had for his comfort a scolding old dame;
And often and often he wished himself dead,
For, if drunk he came home, she would beat him to bed.
He spent all his evenings away from his home,
And, when he returned, he would sneakingly come
And try to walk straightly, and say not a word--
Just to keep his dear wife from abusing her lord;
For if he dared say his tongue was his own,
'Twould set her tongue going, in no gentle tone,
And she'd huff him, and cuff him, and call him hard names,
And he'd sigh to be rid of all scolding old dames.
It happened, one night, on a frolic he went,
He stayed till his very last penny was spent;
But how to go home, and get safely to bed,
Was the thing on his heart that most heavily weighed.
But home he must go; so he caught up his hat,
And off he went singing, by this and by that,
"I'll pluck up my courage; I guess she's in bed.
If she a'nt, 'tis no matter, I'm sure. Who's afraid?"
He came to his door; he lingered until
He peeped, and he listened, and all seemed quite still,
In he went, and his wife, sure enough, was in bed!
"Oh!" says he, "it's just as I thought. Who's afraid?"
He crept about softly, and spoke not a word;
His wife seemed to sleep, for she never e'en stirred!
Thought he, "For _this_ night, then, my fortune is made:
For my dear, scolding wife is asleep! Who's afraid?"
But soon he felt thirsty; and slyly he rose,
And, groping around, to the table he goes,
The pitcher found empty, and so was the bowl,
The pail, and the tumblers--she'd emptied the whole!
At length, in a corner, a vessel he found!
Says he, "Here's something to drink, I'll be bound!"
And eagerly seizing, he lifted it up--
And drank it all off in one long, hearty sup!