COMIN' THROUGH THE RYE. IN a body meet a body Comin' through the rye, Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry? Every lassie has her laddie Ne'er a ane hae I; Yet a' the lads they smile at me I dearly lo'e mysel'; But whaur his hame, or what his name, I dinna care to tell. Gin a body meet a body Comin' frae the town, Need a body frown? Ne'er a ane hae I; Yet a' the lads they smile at me When comin' through the rye. THE VAGABONDS. E are two travelers, Roger and I. W Roger's my dog:-come here, you scamp! Jump for the gentlemen-mind your eye! Over the table-look out for the lamp The rogue is growing a little old; Five years we've tramped through wind and weather, We've learned what comfort is, I tell you! A fire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow! (This out-door business is bad for strings,) No, thank ye, sir—I never drink; Well, something hot, then-we won't quarrel. What a pity, sir, that dogs can't talk! He understands every word that's said— And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk. The truth is, sir, now I reflect, I've been so sadly given to grog, I wonder I've not lost the respect But he sticks by, through thick and thin; And rags that smell of tobacco and gin, There isn't another creature living Would do it, and prove, through every disaster. So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving, To such a miserable, thankless master! That chokes a fellow. But no matter! We'll have some music, if you're willing, And Roger (hem! what a plague a cough is, sir! Shall march a little-Start you villain! Stand straight! 'Bout face! Salute your officer! Put up that paw! Dress! Take your rifle ! (Some dogs have arms, you see!) Now hold your Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle, To aid a poor old patriot soldier! March! Halt! Now show how the rebel shakes But I've gone through such wretched treatment, And there are times when, mad with thinking, Is there a way to forget to think? The same old story; you know how it ends. If you had seen her, so fair and young, Whose head was happy on this breast! If you could have heard the songs I sung When the wine went round, you wouldn't have guessed That ever I, sir, should be straying From door to door, with fiddle and dog, Ragged and penniless, and playing To you to-night for a glass of grog! She's married since—a parson's wife: 'Twas better for her that we should partBetter the soberest, prosiest life Than a blasted home and a broken heart. I have seen her? Once: I was weak and spent, You've set me talking, sir; I'm sorry ; It makes me wild to think of the change! 'Twas well she died before-Do you know If the happy spirits in heaven can see The ruin and wretchedness here below? Another glass, and strong, to deaden Aching thing, in place of a heart? He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could, No doubt remembering things that were— A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food, And himself a sober, respectable cur. I'm better now; that glass was warming,- We must be fiddling and performing For supper and bed, or starve in the street. Not a very gay life to lead, you think? But soon we shall go where lodgings are free. And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink ;— The sooner, the better for Roger and me! JOHN T. TROWBRIDGE. OVER THE HILL TO THE POOR-HOUSE. Once I was young and han'some--I was, upon my soul Once my cheeks were roses, my eyes as black as coal; And I can't remember, in them days, of hearin' people say, For any kind of reason, that I was in their way. 'Taint no use of boastin', or talkin' over free, And when to John I was married, sure he was good But he and all the neighbors would own I done my part; For life was all before me, an' I was young an' strong, And I worked the best that I could in tryin' to get along. And so we worked together: and life was hard but gay, With now an' then a baby, for to cheer us on our way; Till we had half a dozen, an' all growed lean an' neat, So we worked for the child'r'n, and raised 'em even Worked for 'em summer and winter, just as we ought to 've done, Only perhaps we humored 'em, which some good folks condemn, But every couple's child'rn's a heap the best to them. Strange how much we think of our blessed little ones ! VER the hill to the poor-house I'm trudgin' I'd have died for my daughters, I'd have died for my my weary way— sons; I, a woman of seventy, and only a trifle And God He made that rule of love; but when we're I, who am smart an' chipper, for all the years I've I've noticed it sometimes somehow fails to work the told, As many another woman, that's only half as old. Over the hill to the poor-house-I can't make it quite clear! Over the hill to the poor-house-it seems so horrid queer! Many a step I've taken a-toilin' to and fro, But this is a sort of journey I never thought to go. What is the use of heapin' on me a pauper's shame? ▲ a win' and anxious an' ready any day, To work for a decent livin', an' pay my honest way; other way. Strange, another thing; when our boys an' girls was grown, And when, exceptin' Charley, they'd left us there alone; When John he nearer an' nearer come, an' dearer seemed to be, The Lord of Hosts he came one day an' took him away from me. Still I was bound to struggle; an' never to cringe of fall Still I worked for Charley, for Charley was now my all; And Charley was pretty good to me, with scarce a word or frown, Till at last he went a courtin', and brought a wife from town. She was somewhat dressy, an' hadn't a pleasant | Over the hill to the poor-house-my child'rn dear, smile She was quite conceity, and carried a heap o' style; But if ever I tried to be friends, I did with her, I know; But she was hard and proud, an' I couldn't make it go. She had an edication, an' that was good for her; But when she twitted me on mine 'twas carryin' things too fur: An' told her once 'fore company (an' it almost made her sick), That I never swallowed a grammar, or 'et a 'rithmetic. So 'twas only a few days before the thing was doneThey was a family of themselves, and I another one; And a very little cottage for one family will do, But I have never seen a house that was big enough for two. An' I never could speak to suit her, never could please her eye, An' it made me independent, an' then I didn't try ; But I was terribly staggered, an' felt it like a blow, When Charley turned ag'in me, an' told me I could go. I went to live with Susan, but Susan's house was small, And she was always a-hintin' how snug it was for us all; And what with her husband's sister, and what with child'rn three, Twas easy to discover that there wasn't room for me. An' then I went to Thomas, the oldest son I've got, For Thomas' buildings 'd cover the half of an acre lot; But all the child'rn was on me-I couldn't stand their sauce And Thomas said I needn't think I was comin' there to boss. An' then I wrote to Rebecca-my girl who lives out West, And to Isaac, not far from her-some twenty miles at best: And one of 'em said twas too warm there, for any one so old, And t'other had an opinion the climate was too cold. So they have shirked and slighted me, an' shifted me about So they have well nigh soured me, an' wore my old heart out; But still I've borne up pretty well, an' wasn't much put down, Till Charley went to the poor-master, an' put me on the town. good-bye! Many a night I've watched you when only God was nigh; And God 'll judge between us; but I will alays pray That you shall never suffer the half I do to-day. WILL M. Carleton. SONG. LADY, leave thy silken thread Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand 'T is like the birthday of the world, Have turned to blossoms where they fell, There 's fairy tulips in the east- The very streams reflect the hues, THOMAS HOOD. IN THE SUMMER TWILIGHT. N the summer twilight, While yet the dew was hoar, I went plucking purple pansies Were keeping out at sea, And, "Come,” I sang, “my true love, But the sea it fell a-moaning, And the white gulls rocked thereon, And the young moon dropped from heaven, And the lights hid, one by one. All silently their glances Slipped down the cruel sea, And, "Wait," cried the night and wind and storm "Wait till I come to thee." HARRIET PRescott Spofford. |