UNCLE PETE'S COUNSEL TO THE NEWLY

MARRIED.

Y

My chil'ren, lub one anoder; b'ar wid one anoder; be

faithful ter one anoder. You hab started on a long journey; many rough places am in de road; many trubbles will spring up by de wayside; but gwo on hand an' hand togedder; lub one anoder, an' no matter what come onter you, you will be happy-for lub will sweeten ebery sorrer, lighten ebery load, make the sun shine in eben de bery cloudiest wedder. I knows it will, my chil'ren, 'case I'se been ober de groun'. Ole Aggy an' I hab trabbled de road. Hand in hand we hab gone ober de rocks; fru de mud; in de hot burning sand; been out togedder in de cole, an' de rain, an' de storm, fur nigh onter forty yar, but we hab clung to one anoder; an' fru ebery ting in de bery darkest days, de sun ob joy an' peace hab broke fru de clouds, an' sent him bressed rays inter our hearts. We started jess like two young saplin's you's seed a growin' side by side in de woods. At fust we seemed 'way part fur de brambles, and de tick bushes, an' de ugly forns-(dem war our bad ways)-war atween us, but lub, like de sun, shone down on us, an' we grow'd. We grow'd till our heads got above de bushes; till dis little branch, an' dat little branch-dem war our holy feelin's-put out toward one anoder, an' we come closer an' closer togedder. An' dough we'm ole trees now, an' sometime de wind blow, an' de storm rage fru de tops, an' freaten to tear off de limbs, an' ter pull up de bery roots, we'm growin' closer an closer, an' nearer an' nearer togedder ebery day-an' soon de ole tops will meet; soon de ole branches, all cobered ober wid de gray moss, will twine roun' one anoder; soon de two ole trees will come togedder, an'

grow inter one foreber-grow inter one up dar in de sky whar de wind neber'll blow, whar de storm neber'll beat; whar we shill blossom an' bar fruit to de glory ob de Lord, an' in His heabenly kingdom foreber, Amen. EDMUND KIRKE.

DRA

BETSY AND I ARE OUT.

RAW up the papers, lawyer, and make 'em good and stout,

For things at home are cross-ways, and Betsy and I are out,

We who have worked together so long as man and wife, Must pull in single harness the rest of our natʼral life.

"What is the matter," says you? I swan! it's hard to tell!

Most of the years behind us we've passed by very well;
I have no other woman-she has no other man;
Only we've lived together as long as ever we can.

So I have talked with Betsy, and Betsy has talked with

me;

And we have agreed together, that we can never agree; Not that we've catched each other in any terrible crime, We've been a gatherin' this for years, a little at a time.

There was a stock of temper we both had for a start; Although we ne'er suspected, 'twould take us two apart; I had my various failings, bred in the flesh and bone, And Betsy, like all good women, had a temper of her

own.

The first thing, I remember, whereon we disagreed,
Was somethin' concerning heaven-a difference in our

creed;

We arg❜ed the thing at breakfast—we arg❜ed the thing

at tea

And the more we arg'ed the question, the more we couldn't agree.

And the next that I remember was when we lost a cow; She had kicked the bucket, for certain-the question was only-How?

I held my opinion, and Betsy another had;

And when we were done a talkin', we both of us was mad.

And the next that I remember, it started in a joke; But for full a week it lasted and neither of us spoke. And the next was when I fretted because she broke a

bowl;

And she said I was mean and stingy, and hadn't any soul.

And so the thing kept workin', and all the self-same way;

Always something to arg'e and something sharp to say,— And down on us came the neighbors, a couple o' dozen strong,

And lent their kindest sarvice to help the thing along.

And there have been days together-and many a weary week

When both of us were cross and spunky, and both too proud to speak;

And I have been thinkin' and thinkin', the whole of the summer and fall,

If I can't live kind with a woman, why, then I won't at all.

And so I have talked with Betsy, and Betsy has talked with me;

And we have agreed together that we can never agree; And what is hers shall be hers, and what is mine shall be mine;

And I'll put it in the agreement and take it to her to sign.

Write on the paper, lawyer-the very first paragraphOf all the farm and live stock, she shall have her

half;

For she has helped to earn it, through many a weary day,

An it's nothin' more than justice that Betsy has her pay.

Give her the house and homestead- -a man can thrive and roam,

But women are wretched critters unless they have a home.

And I have always determined, and never failed to say, That Betsy never should want a home, if I was taken

away.

There's a little hard money besides, that's drawin' tol'rable pay,

A couple of hundred dollars laid by for a rainy day,Safe in the hands of good men, and easy to get at;

Put in another clause there, and give her all of that.

I see that you are smiling, sir, at my givin' her so much; Yes, divorce is cheap, sir, but I take no stock in such; True and fair I married her, when she was blithe and

young,

And Betsy was always good to me, exceptin' with her tongue.

When I was young as you, sir, and not so smart, perhaps,
For me she mittened a lawyer, and several other chaps;
And all of 'em was flustered, and fairly taken down,
And for a time I was counted the luckiest man in town.

Once, when I had a fever-I won't forget it soon-
I was hot as a basted turkey and crazy as a loon-
Never an hour went by me, when she was out of sight;
She nursed me true and tender, and stuck to me day and

night.

And if ever a house was tidy, and ever a kitchen clean, Her house and kitchen were tidy as any I ever seen; And I don't complain of Betsy or any of her acts, Exceptin' when we've quarreled, and told each other facts.

So draw up the paper, lawyer; and I'll go home to-night, And read the agreement to her and see if it's all right; And then in the mornin' I'll sell to a tradin' man I know

And kiss the child that was left to us, and out in the world I'll go.

And one thing put in the paper, that first to me didn't

occur;

That when I'm dead at last she will bring me back to her, And lay me under the maple we planted years ago, When she and I were happy, before we quarreled so.