Part 13 (1/2)

”There's a sheet of letter-paper,” he returned ”Did you ever buy a sheet of letter-paper?”

I could not remember that I ever had

”It's dear,” he said, ”on account of the duty Threepence That's the e're taxed in this country There's nothing else, except the waiter Never mind the ink! _I_ lose by that”

”What should you--what should I--how ht to pay the waiter, if you please?” I sta

”If I hadn't a family, and that family hadn't the cowpock,” said the waiter, ”I wouldn't take a sixpence If I didn't support a aged pairint, and a lovely sister,”--here the waiter was greatly agitated--”I wouldn't take a farthing If I had a good place, and was treated well here, I should beg acceptance of a trifle, instead of taking of it But I live on broken wittles--and I sleep on the coals”--here the waiter burst into tears

I was very nition short of ninepence would be ave his, which he received with much humility and veneration, and spun up with his thuoodness of

It was a little disconcerting tohelped up behind the coach, that I was supposed to have eaten all the dinner without any assistance I discovered this, frouard: ”Take care of that child, George, or he'll burst!” and fro that the wogle atphenomenon My unfortunate friend, the waiter, who had quite recovered his spirits, did not appear to be disturbed by this, but joined in the general ad at all confused If I had any doubt of him, I suppose this half-awakened it; but I am inclined to believe that, with the simple confidence and natural reliance of a child upon superior years (qualities I ae for worldly wisdom), I had no serious mistrust of him on the whole, even then

dickens: ”David Copperfield”

THE BAREFOOT BOY

Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!

With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes; With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill; With the sunshi+ne on thy face, Through thy torn briive thee joy,-- I was once a barefoot boy!

Prince thou art,--the grown-up man Only is republican

Let theat his side, Thou hast more than he can buy In the reach of ear and eye,-- Outward sunshi+ne, inward joy; Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood's painless play, Sleep that wakes in laughing day, Health that e never learned of schools, Of the wild bee's ht of fowl and habitude Of the tenants of the wood; How the tortoise bears his shell, How the woodchuck digs his cell, And the ground-, How the oriole's nest is hung; Where the whitest lilies blow, Where the freshest berries grow, Where the ground-nut trails its vine, Where the wood-grape's clusters shi+ne; Of the black wasp's cunning way, Mason of his walls of clay, And the architectural plans Of gray hornet artisans!-- For, eschewing books and tasks, Nature answers all he asks; Hand in hand with her he walks, Face to face with her he talks, Part and parcel of her joy,-- Blessings on the barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood's tis I heard or saw, Me, their master, waited for

I was rich in flowers and trees, Hu-birds and honey-bees; For my sport the squirrel played, Plied the snouted mole his spade; For e and stone; Laughed the brook forat the garden wall, Talked with me from fall to fall, Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, Mine the walnut slopes beyond, Mine, on bending orchard trees, Apples of Hesperides!

Still, as rew my riches, too; All the world I saw or knew Seemed a complex Chinese toy, Fashi+oned for a barefoot boy!

Oh for festal dainties spread, Like my bowl of milk and bread;-- Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, On the door-stone, gray and rude!

O'er al tent, Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, Looped infold; While for ht the noisy choir, Lit the fly his lamp of fire

I was monarch: pomp and joy Waited on the barefoot boy!

Cheerily, then, h the flinty slopes be hard, Stubble-speared the neard, Every h Fresh baptis from thy feet Shall the cool wind kiss the heat; All too soon these feet must hide In the prison cells of pride, Lose the freedom of the sod, Like a colt's for work be shod, Made to tread the mills of toil, Up and down in ceaseless round; Happy if they sink not in Quick and treacherous sands of sin

Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy, Ere it passes, barefoot boy!