Part 38 (1/2)
This book is all that's left me now!
Tears will unbidden start,-- With faltering lip and throbbing brow I press it to my heart.
For many generations past, Here is our family tree: My mother's hand this Bible clasped; She, dying, gave it me.
Ah! well do I remember those Whose names these records bear, Who round the hearthstone used to close After the evening prayer, And speak of what these pages said, In tones my heart would thrill!
Though they are with the silent dead, Here are they living still!
My father read this holy book To brothers, sisters, dear; How calm was my poor mother's look, Who leaned G.o.d's word to hear.
Her angel-face--I see it yet!
What thronging memories come!
Again that little group is met Within the halls of home!
Thou truest friend man ever knew, Thy constancy I've tried; Where all were false I found thee true, My counsellor and guide.
The mines of earth no treasure give That could this volume buy: In teaching me the way to live, It taught me how to die.
AFTER-DINNER SPEECH BY A FRENCHMAN.
”Milors and Gentlemans--You excellent chairman, M. le Baron de Mount-Stuart, he have say to me, 'Make de toast.' Den I say to him dat I have no toast to make; but he nudge my elbow ver soft, and say dat dere is von toast dat n.o.body but von Frenchman can make proper; and, derefore, wid your kind permission, I vill make de toast. 'De brevete is de sole of de feet,' as you great philosophere, Dr. Johnson, do say, in dat amusing little vork of his, de p.r.o.nouncing Dictionaire; and, derefore, I vill not say ver moch to de point.
”Ah! mes amis! ven I hear to myself de flowing speech, de oration magnifique of your Lor' Maire, Monsieur Gobbledown, I feel dat it is von great privilege for von etranger to sit at de same table, and to eat de same food, as dat grand, dat majestique man, who are de tereur of de voleurs and de brigands of de metropolis, and who is also, I for to suppose, a halterman and de chief of you common scoundrel. Milors and gentlemans, I feel that I can perspire to no greatare honueur dan to be von common scoundrelman myself; but, helas! dat plaisir are not for me, as I are not freeman of your great cite, not von liveryman servant of von you compagnies joint-stock. But I must not forget de toast.
”Milors and Gentlemans! De immortal Shakispeare he have write, 'De ting of beauty are de joy for nevermore.' It is de ladies who are de toast. Vat is more entrancing dan de charmante smile, de soft voice, de vinking eye of de beautiful lady! It is de ladies who do sweeten the cares of life. It is de ladies who are de guiding stars of our existence. It is de ladies who do cheer but not inebriate, and, derefore, vid all homage to dere s.e.x, de toast dat I have to propose is, 'De Ladies! Heaven bless dem all!'”
THE WHIRLING WHEEL.
BY TUDOR JENKS.
Oh! the regular round is a kind of a grind!
We rise in the morning only to find That Monday's but Tuesday, and Wednesday's the same, And Thursday's a change in nothing but name; A Friday and Sat.u.r.day wind up the week; On Sunday we rest, and attempt to look meek.
So set a firm shoulder And push on the wheel!
The mill that we're grinding Works for our weal.
And although the dull round is a kind of a grind, It has compensations that we may find.
Famine and slaughter and sieges no more Are likely to leave their cards at the door.
Let others delight in adventurous lives-- We read their sore trials at home to our wives.
So set a firm shoulder And push on the wheel!
The mill that we're grinding Works for our weal.
The regular round, though a kind of a grind, Brings thoughts of contentment to quiet the mind: The babies sleep soundly in snug little beds; There's a tight little roof o'er the ringletted heads; The wife's welcome comes with the set of the sun, And the worker may rest, for the day's work is done.