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 When he stands up to hear his sentence.

Now tell us how many drams it takes

To honor a jolly new acquaintance. Five yelps, that's five; he's mighty knowing! The night's before us, fill the glasses! Quick, sir! I'm ill, - my brain is going!

Some brandy, thank you, passes!

there!

Why not reform? That's easily said;

it

But I've gone through such wretched treatment,

Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread,
And scarce remembering what meat meant,
That my poor stomach 's past reform;

And there are times when, mad with thinking,
I'd sell out heaven for something warm
To prop a horrible inward sinking.

Is there a way to forget to think ?

At your age, sir, home, fortune, friends, A dear girl's love, - but I took to drink,

The same old story; you know how it ends. If you could have seen these classic features, You need n't laugh, sir; they were not then Such a burning libel on God's creatures; I was one of your handsome men!

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

She 's married since, - a parson's wife;

'T was better for her that we should part, Better the soberest, prosiest life

Than a blasted home and a broken heart. I have seen her? Once: I was weak and spent On the dusty road, a carriago stopped; But little she dreamed, as on she went,

Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped!

You've set me talking, sir; I'm sorry;

It makes me wild to think of the change!
What do you care for a beggar's story?
Is it amusing? you find it strange?
I had a mother so proud of me !

'T was 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

This pain; then Roger and I will start. I wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden, 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.
You rascal! limber your lazy feet !
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!
J. T. TROWBRIDGE.

THE POOR MAN AND THE FIEND.

A FIEND once met a humble man

At night, in the cold dark street, And led him into a palace fair,

Where music circled sweet;

And light and warmth cheered the wanderer's

heart,

From frost and darkness screened,
Till his brain grew mad beneath the joy,
And he worshipped before the fiend.

Ah! well if he ne'er had knelt to that fiend,
For a taskmaster grim was he;

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!

I enjoin thee to yield to me;
And when, from rising till set of sun,

Thou hast toiled in the heat or snow,
Let thy gains on mine altar an offering be";
And the poor man ne'er said "No!"

"

And he laughed in fearful mirth :

Bring forth thy little ones," quoth he,

"My godhead wills it so !

I want an evening sacrifice";

And the poor man ne'er said "No!"

A young wife sat by the poor man's fire,

Who, since she blushed a bride,

Had gilded his sorrow, and brightened his joys,

His guardian, friend, and guide. Foul fall the fiend! he gave command,

"Come, mix the cup of woe,

Bid thy young wife drain it to the dregs";
And the poor man ne'er said "No!"

O, misery now for this poor man!

O, deepest of misery !

Next the fiend his godlike reason took,

And amongst beasts fed he;

And when the sentinel mind was gone,

He pilfered his soul also;

And- marvel of marvels! - he murmured not;

The poor man ne'er said "No!"

Now, men and matrons in your prime,
Children and grandsires old,
Come listen, with soul as well as ear,
This saying whilst I unfold;

O, listen! till your brain whirls round,
And your heart is sick to think,
That in England's isle all this befell,
And the name of the fiend was - DRINK!

REV. MR. MACLELLAN.

THE HAPPY HEART.

ART thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers ? O sweet content!

Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed ?

O punishment !

Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed
To add to golden numbers, golden numbers?
O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!

Work apace, apace, apace, apace;
Honest labor bears a lovely face;

Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!

SWEET IS THE PLEASURE.

SWEET is the pleasure
Itself cannot spoil!

Is not true leisure

One with true toil?

Thou that wouldst taste it,

Still do thy best;

Use it, not waste it,
Else 't is no rest.

Wouldst behold beauty

Near thee? all round?

Only hath duty

Such a sight found.

Rest is not quitting

The busy career ;

Rest is the fitting

Of self to its sphere.

'T is the brook's motion, Clear without strife,

Fleeing to ocean

After its life.

Deeper devotion

Nowhere hath knelt;

Fuller emotion

Heart never felt.

'T is loving and serving
The highest and best;
'T is onwards! unswerving,
And that is true rest.

JOHN SULLIVAN DWIGHT.

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.

UNDER a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

They rise with the morning lark,

And labor till almost dark,

Then, folding their sheep, they hasten to sleep;

While every pleasant park

Next morning is ringing with birds that

are singing,

On each green, tender bough.

With what content and merriment Their days are spent whose minds are bent To follow the useful plough !

ANONYMOUS.