Ah ! how she cried for joy when my first legal fight was

won,
When our eclipse passed partly by, and we stood in the

sun !

The fee was fifty dollars 't was the work of half a year
First captive, lean and scraggy, ^of my legal bow and

spear.

I well remember, when my coat (the only one I had)
Was seedy grown and threadbare, and, in fact, most

"shocking bad,"

The tailor's stern remark when I a modest order made :
" Cash is the basis, sir, on which we tailors do our trade."

Her winter cloak was in his shop by noon that very day ;
She wrought on hickory shirts at night that tailor's skill

to pay ;

I got a coat, and wore it ; but alas poor Hannah Jane
Ne'er went to church or lecture till warm weather came

again.

Our second season she refused a cloak of any sort,
That I might have a decent suit in which t' appear in

court ;

She made her last year's bonnet do, that I might have a hat :
Talk of the old-time, flame-enveloped martyrs after that !

No negro ever worked so hard : a servant's pay to save,
She made herself most willingly a household drudge and

slave.

What wonder that she never read a magazine or book,
Combining as she did in one, nurse, house-maid, seam-
stress, cook !

What wonder that the beauty fled that I once so adored !

Her beautiful complexion my fierce kitchen fire devoured ;

Her plump, soft, rounded arm was once too fair to be
concealed ;

Hard work for me that softness into sinewy strength con-
gealed.

I was her altar, and her love the sacrificial flame :
Ah ! with what pure devotion she to that altar came,
And, tearful, flung thereon alas ! I did not know it

then
All that she was, and more than that, all that she might

have been !



SELECTIONS FKOM THE POETS.



283



At last I won success. Ah ! then our lives were wider

parted :
I was far up the rising road ; she, poor girl ! where we

started.
I had tried my speed and mettle, and gained strength in

every race ;
I was far up the heights of life she drudging at the

base.

She made me take each fall the stump ; she said 't was

my career ;
The wild applause of list'ning crowds was music to my

ear.

What stimulus had she to cheer her dreary solitude?
For me she lived on gladly, in unnatural widowhood.

She could n't read my speech, but when the papers all
agreed

'T was the best one of the session, those comments she
could read ;

And with a gush of pride thereat, which I had never
felt,

She sent them to me in a note, with half the words mis-
spelt.

I to the Legislature went, and said that she should go
To see the world with me, and, what the world was doing,

know.
With tearful smile she answered, " No! four dollars is

the pay ;
The Bates House rates for board for one is just that sum

per day."

At twenty-eight the State-house ; on the bench at thirty-
three ;

At forty every gate in life was opened wide to me.

I nursed my powers, and grew, and made my point in life ;
but she

Bearing such pack-horse weary loads, what could a wo-
man be ?

What could she be? Oh, shame ! I blush to think what

she has been

The most unselfish of all wives to the selfishest of men.
Yes, plain and homely now she is ; she 's ignorant, 't is

true ;
For me she rubbed herself quite out I represent the

two.

Well, I suppose that I might do as other men have done

First break her heart with cold neglect, then shove her
out alone.

The world would say 't was well, and more, would give
great praise to me,

For having borne with "such a wife " so uncomplain-
ingly.

And shall I ? No ! The contract 'twixt Hannah, God,

and me,
Was not for one or twenty years, but for eternity.



No matter what the world may think ; I know, down in

my heart,
That, if either, I 'm delinquent ; she has bravely done her

part.

There 's another world beyond this ; and, on the final
day,

Will intellect and learning 'gainst such devotion weigh?

When the great one, made of us two, is torn apart again,

I '11 kick the beam, for God is just, and He knows Han-
nah Jane.



THE MOTHERLESS TURKEYS.



BY MARIAN DOUGLAS.



j
HE white turkey was dead! The white turkey was dead !

How the news through the barn-yard went flying !
Of a mother bereft, four small turkeys were left,

And their case for assistance was crying.
E T en the peacock respectfully folded his tail,

As a suitable symbol of sorrow,
And his plainer wife said, " now the old bird is dead,

Who will tend her poor chicks on the morrow ?
And when evening around them comes dreary and chill,

Who above them will watchfully hover?"
' Two each night I will tuck 'neath my wings," said the

Duck,

" Though I 've eight of my own I must cover ! "
' I have so much to do ! For the bugs and the worms,

In the garden, 't is tiresome pickin' ;
I 've nothing to spare for my own I must care."

Said then the Hen with one chicken.
How I wish," said the Goose, " I could be o( some use.

For my heart is with love over-brimming ;
The next morning that's fine, they shall go with my nine

Little yellow-backed goslings, out swimming ! "
1 1 will do what I can," the old Dorking put in,
" And for help they may call upon me too,
Though I 've ten of my own that are only half grown,

And a great deal of trouble to see to ;
But these poor little things, they are all head and wings,

And their bones through their feathers are stickin' ! "
Very hard it may be, but, Oh, do n't come to me ! "

Said the Hen with one chicken.
; Half my care I suppose, there is nobody knows,

I 'm the most overburdened of mothers !
They must learn, little elves ! how to scratch for them-
selves,

And not seek to depend upon others."
She went by with a cluck, and the Goose to the Duck

Exclaimed with surprise, " Well, I never !"
Said the Duck, " I declare, those who have the least care,

You will find are complaining forever !
And when all things appear to look threatening and

drear,

And when troubles your pathway are thick in,
For some aid in your woe, O, beware how you go
To a Hen with one chicken."



284



SELECTIONS FROM THE POETS.



BETSEY AND I ARE OUT.*



BY WILL M. CARLETON.



RAW up the papers, lawyer, and make 'em good and stout ;
For things at home are cross-ways, and Betsey and I are out.
We who have worked together so long as man and wife,
Must pull in single harness the rest of our nat'ral life.

" What is the matter ? " say you. I vow ! 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 we ever can.

So I 've talked with Betsey, and Betsey has talked with me ;
And we 've agreed together that we can 't 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 Betsey, 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 did n't agree.

And the next that I remember was when we lost a cow ;

She kicked the bucket, certain the question was only How?

I held my own opinion, and Betsey 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 full for a week it lasted, and neither of us spoke.
And the next was when I scolded because she broke a bowl ;
And she said I was mean and stingy, and had n't any soul.

And so that bowl kept pouring dissensions in our cup ;
And so that blamed cow-critter was always a comin' up ;
And so that heaven we arg'ed no nearer to us got ;
But it give us a taste of somethin' a thousand times as hot.

And so the thing kept workin', and all the self-same way ;
Always somethin' to arg'e, and somethin' sharp to say.
And down on us come the neighbors, a couple dozen strong,
And lent their kindest sarvice for to help the thing along.

And there has been days together and many a weary week
We was both of us cross and spunky, and both too proud to speak,
And I have been thinkin' and thinkin' the whole of the winter

and fall,
If I can 't live kind with a woman, why, then I wo n't at all.

* From " Farm Ballads,' 1 by Will M. Carleton; published by Harper
& Brothers.



And so I have talked with Betsey, and Betsey has talked with

me,

And we 've agreed together that we can 't never agree ;
And what is hers shall be hers, and what is mine shall be mine ;
And T. '11 put it in the agreement, and take it to her to sign.

Write on the paper, lawyer the very first paragraph
Of all the farm and live stock, that she shall have her half ;
For she has helped to earn it, through many a dreary day,
And it's nothing more than justice that Betsey has her pay.

Give her the house and homestead ; a man can thrive and roam,
But women are skeery critters, unless they have a home.
And I have always determined, and never failed to say,
That Betsey never should want a home, if I was taken away.

There 's a little hard money that 's dravvin' 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 half of that.

Yes, I see you smile, 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 Betsey was al'ays good to me, except with her tongue.

Once, when I was young as you, 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 I for a time 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 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 was as tidy as any I ever seen ;
And I do n't complain of Betsey or any of her acts,
Exceptin' when we've quarrelled and told each other facts.

So draw up the paper, lawyer ; and I '11 go home to-night,
And read the agreement to her and see if it 's all right.
And then in the mornin' I '11 sell to a tradin' man I k now
And kiss the child that was left to us, and out in the world I '11



And one thing put in the paper, that first to me did n't occur
That when I 'm dead at last she shall bring me back to her ;
And lay me under the maples I planted years ago,
When she and I was happy, before we quarrelled so.

And when she dies, I wish that she would be laid by me ;
And lyin' together in silence, perhaps we will agree ;
And if ever we meet in heaven, I would n't think it queer
If we loved each other the better because we quarrelled here.



SELECTIONS FROM THE POETS.



285



HOW BETSEY AND I MADE UP.*



BY WILL M. CARLETON.



I IVE us your hand, Mr. Lawyer : how do you do to-day ?
You drew up that paper I s'pose you want your pay.
Do n't cut down your figures ; make it an X or a V ;
For that 'ere wiitten agreement was just themakin' of me.

Coin' home that evenin' I tell you I was blue,
Thinkin' of all my troubles, and what I v/as goin' to do ;
And if my hosses had n't been the steadiest team alive.
They 'd 've tipped me over, certain, for I could n't see where
to drive. 9

No for I was laborin' under a heavy load ;
No for I was travelin' an entirely different road ;
For I was a-tracin' over the path of our lives ag'in,
And seein* where we missed the way, and where we might have
been.

And many a corner we 'd turned that just to a quarrel led,
When I ought to 've held my temper, and driven straight ahead ;
And the more I thought it over the more these memories came,
And the more I struck the opinion that I was the most to blame.

And things I had long forgotten kept risin' in my mind,

Of little matters betwixt us, where Betsey was good and kind ;

And these things flashed all through me, as you know things

sometimes will
When a feller 's alone i-a the darkness, and everything is still.

" But," says I, " we 're too far along to take another track,
And when I put my hand to the plow I do not oft turn back ;
And tain 't an uncommon thing now for couples to smash in

two ; "
And so I set my teeth together, and vowed I 'd see it through.

When I come in sight o' the house 't was some 'at in the night,
And just as I turned a hill-top I see the kitchen light ;
Which often a han 'some pictur' to a hungry person makes,
But it do n't interest a feller much that 's goin' to pull up
stakes.

And when I went in the house, the table was set for me

As good a supper 's I ever saw, or ever want to see ;

And I crammed the agreement down my pocket as well as I

could,
And fell to eatin' my victuals, which somehow did n't taste

good.

And Betsey, she pretended to look about the house,
But she watched my side coat-pocket like a cat would watch a
mouse ;



*From " Farm Ballads," by Will M. Carleton ; published by Harper
& Brothers.



And then she went to foolin' a little with a cup,

And intently readin' a newspaper, a-holdin' it wrong side up.

And when I'd done my supper, I drawed the agreement out,
And give it to her without a word, for she knowed what 't was

about ;

And then I hummed a little tune, but now and then a note
Was bu'sted by some animal that hopped up in my throat.

Then Betsey, she got her specs from off the mantel-shelf,
And read the article over quite softly to herself;
Read it by little and little, for her eyes is gettin' old,
And lawyers' writin' ain 't no print, especially when it 's cold.

And after she'd read a little, she gave my arm a touch,
And kindly said she was afraid I was 'lowin' her too much ;
But when she was through she went for me, her face a-streamin'

with tears,
And kissed me for the first time in over twenty years !

I don't know what you'll think, Sir I didn't come to in-
quire

But I picked up that agreement and stuffed it in the fire ;
And I told her we 'd bury the hatchet alongside of the cow ;
And we struck an agreement never to have another row.

And I told her in the future I would n't speak cross or rash
If half the crockery in the house was broken all to smash ;
And she said, in regards to heaven, we'd try to learn its worth
By startin* a branch establishment and runnin' it here on earth.

And so we sat a-talkin' three-quarters of the night,
And opened our hearts to each other until they both grew light ;
And the days when I was winnin' her away from so many men
Was nothin' to that evenin' I courte ' her over again.

Next mornin' an ancient virgin took pains to call on us,
Her lamp all trimmed and a-burnin' to kindle another fuss ;
But when she went to pryin' and openin' of old sores,
My Betsey rose politely, and showed her out-of-doors.

Since then I do n't deny but there 's been a word or two ;
But we 've got our eyes wide open, and know just what to do ;
When one speaks cross the other just meets it with a laugh,
And the first one 's ready to give up considerable more than half.

Maybe you '11 think me soft, Sir, a-talkin' in this style.
But somehow it does me lots of good to tell it once in a while ;
And I do it for a compliment 't is so that you can see
That that there written agreement of yours was just the makin'
of me.

So make out your bill, Mr. Lawyer: don't stop short of an X ;
Make it more if you want to, for I have got the checks.
I 'm richer than a National Bank, with all its treasures told,
For I 've got a wife at home now that 's worth her weight in
gold.



286



SELECTIONS FEOM THE POETS.



WEIGHING THE BABY.



BY ETHEL LYNN.



> OW many pounds does the baby weigh,
Baby, who came but a month ago ;
How many pounds from the crowning curl
To the rosy point of the restless toe ?

Grandfather ties the handkerchief's knot,
Tenderly guides the swinging weight,

And carefully over his glasses peers
To read the record, " Only eight ! "

Softly the echo goes around,

The father laughs at the tiny girl ;

The fair young mother sings the words,

While grandmother smooths the golden curl.

And stooping above the precious thing,

Nestles a kiss within a prayer ;
Murmuring softly, " Little one,

Grandfather did not weigh you fair."

Nobody weighed the baby's smile,

Or the love that came with the helpless one ;
Nobody weighed the threads of care

From which a woman's life is spun.

No index tells the mighty worth

Of a little baby's quiet breath!
A soft, unceasing metronome,

Patient and faithful unto death.

Nobody weighed the baby's soul,

For here, on earth, no weights there be

That could avail. God only knows
Its value in eternity.

Only eight pounds to hold a soul
That seeks no angel's silver wing,

But shrines it in this human guise
Within so fair and small a thing.

Oh, mother, laugh your merry note,

Be gay and glad, but do n't forget
From baby's eyes looks out a soul
That claims a home in Eden yet.

From the New York Ledger.



THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.



BY SAMUEL WOODWORTH.



||j j[OW dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view '
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,

And every loved spot which my infancy knew ;
'The wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it,
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell ; '



The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it,

And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well.

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well.

That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure

For often at noon, when returned from the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,

The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing !

And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell ;
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,

And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well ;
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well.

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,

As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips !
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,

Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
And now, far removed from the loved situation,

The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,

And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well ;
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket which hangs in the well.



ON THE OTHER SIDE.



'E go our ways in life too much alone ;

We hold ourselves too far from all our kind ;
Too often we are dead to sigh and moan ;

Too often to the weak and helpless blind ;
f oo often, where distress and want abide,

We turn and pass upon the other side.

The other side is trodden smooth ; and worn
By footsteps passing idly all the day.

Where lie the bruised ones that faint and mourn,
Is seldom more than an untrodden way ;

Our selfish hearts are for our feet the guide
They lead us by upon the other side.

It should be ours the oil and wine to pour
Into the bleeding wounds of stricken ones ;

To take the smitten, and the sick and sore,
And bear them where a stream of blessing runs :

Instead, we look about the way is wide,
And so we pass upon the other side.

Oh, friends and brothers, gliding down the years,

Humanity is calling each and all
In tender accents, born of grief and tears !

I pray you, listen to the thrilling call ;
You cannot, in your cold and selfish pride,

Pass guiltlessly by on the other side.



SELECTIONS FROM THE POETS.



287



MAUD MULLER. *



BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.



AUD Muller, on a summer's day,
Raked the meadow sweet with hay.

^ fc5Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
** Of simple beauty and rustic health.

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee
The mock-bird echoed from his tree.

But, when she glanced to the far-off town,
White from its hill-slope looking down,

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast

A wish, that she hardly dared to own,
For something better than she had known.

The Judge rode slowly down the lane,
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane.

He drew his bridle in the shade

Of the apple-trees to greet the maid,

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed
Through the meadow across the road.

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up,
And filled for him her small tin cup. %

And blushed as she gave it, looking down
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.

Thanks !" said the Judge, " a sweeter draught
From a fairer hand was never quaffed."

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees,
Of the singing birds and the humming bees ;

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather.

And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown,
And her graceful ankles bare and brown,

And listened, while a pleased surprise
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes.

At last, like one who for delay
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away.

Maud Muller looked and sighed : " Ah me !
That I the Judge's bride might be !

" He would dress me up in silks so fine,
And praise and toast me at his wine.

" My father would wear a broadcloth coat ;
My brother should sail a painted boat.

" I 'd dress my mother so grand and gay ;
And the baby should have a new toy each day.



" And I' d feed the hungry and clothe the poor,
And all should bless me who left our door."

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill,
And saw Maud Muller standing still :

" A form more fair, a face more sweet,
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet.

" And her modest answer and graceful air
Show her wise and good as she is fair.

" Would she were mine, and I to-day,
Like her, a harvester of hay.

" No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs,
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues,

" But low of cattle, and song of birds,
And health, and quiet, and loving words."

But he thought of his sister, proud and cold,
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold.

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on,
And Maud was left in the field alone.

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,
When he hummed in court an old love-tune.

And the young girl mused beside the well.
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell.

He wedded a wife of richest dower,
Who lived for fashion, as he for power.

Yet oft, in his marble hearth's white glow,
He watched a picture come and go ;

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes
Looked out in their innocent surprise.

Oft, when the wine in his glass was red,
He longed for the wayside well instead,

And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms,
To dream of meadows and clover-blooms ;

And the proud man sighed with a secret pain,
" Ah, that I were free again !

" Free as when I rode that day
Where the barefoot maiden raked the hay."

She wedded a man unlearned and poor,
And many children played round her door.

But care and sorrow, and child-birth pain
Left their traces on heart and brain.

And oft, when the summer sun shone hot
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot,

And she heard the little spring brook fall
Over the roadside, through the wall,



*From " Poems by Whitticr ;" published by Jas. K. Osgood & Co., Boston, Mass.-



288



SELECTIONS FROM THE POETS.



In the shade of the apple-tree again
She saw a rider draw his rein,

And, gazing down with timid grace,
She felt his pleased eyes read her face.

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls
Stretched away into stately halls ;

The weary wheel to a spinnet turned,
The tallow candle an astral burned ;

And for him who sat by the chimney lug,
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug,

A manly form at her side she saw,
And joy was duty and love was law.

Then she took up her burden of life again,
Saying only, " It might have been !"

Alas for maiden, alas for Judge,

For rich repiner and household drudge

God pity them both ! and pity us all.
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall ;

For of all sad words of tongue or pen,

The saddest are these : " It might have been !'

Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope lies
Deeply buried from human eyes ;

And, in the hereafter, angels may
Roll the stone from its grave away !



ROCK ME TO SLEEP, MOTHER.



BY FLORENCE PERCY.



BACKWARD, turn backward> O Time, in your flight,