We know who've bartered body and soul, And there's nothing like to a drunkard's woe Wife, children! Haven't I had them? Yes, But children and wife are dead and dust- And it don't seem sure, though I've left my cups, I tell you it's hard for a shattered hulk To drift into harbor safe; And I feel sometimes, with my three-score years, But there's one thing certain, I've overcome! You'll laugh, perhaps, at an old man's zeal; But God forbid if you reach three-score, -The Independent. SEVEN AGES OF MAN. SHAKSPEARE. And all the men and women merely players; And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel, Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then, a soldier, Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side; Is second childishness, and mere oblivion, — GIVE ME BACK MY HUSBAND. Not many years since, a young married couple, from the far, "fast-anchored isle," sought our shores with the most sanguine anticipations of prosperity and happiness. They had begun to realize more than they had seen in the visions of hope, when, in an evil hour, the husband was tempted "to look upon the wine when it is red," and to taste of it "when it gives its color in the cup." The charmer fastened round its victim all the serpent spells of its sorcery, and he fell; and at every step of his degradation from the man to the brute, and downward, a heart-string broke in the bosom of his companion. Finally, with the last spark of hope flickering on the altar of her heart, she threaded her way into one of those shambles where man is made such a thing as the beasts of the field would bellow at. She pressed her way through the bacchanalian crowd who were reveling there in their ow ruin. With her bosom full of "that perilous stuff that preys upon the heart," she stood before the plunderer of her husband's destiny, and exclaimel in tones of startling anguish, "Give me back my husband.” "There's your husband," said the man, as he pointed toward the prostrate wretch. "That my husband! What have you done to him? That my husband! What have you done to that noble form that once, like the giant oak, held its protecting shade over the fragile vine that clung to it for support and shelter? That my husband! With what torpedo chill have you touched the sinews of that manly arm? That my husband! What have you done to that once noble brow, which he wore high among his fellows, as if it bore the superscription of the Godhead? That my husband! What have you done to that eye with which he was wont to 'look erect on heaven,' and see in his mirror the image of his God. What Egyptian drug have you poured into his veins, and turned the ambling fountains of the heart into black and burning pitch? Give me back my husband! Undo your basilisk spells, and give me back the man that stood with me by the altar!" The ears of the rumseller, ever since the first demijohn of that burning liquid was opened upon our shores, have been saluted, at every stage of the traffic, with just such appeals as this. Such wives, such widows and mothers, such fatherless children, as never mourned in Israel at the massacre of Bethlehem, or at the burning of the Temple, have cried in his cars, morning, noon, and night," Give me back my husband! Give me back my boy! Give me back my brother!" But has the rumseller been confounded or speechless at these appeals? No! not he. He could show his cre dentials at a moment's notice, with proud defiance. He always carried in his pocket a written absolution for all he had done and could do in his work of destruction. He had bought a letter of indulgence. I mean a license,-a precious instrument, signed and sealed by an authority stronger and more respectable than the pope's. He confounded! Why, the whole artillery of evil power was ready to open in his defense and support. Thus shielded by the ægis of the law, he had nothing to fear from the enemies of his traffic. He had the image and superscription of Cæsar on his credentials and unto Cæsar he appealed; and unto Cæsar, too, his victims appealed and --appealed in vain. THE OLD YANKEE FARMER. Wal, Mr. Brown, how's things goin on with y' there daown below? I s'pose Boston don't look much as't did fifty year ago. I was tellin,-I was tellin Miss Pillsbury t'other day, ef she felt smart enough, we'd take a little jant daown and look raound a little. But she's got the rumatiz so luk all possest, she can't stir raound much. She's e'en a'most discouraged sometimes, but I tell her I guess it'll all wear off arter a spell, ha! ha! ha! I doant git raound much myself. I'm a gittin suthin inter years, but I tell 'em I'm better'n half the young folks naow. Folks doant live now-a-days as they used ter when I was a boy. Why, they've all got the indisgeestion, or some plaguey thing or nuther-ha! ha! ha! Taint no wonder, for they eat everything under the heavens. In my day, I never heerd uv no such thing as chickin sallit-and dev'ld crabs-and tarry pin-why 'ts enough ter kill the old Harry. I happened to be daown ter Concord t'other day, un abaout noon I tell ye, I got putty hungry. I was lookin raound for suthin ter eat, un see'd the sign uv"Resty runt." I went in un sot daown to a little table baout's big's yer hand, un putty soon a black feller come along, un sez he, "Wot'l yer have?" I looked at him consid'able sharp, un said, sez I, “Wal, vittles, I guess"-ha! ha! ha! I dunno wot under heavens he thought I was there arter, 'thout 'twas for suthin ter eat. Ef I should live till next Jinnywary, I spose I shall be eighty-three year old,-un I can git from bed ter fire putty handy yit, with a little piece er carpet on the floorhi! hi! hi! But I tell 'em I aint goin ter do much more hard work. The young folks can do the work naow. I guess I've done abaout my sheer-ha! ha! ha! Miss Pillsbury sez sometimes, she's moast afraid we shall hev ter go to the poor-house; but I tell her I guess we shall manage ter keep aout somehow or nuther. Yes, I calculate ter take things putty easy. I doant do much but walk raound and look at the boys a little. They was a-mowin the old spring-piece t'other day, and I said ter my oldest son, Isaiah: "Isaiah," sez I, "I'll bate yeou the best caow in the barn, I ken mow raound the old spring-piece quicker'n you can ter save yer gizzard." Wal, he didn't take me up, not ret away-ha! ha! ha! I think 's jes like as not, I sh'd a gin aout by the time I got to the lower bars, but I'd a gin him a pull at the start, by Jehewkabus-ha! ha! ha! I was daown ter the store t'other day lookin raound, and I sez to Mr. Jones, sez I, "What are you a-taxin for merlassis?" your Wal, he said he had some good for twenty-eight cents a garlon-but the best, sez he, is thirty-cents. Sez I, "You may give me a quart uv the best,-the best is good enough for me"-ha! ha! ha! He asked me ef I chawed as much terbacker as I used ter? I told him I guessed--I guessed I chawed a leetle more ef anything-hi! hi! hi! He said he had some thet he could reecommend. I told him I ginerally-I ginerally got the caum'n pigtail terbacker, and soaked it in a leetle whisky un merlassis, un one thing another, un it was as good terbacker as I want ter chaw-hi! hi! hi! NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP. Little feet so white and bare, "Down to sleep,"-" To sleep," she murmured. And the curly head bent low; "I pray the Lord," I gently added, "You can say it all, I know." |