3. Come, you of the law, who can talk, if you please,
Till the man in the moon will allow it's a cheese,
And leave "the old lady, that never tells lies,"
To sleep with her handkerchief over her eyes.

4. Ye healers of men, for a moment decline Your feats in the rhubarb and ipecac1 line; While you shut up your turnpike, your neighbors

can go

The old roundabout road to the regions below.

5. You clerk, on whose ears are a couple of pens,
And whose head is an ant-hill of units and tens,
Though Plato* denies you, we welcome you still
As a featherless biped, in spite of your quill.

6. Poor drudge of the city! how happy he feels With the burs on his legs and the grass at his

heels!

No dodger 2 behind his bandannas 3 to share,

No constable grumbling, "You mustn't walk there!"

7. In yonder green meadow, to memory dear,

He slaps a mosquito, and brushes a tear;

The dew-drops hang round him on blossoms and

shoots;

He breathes but one sigh for his youth and his boots.

PLATO. A celebrated Greek philosopher, born about four hundred and thirty years before Christ. His reported definition of man- a biped without feathers-- IS

alluded to here.

8. There stands the old school-house, hard by the old

church;

That tree by its side had the flavor of birch;

O, sweet were the days of his juvenile tricks, Though the prairie of youth had so many "big licks"!

9. By the side of yon river he weeps and he slumps;

The boots fill with water, as if they were

pumps;

Till, sated with rapture, he steals to his bed,

With a glow in his heart, and a cold in his head.

10. 'Tis past, he is dreaming, I see him again;

The ledger returns as by legerdemain 5

His mustache is damp with an easterly flaw,
And he holds in his fingers an omnibus straw.

11. He dreams the chill gust is a blossoming gale, That the straw is a rose from his dear native

vale;

And murmurs, unconscious of space and of time, "A 1.7-Extra super. Ah! isn't it prime!"

12. O, what are the prizes we perish to win,

To the first little "shiner" we caught with a pin!

No soil upon earth is so dear to our eyes

As the soil we first stirred in terrestrialR pies!

13. Then come from all parties, and parts, to our

feast;

Though not at the "Astor,"

at least

we'll give you

A bite at an apple, a seat on the grass,

And the best of old-water-at nothing a glass!

3 BAN-DAN'NA. A kind of pocket hand-7 A 1. Signs used in insuring a vessel to kerchief.

4 SAT/ED. Filled or gratified to the ex

tent of desire; glutted.

denote that it is of the first class;

hence, colloquially applied to anything of the best quality.

* LEG-ER-DE-MAIN'. Sleight of hand; TER-RES/TRI-AL. Earthy, or earthly.

XLVII.TWILIGHT.

LONG FELLOW.

1. THE twilight is sad and cloudy,
The wind blows wild and free,
And like the wings of sea-birds
Flash the white caps of the sea.

2. But in the fisherman's cottage
There shines a sudden light,
And a little face at the window
Peers1 out into the night.

3. Close, close it is pressed to the window,
As if those childish eyes
Were looking into the darkness,
To see some form arise.

A large hotel in New York city.

4. And a woman's waving shadow
Is passing to and fro,
Now rising to the ceiling,

Now bowing and bending low.

5. What tale do the roaring ocean,

And the night-wind, bleak and wild, As they beat at the crazy 2 casement, Tell to that little child?

6. And why do the roaring ocean,

And the night-wind, wild and bleak, As they beat at the heart of the mother, Drive the color from her cheek?

1 PEERS. Looks narrowly.

2 CRAZY. Broken.

XLVIII.—THE INDEPENDENT FARMER.

W. W. FOSDICK.

1. LET sailors sing the windy deep,
Let soldiers praise their armor;
But in my heart this toast I'll keep,
The Independent Farmer.

When first the rose, in robe of green,
Unfolds its crimson lining,

And round his cottage porch is seen

The honeysuckle twining,

When banks of bloom their sweetness yield

To bees that gather honey,

He drives his team across the field,

Where skies are soft and sunny.

2. The blackbird clucks behind his plough,

The quail pipes loud and clearly;
Yon orchard hides behind its bough
The home he loves so dearly;
The gray old barn, whose doors infold
His ample store in measure,
More rich than heaps of hoarded gold,
A precious, blessed treasure;
But yonder in the porch there stands
His wife, the lovely charmer,

The sweetest rose on all his lands

The Independent Farmer.

3. To him the Spring comes dancing gay,
To him the Summer blushes,
The Autumn smiles with mellow ray,
His sleep old Winter hushes.
He cares not how the world may move;
No doubts or fears confound him;
His little flock are linked in love,

And household angels round him.
He trusts in God and loves his wife;
Nor grief nor ill may harm her;
He's nature's nobleman in life-

The Independent Farmer.