BETSY AND I ARE OUT. Draw up the papers, lawyer, and make 'em good and stout, For things at home are cross-ways, and Betsy and I are out, We who have worked together so long as man and wife Must pull in single harness the rest of our natʼral life. "What is the matter," says you? "I swan! it's hard to tell! Most of the years behind us we've passed by very well; So I have talked with Betsy, and Betsy has talked with me; There was a stock of temper we both had, for a start; The first thing, I remember, whereon we disagreed, 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 could n't agree. And the next that I remember was when we lost a cow; She had kicked the bucket, for certain-the question was only-How? I held my opinion, and Betsy 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; 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 came the neighbors, a couple o' dozen strong, And lent their kindest sarvice to help the thing along. And there have been days together-and many a weary week When both of us were cross and spunky, and both too proud to speak; And I have been thinkin' and thinkin', the whole of the summer and fall, If I can't live kind with a woman, why, then I won't at all. And so I've talked with Betsy, and Betsy has talked with me; And we have agreed together that we can never agree; And what is hers shall be hers, and what is mine shall be mine; And I'll put it in the agreement and take it to her to sign. Write on the paper, lawyer-the very first paragraph— But women are wretched critters, unless they have a home. There's a little hard money besides, that 's drawin' tol'rable pay, A couple of hundred dollars laid by for a rainy day,- I see that you are smiling, sir, at my givin' her so much; young, And Betsy was always good to me, exceptin' with her tongue. When I was young as you, sir, and not so smart, perhaps, Once, when I had a fever-I won't forget it soon- And if ever a house was tidy, and ever a kitchen clean, So draw up the paper, lawyer, and I'll go home to-night, And one thing put in the paper, that first to me did n't occur; That when I am dead at last she will bring me back to her, And when she dies, I wish that she would be laid by me; Will M. Carleton. ABOU BEN ADHEM. Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) An angel writing in a book of gold; Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, "What writest thou?"-The vision raised its head, "And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so," The angel wrote and vanished. The next night Leigh Hunt. THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. It was the schooner Hesperus That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now west, now south. Then up and spake an old sailor, "I pray thee, put into yonder port, "Last night the moon had a golden ring, The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the northeast; Down came the storm, and smote amain She shuddered and paused, like a frightened steed, Then leaped her cable's length. "Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale, That ever wind did blow." He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat He cut a rope from a broken spar, "O father! I hear the church-bells ring, O say, what may it be?" "Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!"And he steered for the open sea. "O father! I hear the sound of guns, O say, what may it be?" "Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea!" "O father! I see a gleaming light, But the father answered never a word, Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That savéd she might be; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, On the Lake of Galilee. |