True, too true. Yet hold, dear friend; On Him who loved, and loved to the end: Blind to our eyes, the fiat goes,- Only love, with his wiser sight; Now are the fifty fingers gone To play some new play under the sun- So let our boding prophecies go As childish, for do we not surely know GODIVA.-ALFRED TENNYSON. Not only we the latest seed of time, Upon his town, and all the mothers brought Their children, clamoring, "If we pay, we starve!" She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode About the hall, among his dogs, alone, His beard a foot before him, and his hair A yard behind. She told him of their tears, And prayed him, "If they pay this tax, they starve." Whereat he stared, replying, half amazed, "You would not let your little finger ache For such as these?"-" But I would die," said she. He answered, " Ride you naked through the town, So left alone, the passions of her mind, Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity: Then she rode back, clothed on with chastity: Boring a little auger-hole in fear, Peeped-but his eyes, before they had their will, And she, that knew not, passed: and all at once, One after one: but even then she gained Her bower; whence re-issuing, robed and crowned, DADDY WORTHLESS.-LIZZIE W. CHAMPNEY. "Dar's bressing in baptizing drops: Den sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle, We'll dribe ole Satan out!" The long, steep streets of Nashville glowed Like copper glared the sky. A ghastly form strode through the town, It paused at door of rich and poor, But each man's lip was blanched with fear, Grim cholera reaped her harvest down, And faster toiled each day; While none could turn her sickle back And none her march could stay. Young Doctor Starr worked day and night- To trace the sources of the blight The morrow came, and Doctor Starr "Dey calls me Daddy Wufless," thought The negro to himself. "Dey'll take back dat ar name befo' I'd like to spite ole Satan once- I tought dat ar money might If he'd been frown into de sea, And so the old man's money bought And every day he drove about The city streets and mart. And sick men tossing on their beds Of fever and of pain, Said, as they feebly raised their heads, "I hear the sound of rain, As when in nights of childhood passed, The air is fresher than it was, And, as he went, he often sang, With thin voice, cracked and high, "Dar's bressing in baptizing drops: Den sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle, We'll dribe ole Satan out!" The scourge is lifted from the town; Lies buried, like a faithful hound, And when I tread that burial-ground, To honor "Daddy Wufless" and The old man's sprinkling-cart. THAT HIRED GIRL. THE CLERGYMAN'S RECEPTION ON HIS INITIAL CALL IN HIS NER PARISH. When she came to work for the family on Congress street, the lady of the house sat down and told her that agents, book-peddlers, hat-rack men, picture sellers, ash-buyers, ragmen, and all that class of people must be met at the front door and coldly repulsed, and Sarah said she'd repulse them if she had to break every broomstick in Detroit. And she did. She threw the door open wide, bluffed right up at 'em, and when she got through talking, the cheekiest agent was only too glad to leave. It got so after awhile that peddlers marked that house, and the door-bell never rang except for company. The other day, as the girl of the house was wiping off the spoons, the bell rang. She hastened to the door, expecting to see a lady, but her eyes encountered a slim man, dressed in black and wearing a white necktie. He was the new minister, and was going around to get acquainted with the members of his flock, but Sarah wasn't expected to know this. "Ah-um-is-Mrs.-ah!" “Git!” exclaimed Sarah, pointing to the gate. 'Beg pardon, but I would like to see-see"Meander!" she shouted, looking around for a weapon; "we don't want any flour-sifters here!" "You're mistaken," he replied, smiling blandly. "I called to-" Don't want anything to keep moths away-fly!" she exclaimed, getting red in the face. "Is the lady in?" he inquired, trying to look over Sarah's head. "Yes, the lady is in, and I'm in, and you are out!" she snapped; "and now I don't want to stand here talking to a fly-trap agent any longer! Come, lift your boots!" "I'm not an agent," he said, trying to smile. "I'm the new-" 66 Yes, I know you--you are the new man with the patent flat-iron, but we don't want any, and you'd better go before I call the dog!" |