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We've learned what comfort is, I tell you !

A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin,
A fire to thaw our thumbs, poor fellow !
The
paw

he holds up there's been frozen); Plenty of catgut for my fiddle,

( This out-door business is bad for strings) ; Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle,

And Roger and I set up for kings ! No, thank ye, sir-I never drink;

Roger and I are exceedingly moral— Aren't we, Roger ? See him wink !

Well, something hot, then-we won't quarrel. He's thirsty, too : see him nod his head !

What a pity, sir, that dogs can't talk ; He understand's every word that's said ;

And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk. The truth is, sir, now I reflect,

I've been so sadly given to grog, I wonder I've not lost the respect

(Here's to you, sir !) even of my dog. But he sticks by, through thick and thin ;

And this old coat, with its empty pockets, And rags that smell of tobacco and gin,

He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets. There isn't another creature living

Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving,

To such a miserable, thankless master ! No, sir ! see him wag his tail and grin!

By George ! it makes my old eyes water ! That is, there's something in this gin

That chokes a fellow. But no matter ! We'll have some music if you're willing,

And Roger (hem ! what a plague a cough is, sir !) Shall march a little. Start, you villain !

Stand straight! 'Bout face ! Salute your officer ! Put up that paw! Dress ! Take your rifle !

( Some dogs have arms, you see !) Now hold your Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle

To aid a poor old patriot soldier ?
March! Halt! Now show how the rebel shakes

When he stands up to hear his sentence.
Now tell us how many drams it takes

To honour a jolly new acquaintance.

Five yelps—that's five; he's mighty knowing !

The night's before us, fill the glasses ! Quick, sir ! I'm ill-my brain is going !

Some brandy—thank you—there—it passes ! Why not reform ? That's easily said ;

But I've gone through such wretched treatment, Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread,

And scarce remembering what meat meant, That my poor stomach's past reform ;

And there are times when, mad with thinking, I'd sell out heaven for something warm

To prop a horrible inward sinking. Is there a way to forget to think?

At your age, sir, home, fortune, friends, A dear girl's love—but I took to drink ;-

The same old story! you know how it ends. If you could have seen these classic features

You needn't laugh, sir; they were not then
Such a burning libel on God's creatures :

I was one of your handsome men !
If you had seen her, so fair and young,

Whose head was happy on this breast !
If you could have heard the songs I sung
When the wine went round, you wouldn't have

guessed That ever I, sir, should be straying

From door to door, with a fiddle and dog, Ragged and penniless, and playing

To you to-night for a glass of grog ! She's married since—a parson's wife :

'Twas better for her that we should partBetter the soberest, prosiest life

Than a blasted home and a broken heart.
I have seen her ? Once: I was weak and spent

On a dusty road : a carriage stopped :
But little she dreamed, as on she went,

Who kissed the coin' that her fingers dropped ! You've set me talking, sir ; I'm sorry ;

It makes me wild to think of the change ! What do you care for a beggar's story?

Is it amusing ? you find it strange ? I had a mother so proud of me!

'Twas well she died before-do you know If the happy spirits in heaven can see

The ruin and wretchedness here below ?

Another glass, and strong, to deaden

This pain ; then Roger and I will start. I wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden,

Aching thing, in place of a heart ? He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could,

No doubt, remembering things that were-
A virtuous kennel, with plen of food,

And himself a sober, respectable cur.
I'm better now ; that glass was warming. -

You rascal ! limber your lazy feet !
We must be fiddling and performing

For supper and bed, or starve in the streetNot a very gay life to lead, you think?

But soon we shall go where lodgings are free, And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink

The sooner the better for Roger and me!

LEAP FOR LIFE.

By Geo. P. MORRIS.
Old Ironsides at anchor lay

In the harbour of Mahon;
A dead calm rested on the bay,

And the winds to sleep had gone ;
When little Jack, the captain's son,

With gallant hardihood,
Climbed shroud and spar, and then upon

The main truck rose and stood.

A shudder ran through every vein,

All eyes were turned on high ;
There stood the boy, with dizzy brain,

Between the sea and sky.
No hold had he above, below;

Alone he stood in air ;
At that far height none dared to go ;

No aid could reach him there.
We gazed, but not a man could speak ;

With horror all aghast ;
In groups, with pallid brow and cheek,

We watched the quivering mast.
The atmosphere grew thick and hot,

And of a lurid hue,
As, riveted unto the spot,

Stood officers and crew.

The father came on deck-he gasped,

O God! Thy will be done! Then suddenly a rifle grasped,

And aimed it at his son. “Jump ! far out, boy, into the wave,

Jump, or I fire !” he said ; “This chance alone your life can save,

Jump! jump!” The boy obeyed.
He sank, he rose, he lived, he moved ;

He for the ship struck out;
On board we hailed the lad beloved

With many a manly shout,
His father drew, with silent joy,

These wet arms round his neck, And foided to his heart the boy,

Then fainted on the deck.

JOHN MAYNARD.

'Twas on Lake Erie's broad expanse,

One bright midsummer day, The gallant steamer Ocean Qucen

Swept proudly on her way.
Bright faces clustered on the deck,

Or, leaning o'er the side,
Watched carelessly the feathery foam

That flecked the rippling tide.
Ah, who beneath that cloudless sky,

That smiling bends serene,
Could dream that danger awful, vast,

Impended o'er the scene,
Could dream that ere an hour had sped

That frame of sturdy oak
Would sink beneath the lake's blue waves,

Blackened with fire and smoke.
A seaman sought the captain's side,

A moment whispered low;
The captain's swarthy face grew pale,

He hurried down below.
Alas, too late! Though quick and sharp

And clear his orders came, No human effort could avail

To quench the insidious flame.

The bad news quickly reached the deck,

It sped from lip to lip,
And ghastly faces everywhere

Looked from the doomed ship.
“Is there no hope-no chance of life ?”

A hundred lips implore ; “But one,” the captain made reply,

“To run the ship on shore." A sailor whose heroic soul

That hour should yet reveal,
By name John Maynard, eastern born,

Stood calmly at the wheel. “Head her south-east !” the captain shouts,

Above the smothered roar,
“Head her south-east without delay !

Make for the nearest shore !”
No terror pales the helmsman's cheek,

Or clouds his dauntless eye,
As in a sailor's measured tone

His voice responds, “Ay, ay !” Three hundred souls, the steamer's freight,

Crowd forward wild with fear; While at the stern the dreadful flames

Above the deck appear.
John Maynard watched the nearing fiames,

But still, with steady hand,
He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly

He steered the ship to land.
John Maynard, can you still hold out?”

He heard the captain cry ;
A voice from out the stifling smoke

Faintly responds, “ Ay, ay !”
But half a mile! A hundred hands

Stretch eagerly to shore.
But half a mile! That distance sped,

Peril shall all be o'er.
But half a mile! Yet stay, the flames

No longer slowly creep.
But gather round the helmsman bold

With fierce, impetuous sweep.
“John Maynard,” with an anxious voice,

The captain cries once more,
Stand by the wheel five minutes yet,
And we will reach the shore.”

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