We've learned what comfort is, I tell you! The paw he holds up there's been frozen); (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 moralAren't we, Roger? See him wink! Well, something hot, then-we won't quarrel. What a pity, sir, that dogs can't talk ; 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. And rags that smell of tobacco and gin, There isn't another creature living Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, To such a miserable, thankless master! 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 Now tell us how many drams it takes To honour a jolly new acquaintance. Five yelps-that's five; he's mighty knowing! 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, And there are times when, mad with thinking, Is there a way to forget to think? At your age, sir, home, fortune, friends, The same old story! you know how it ends. If you had seen HER, so fair and young, 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. 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! '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. He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could, I'm better now; that glass was warming. - 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 And the winds to sleep had gone; When little Jack, the captain's son, With gallant hardihood, Climbed shroud and spar, and then upon A shudder ran through every vein, No hold had he above, below; At that far height none dared to go ; We gazed, but not a man could speak; In groups, with pallid brow and cheek, As, riveted unto the spot, Stood officers and crew. The father came on deck-he gasped, "Jump! far out, boy, into the wave, "This chance alone your life can save, He sank, he rose, he lived, he moved; On board we hailed the lad beloved JOHN MAYNARD. 'Twas on Lake Erie's broad expanse, Watched carelessly the feathery foam Ah, who beneath that cloudless sky, Could dream that ere an hour had sped Would sink beneath the lake's blue waves, 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, And ghastly faces everywhere Looked from the doomèd ship. "Is there no hope-no chance of life?" A sailor whose heroic soul That hour should yet reveal, "Head her south-east!" the captain shouts, Above the smothered roar, "Head her south-east without delay! No terror pales the helmsman's cheek, As in a sailor's measured tone Three hundred souls, the steamer's freight, John Maynard watched the nearing flames, He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly "John Maynard, can you still hold out?" He heard the captain cry; A voice from out the stifling smoke But half a mile! A hundred hands But half a mile! That distance sped, But half a mile! Yet stay, the flames But gather round the helmsman bold "John Maynard," with an anxious voice, "Stand by the wheel five minutes yet, And we will reach the shore." |