Marriage like a Devonshire Lane. 13

HOW MARRIAGE IS LIKE A DEVONSHIRE

LANE.

REV. JOHN MARRIOTT.

Na Devonshire lane, as I trotted along

IN

T'other day, much in want of a subject for song,
Thinks I to myself, I have hit on a strain :

Sure, marriage is much like a Devonshire lane.

In the first place, 'tis long, and when you are in it,
It holds you as fast as a cage does a linnet;

For tho' rough, ay, and dirty the road may be found,
Drive forward you must; there is no turning round.

But though 'tis so long, it is not very wide,
For two are the most that together can ride;
And e'en then 'tis a chance but they get in a bother,
And jostle, and cross, and run foul of each other.

Oft Poverty meets them with mendicant looks,
And Care pushes by them, o'erladen with crooks!
And Strife's grazing wheels try between them to pass,
And Stubborness blocks up the way on her ass.

Then the banks are so high, to the left hand and right,
That they shut out the beauties around them from sight;
And hence, you'll allow, 'tis an inference plain,
That marriage is just like a Devonshire lane.

But thinks I, too, these banks, within which we are pent,
With bud, blossom, and berry are richly besprent;
And the conjugal fence, which forbids us to roam,
Looks lovely, when decked with the comforts of home.

In the rock's gloomy crevice the bright holly grows;
The ivy waves fresh o'er the withering rose;
And the ever-green love of a virtuous wife

Soothes the roughness of care, cheers the winter of life.

Then-long be the journey, and narrow the way,
I'll rejoice that I've seldom a turnpike to pay;
And, whate'er others say, be the last to complain,
Though marriage is just like a Devonshire lane.

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Drops of Crystal Water.

DROPS OF CRYSTAL WATER.

JOHNSON BARKER.

ROPS of crystal water,

DROP
Oh! the summer showers,

Gemming with a thousand pearls
Blossoms in the bowers;
While the sun is resting
On a couch of clouds,
Drops of crystal water
Trickle down in crowds.

From the waving king-cup
Bees are drinking dew,
Butterflies are waiting
To taste a little too;
The cricket on the lady-bird
Makes a passing call:
Drops of crystal water
Furnish drink for all.

The lily and the daisy,
Sun-burnt in the field,
Had no parasol of leaves
Their purity to shield;

The sunlight dropped its cloud-veil,
And rain began to fall,
Drops of crystal water
Soon revived them all.

Corn that gilded acres,
The clover and the grass;
Cowslips that the children
Gather as they pass;

The primrose in the green lane,
The berry on the sloe;
Drops of crystal water
Cause them all to grow.

Drops of crystal water
From the running rills,
Where the cress is growing
By the brambled hills;
Oceans vast and boundless,
Rivers wide and far,

Drops of crystal water

Make them what they are.

Over in the Meadow.

OVER IN THE MEADOW.

A KINDERGARTEN EXERCISE FOR TWELVE BOYS.

MRS. OLIVE A. WADSWORTH.

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[These verses should be taken and repeated separately by twelve boys; the sounds and motions, such as winking, swimming, leaping, &c., should be given by the whole, in concert.]

Ο

FIRST BOY.

VER in the meadow, in the sand, in the sun,

Lived an old mother toad and her little toady one. "Wink!" said the mother; "I wink," said the one; So she winked and she blinked, in the sand, in the sun.

SECOND BOY.

Over in the meadow, where the stream runs blue,
Lived an old mother fish and her little fishes two.

"Swim!" said the mother; "We swim," said the two; So they swam and they leaped where the stream runs blue.

THIRD BOY.

Over in the meadow, in a hole in the tree,

Lived a mother bluebird and her little birdies three. "Sing!" said the mother; "We sing," said the three; So they sang and were glad in the hole in the tree.

FOURTH BOY.

Over in the meadow, in the reeds on the shore, Lived a mother muskrat and her little ratties four. "Dive!" said the mother; "We dive," said the four; So they dived and they burrowed in the reeds on the shore.

FIFTH BOY.

Over in the meadow, in the snug bee-hive,

Lived a mother honey-bee and her little honeys five. "Buzz!" said the mother; "We buzz," said the five; So they buzzed and they hummed in the snug bee-hive.

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Over in the Meadow.

SIXTH BOY.

Over in the meadow, in a nest built of sticks,
Lived a black mother crow and her little crows six.
"Caw!" said the mother; "We caw," said the six;
So they cawed and they called in the nest built of sticks.

SEVENTH BOY.

Over in the meadow, where the grass is so even,

66

Lived a gay mother cricket and her little crickets seven. Chirp!" said the mother; "We chirp," said the seven; So they chirped cheery notes in the grass soft and even.

EIGHTH BOY.

Over in the meadow, by the old mossy gate,

Lived a brown mother lizard and her little lizards eight. "Bask!" said the mother; "We bask," said the eight; So they basked in the sun on the old mossy gate.

NINTH BOY.

Over in the meadow, where the clear pools shine, Lived a green mother frog and her little froggies nine. "Croak!" said the mother; "We croak," said the nine; So they croaked and they plashed where the clear pools shine.

TENTH BOY.

Over in the meadow, in a sly little den,

Lived a gray mother spider and her little spiders ten. "Spin!" said the mother; "We spin," said the ten; So they spun lace webs in their sly little den.

ELEVENTH Box.

Over in the meadow, in the soft summer even,
Lived a mother firefly and her little flies eleven.
"Shine!" said the mother; "We shine," said the

eleven;

So they shone like stars in the soft summer even.

TWELFTH Boy.

Over in the meadow, where the men dig and delve,
Lived a wise mother ant and her little anties twelve.
"Toil!" said the mother; "We toil," said the twelve ;
So they toiled and were wise where the men dig and

delve.

Hand and Heart.

The Gold Finders.

THE NOBLEST WORK OF GOD.

H°

POPE.

ONOUR and shame from no condition rise, Act well your part, there all the honour lies. Fortune to men has some small difference madeOne flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade.

What differ more, you say, than crown and cowl?
I'll tell you, friend, a wise man and a fool!
You'll find, if once the monarch act the monk,
Or, cobbler-like, the parson will be drunk,
Worth makes the man, the want of it the fellow;
The rest is all but leather or prunella!

Who noble ends by noble means obtains,
Or, failing, smiles in exile and in chains;
Like great Aurelius let him reign, or bleed
Like Socrates; that man is great indeed.

What's fame? a fancied life in other's breath-
A thing beyond us e'en before our death.

A wit's a feather, and a chief a rod;

An honest man's the noblest work of God!

THE GOLD FINDERS.

ALBERT A. MOTT.

A RIVER, in a distant land,

Rolled o'er the vast primeval sand
Of mountains washed away;

The dark wood and the dismal fen,
The savage homes of savage men,
Along its margin lay.

But everywhere that river rolled,
The heavy sand was bright with gold;
The forest, while it threw
Cold shadows from it ancient pines,
Was rich as India's burning mines,
Or mountains of Peru.

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