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He could not pride himself upon his wit;
And as for wisdom, he had none of it;
He had what's better, he had wealth.

What a confusion!. - all stand up erect
These crowd around to ask him of his health;
These bow in honest duty and respect;
And these arrange a sofa or a chair,

And these conduct him there.

"Allow me, sir, the honor;

- then a bow

Down to the earth-is 't possible to show
Meet gratitude for such kind condescension?

The poor man hung his head,
And to himself he said,

"This is indeed beyond my comprehension."
Then looking round, one friendly face he found,
And said, "Pray tell me why is wealth preferred
To wisdom?” – That's a silly question, friend "
Replied the other - 'have you never heard,

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A man may lend his store

Of gold or silver ore,

But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend?" KHEMNITZER

THE FROST.

THE Frost looked forth one still, clear night,

And whispered

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Now I shall be out of sight;

So, through the valley, and over the hight,

In silence I'll take my way.

I will not go on like that blustering train,
The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,
Who make so much bustle and noise in vain ;
But I'll be as busy as they."

Then he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest;
He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed
In diamond beads; and over the breast

Of the quivering lake he spread

A coat of mail, that it need not fear
The downward point of many a spear,
That he hung on its margin, far and near
Where a rock could rear its head.

He went to the windows of those who slept,
And over each pane, like a fairy, crept;
Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped,
By the light of the moon, were seen

Most beautiful things; there were flowers and trees;
There were bevies of birds, and swarms of bees;
There were cities, with temples and towers; and these
All pictured in silver sheen.

But he did one thing that was hardily fair,
He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there
That all had forgotten for him to prepare―
Now, just to set them a-thinking,

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I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he;
"This costly pitcher I'll burst in three;
And the glass of water they 've left for me
Shall 'tchick'! to tell them I'm drinking."

HANNAH Y, GOULD

THE THREE WARNINGS.

WHEN sports went round, and all were gay,
On neighbor Dobson's wedding-day,
Death called aside the jocund groom
With him into another room,
And, looking grave" You must," says he,
"Quit your sweet bride, and come with me.

"With you! and quit my Susan's side!
With you!" the hapless husband cried ;
"Young as I am? 't is monstrous hard!
Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared ;
My thoughts on other matters go;
This is my wedding-night, you know."
What more he urged I have not heard ;
His reasons could not well be stronger :
So Death the poor delinquent spared,
And left to live a little longer.

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Yet, calling up a serious look,
His hour-glass trembled while he spoke,
"Neighbor," he said, "farewell! no more
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour;

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And further, to avoid all blame
Of cruelty upon thy name,
To give you time for preparation,
And fit you for your future station,
Three several warnings you shall have
Before you 're summoned to the grave.
Willing, for once, I'll quit my prey,
And grant a kind reprieve,

In hopes you'll have no more to say,
But, when I call again this way,

Well pleased, the world will leave.”
To these conditions both consented,
And parted, perfectly contented.

What next the hero of our tale befell,

How long he lived, how wisely, and how well, How roundly he pursued his course,

And smoked his pipe, and stroked his horse,
The willing muse shall tell.

He chaffered then, he bought, he sold,
Nor once preceived his growing old,

Nor thought of Death as near;

His friends not false, his wife no shrew,
Many his gains, his children few,

He passed his hours in peace.

But, while he viewed his wealth increase,
While thus along life's dusty road
The beaten track content he trode,
Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares,
Uncalled, unheeded, unawares,

Brought on his eightieth year.

And now, one night, in musing mood,
When all alone he sate,

Th' unwelcome messenger of fate
Once more before him stood.

Half killed with anger and surprise —
"So soon returned!" old Dobson cries.

66 So soon, d' ye call it?" Death replies:

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Surely, my friend, you 're but in jest!

Since I was here before

"T is six-and-thirty years, at least,

And you are now fourscore."

"So much the worse!" the clown rejoined: "To spare the aged would be kind :

Besides, you promised me three warnings,
Which I have looked for nights and mornings."
"I know," cries Death, "that, at the best,
I seldom am a welcome guest;

But don't be captious, friend, at least.
I little thought you 'd still be able
To stump about your farm and stable.
Your years have run to a great length;
I wish you joy, though, of your strength."

"Hold!" says the farmer, "not so fast:
I have been lame these four years past.'
"And no great wonder," Death replies:
However, you still keep your eyes;

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And sure, to see one's loves and friends,
For legs and arms would make amends."
"Perhaps," says Dobson, "so it might;
But latterly I've lost my sight.”
"This is a shocking story, faith!

Yet there's some comfort, still," says Death:
"Each strives your sadness to amuse :

I warrant you hear all the news."

"There's none," cries he; "and if there were,

I'm grown so deaf I could not hear."

"Nay, then," the spectre stern rejoined,

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These are unwarrantable yearnings.

If you are lame, and deaf, and blind,

You've had your three sufficient warnings.
So come along; no more we 'll part!"
He said, and touched him with his dart;
And now old Dobson, turning pale,

Yields to his fate

so ends tale.

my

MRS. THRALE.

THE MUSIC CRIER.

AMONGST the great inventions of this age,
Which ev'ry other century surpasses,

Is one, just now the rage,

Called "Singing for all classes

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That now, alas! have no more ear than asses,

To learn to warble 'ike the birds in June.

In time and tune,

Correct as clocks, and musical as gasses!

Whether this grand harmonic scheme
Will ever get beyond a dream,
And tend to British happiness and glory,
May be no, and may be yes,

Is more than I pretend to guess ·
However, here's my story.

In one of those small, quiet streets,
Where business retreats,

To shun the daily bustle and the noise
The shoppy Strand enjoys,

But law, joint-companies, and life insurance
Find past endurance

In one of these back streets, to peace so dear,
The other day, a ragged wight

Began to sing with all his might, "I have a silent sorrow here!'

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Heard in that quiet place,
Devoted to a still and studious race,
The noise was quite appalling!
To seek a fitting simile, and spin it,
Appropriate to his calling,

His voice had all Lablache's body in it;
But oh the scientific tone it lacked,
And was in fact

Only a forty-boatswain power of bawling!

'T was said, indeed, for want of vocal nous,
The stage had banished him when he 'tempted it,
For though his voice completely filled the house,
It also emptied it.
However, there he stood
Vociferousa ragged don!

And with his iron pipes laid on

A row to all the neighborhood.

In vain were sashes closed,

And doors against the persevering Stentor, Though brick, and glass, and solid oak opposed, The intruding voice would enter,

Heedless of ceremonial or decorum,

Den, office, parlor, study, and sanctorun;

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