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O the riches love doth inherit !
Ah, the alchemy which doth change
Into sanctities rare and strange!
My darling's beautiful hair is grey ;
Laugh at the footsteps of decay.
Harms of the world have come unto us,
Cups of sorrow we yet shall drain ;
Wonderful rainbows in the rain.
And the sun is setting behind the hills;
And I am happy in what God wills.
So we sit by our household fires together,
Dreaming the dreams of long ago ;
And now the valleys are laid in snow.
The wind blows cold, 'tis growing late ;
I and my darling, and we wait.
ARTEMUS WARD'S VISIT TO THE PRINCE OF
WALES. I've bin follerin Mrs. Victory's hopeful sun Albert Edward threw Kanady with my onparaleled Show, and tho I haint made much in a pecoonery pint of view, I've lernt sumthin new, over hear on British Sile, whare they bleeve in Saint Gorge and the Dragoon. Preevis to cumin over hear I tawt my organist how to grind Rule Brittanny and other airs which is poplar on British Sile. I likewise fixt a wax figger up to represent Sir Edmun Hed the Govnor Ginral. The statoot I fixt up is the most versytile wax statoot I ever saw. I've showed it as Wm. Penn, Napoleon Bonypart, Juke of Wellington, the Beneker Boy, Mrs. Cunningham & varis other notid persons, & also for a sertin pirut named Hix. I've bin so long amung wax statoots that I can fix 'm up to soot the tastes of folks, & with sum paints I hav I kin give their facis a beneverlent or fiendish look as the kase requires. I giv Sir Edmun Hed a beneverlent look, & when sum folks who thawt they was smart sed it didn't look like Sir Edmund Hed anymore than it did anybody else, I sed, “That's the pint. That's the beauty of the Statoot. It looks like Sir Edmun Hed or any other man. You may kall it what you pleese. Ef it don't look like anybody that ever lived, then it's sertinly a remarkable Statoot & well worth seein. I kall it Sir Edmun Hed. You may call it what you darn pleese !" (I had 'em thare.]
At larst I've had a interview with the Prince, tho it putty nigh cost me my vallerble life. I cawt a glimps of him as he sot on the Pizarro of the hotel in Sarnia, & elbowd myself threw a crowd of wimin, children, sojers & Injins that wos hangin round the tavern. I was drawin near to the Prince when a red faced man in Millingterry close grabd holt of me and axed me whare I was goin all so bold ?
6 To see Albert Edard the Prince of Wales," sez I; u who are you?"
He sed he was Kurnal of the Seventy Fust Regiment, Her Majesty's troops. I told him I hoped the Seventy Onesters was in good helth, and was passing by when he ceased hold of me agin, and sed in a tone of indigent cirprise :
Go What? Impossible! It cannot be! Sir, did I understan you to say that you was actooally goin into the presents of his Royal Iniss ?”
“That's what's the matter with me," I replide. “But, sir, its onprecedented. It's orful, sir. Nothin'
like it hain't happened sins the Gun Power Plot of Guy Forks. Owdashus man, who air yu ?”.
“Sir," sez I, drawin myself up & puttin on a defiant air, “ I'm Amerycan sittersen. My name is Ward. I'm husband & the father of twins, which I'm happy to state they look like me. By perfeshun I'm a exhibiter of wax works & sich."
“Good gracious!" yelled the Kurnal, “ the idee of a exhibiter of wax figgers goin into the presents of Royalty! The British Lion may well roar with raje at the thawt !"
Sez I, " Speakin of the British Lion, Kurnal, I'd like to make a bargin with you fur that beast fur a few weeks to add to my Show.” I didn't mean nothin by this. I was only gettin orf a goak, but you orter hev seen the Old Kurnal jump up & howl. He actooally fomed at the mowth.
"This can't be real,” he showtid. “No, no. It's a horrid dream. Sir, you air not a human bein-you have no existents-yure a Myth !"
66 Wall,” sez I, "old hoss, yule find me a ruther onkomfortable Myth ef you punch my inards in that way agin.” I began to get a little riled, fur when he called me a Myth he puncht me putty hard. The Kurnal now commenst showtin fur the Seventy Onesters. I at fust thawt I'd stay & becum a Marter to a British Outraje, as sich a course mite git my name up & be a good advertisement fur my Show, but it occurred to me that ef enny of the Seventy Onesters should happen to insert a barronet into my stummick it mite be onplesunt, & I was on the pint of runnin orf when the Prince hisself kum up & axed me what the matter was. Sez I, “ Albert Edard, is that you ?” & he smilt & sed it was. Séz I, “ Albert Edard, hears my keerd. I cum to pay my respecks to the futur King of Ingland. The Kurnal of the Seventy Onesters hear is ruther smawl pertaters, but of course you ain't to blame fur that. He puts on as many airs as tho he was the Bully Boy with the glass eye.”
“Never mind," sez Albert Edard, “I'm glad to see you, Mister Ward, at all events,” & he tuk my hand so plesunt like & larfed so sweet that I fell in love with him to onct. He handid me a segar & we sot down on the Pizarro & commenst smokin rite cheerful. “Wall," sez I, “ Albert Edard, how's the old folks?”
“Her Majesty is well,” he sed.
We sot & tawked there sum time abowt matters & things, & bimeby I axed him how he liked bein Prince as fur as he'd got.
"To speak plain, Mister Ward,” he sed, “I don't much like it. I'm sick of all this bowin & scrapin & crawlin & hurrain over a boy like me. I would rather go through the country quietly & enjoy myself in my own way, with the other boys, & not be made a Show of to be garped at by everybody. When the peple cheer me I feel pleesed, fur I know they meen it, but if these onehorse offishuls coold know how I see threw all their moves & understan exackly what they air after, and knowd how I larft at 'em in private, thayd stop kissin my hands & fawnin over me as they now do. But you know Mr. Ward I can't help bein a Prince, & I must do all I kin to fit myself fur the persishun I must sumtime ockepy."
" That's troo," sez I; “ sickness and the doctors will carry the Queen orf one of these dase, sure's yer born."
The time hevin arove fur me to take my departer I rose up and sed : “ Albert Edard, I must go, but previs to doin so I will obsarve that you soot me. Yure a good feller Albert Edard, & tho I'm agin Princes as a gineral thing, I must say I like the cut of your Gib. When you get to be King try and be as good a man as yure muther has bin ! Be just and be Jenerus, espeshully to showmen, who hav allers been aboozed sins the dase of Noah, who was the fust man to go into the Menagery bizness, & ef the daily papers of his time air to be beleeved Noah's colleckshun of livin wild beests beet ennything ever seen sins, tho I make bold to dowt ef his snaiks was ahead of mine. Albert Edard, adoo !" I tuk his hand which he shook warmly, & givin him a perpetooal free pars to my show, & also parses to take hum for the Queen, I put on my hat and walkt away.
“Mrs. Ward " I solilerquized, as I walkt along, “ Mrs. Ward, w you could see your husband now, just as he prowlly emerjis from the presunts of the futur King of Ingland, you'd be s. ry you called him a Beest jest becaws he cum home tired 1 nite and wantid to go to bed without taking orf his boots. You'd be sorry for tryin to deprive yure husband of the priceliss Boon of liberty, Betsy Jane!”
Jest then I met a long perseshun of men with gownds onto 'em. The leader was on horseback, & ridin up; me sed, “ Air you Orange ?"
Sez Í, “ Which ?”
“ I used to peddle lemins," sed I, “but I never delt in oranges. They are apt to spile on your hands. What particler Loonatic Asylum hev you & yure friends escaped frum, ef I may be so bold ?" Just then a suddent thawt struck me & I sed, “Oh yure the fellers who air worryin the Prince so & givin the Juke of Noocastle cold sweats at nite, by yure infernal catawalins, air you ? Wall, take the advice of a Amerykin sitterzen, take orf them gownds & don't try to get up a religious fite, which is 40 times wuss nor a prize fite, over Albert Edard, who wants to receive you all on a ekal footin, not keering a rush what meetin house you sleep in on Sundays. Go home and mind yure bizniss & not make noosenses of yourselves.” With which observashuns I left 'em.
THE HORSE AND THE WOLF.
FONTAINE. What John Gay did for English Literature, John de la Fontaine did for that of our lively allies, with a difference which is all in favour of the latter writer; inasmuch as where Gay contented himself with neatly turning a jest or deftly pointing a moral, the Frenchman displayed a depth of sarcasm and an esprit which was foreign to the nature of the English fabulist. As