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And makes that dismal, headachy noise
Which all the comfort of sewing destroys;
No rigid contrivance of lumber and steel,
But one with a natural spring in the heel.
"Mine is one of the kind to love,

And wears a shawl and a soft kid glove;
Has the merriest eyes and the daintiest foot,
And sports the charmingest gaiter-boot,

And a bonnet with feathers, and ribbons, and loops,
With any indefinite number of hoops.

"None of your patent machines for me,
Unless Dame Nature's the patentee;
I like the sort that can laugh and talk,
And take my arm for an evening walk;
That will do whatever the owner may choose,
With the slightest perceptible turn of the screws;
"One that can dance, and—possibly-flirt;
And make a pudding as well as a shirt;
One that can sing without dropping a stitch,
And play the housewife, lady, or witch;
Ready to give the sagest advice,

Or to do up your collars and things so nice.
"What do you think of my machine?
A'n't it the best that ever was seen?
'Tisn't a clumsy, mechanical toy,

But flesh and blood! Hear that, my boy?
With a turn for gossip, and household affairs,
Which include, you know, the sewing of tears.
"Tut, tut, don't talk. I see it all-

You needn't keep winking so hard at the wall:
I know what your fidgety fumblings mean;
You would like, yourself, a sewing-machine!
Well, get one, then,-of the same design,—
There were plenty left where I got mine!"

Part Twenty-second.

Each of the Four Numbers of

"100 Choice Selections" contained

in this volume is paged separately, and the Index is made to correspond therewith. See EXPLANATION on

first page of Contents.

The entire book contains nearly

1000 pages.

100

CHOICE SELECTIONS

No. 22.

FOURTH OF JULY.-GEORGE W. BETHUNE.

Maine, from her farthest border, gives the first exulting shout,

And from New Hampshire's granite heights, the echoing peal rings out;

The mountain faims of staunch Vermont prolong the thun. dering call,

And Massachusetts answers, "Bunker Hill"-a watch word for us all.

Rhode Island shakes her sea-wet locks, acclaiming with the free,

And staid Connecticut breaks forth in joyons harmony.
The giant joy of proud New York, loud as an earthquake's

roar,

Is heard from Hudson's crowded banks to Erie's crowded shore.

Still on the booming volley rolls o'er plains and flowery

glades

To where the Mississippi's flood the turbid gulf invades; There, borne from many a mighty stream upon her might

ier tide,

Come down the swelling, long huzzas from all that valley wide.

And wood-crowned Alleghany's call, from all her summits high,

Reverberates among the rocks that pierce the sunset sky; While on the shores and through the swales round the vast inland seas,

The stars and stripes, midst freemen's songs, are flashing to the breeze.

7

The woodsman, from the mother, takes his boy upon his knee,

And tells him how their fathers fought and bled for liberty. The lonely hunter sits him down the forest spring beside, To think upon his country's worth, and feel his country's pride;

While many a foreign accent, which our God can understand,

Is blessing Him for home and bread in this free, fertile land.

Yes, when upon the eastern coast we sink to happy rest, The Day of Independence rolls still onward to the west, Till dies on the Pacific shore the shout of jubilee,

That woke the morning with its voice along the Atlantic Sea.

O God, look down upon the land which thou hast loved so well,

And grant that in unbroken truth her children still may

dwell;

Nor, while the grass grows on the hill and streams flow through the vale,

May they forget their fathers' faith, or in their covenant

fail:

Keep, God, the fairest, noblest land that lies beneath the

sun,

“Our country, our whole country, and our country ever one."

A VISION.-MRS. E. M. II. GATES.

I had a vision. All the years

Of all the ages, had been told;

And earth, among the rolling spheres,
Paused in her pathway. She was old,
Yet had she ceased not in the race,
Nor wearied at her Master's word,
Till now, across the awful space,

Came new commandment, and she heard
And knew the voice that called her forth
From formless void, to do his will;-
His will was done from South to North,
And all her mighty wheels were still.

Above me, the familiar blue,

Like burning scroll, had fled away,--
The very heavens were strange and new.
It was the long-expected day

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