An' down his pale cheeks, at the word of his mother, But the sthrong manly voice used to falther and break; And God knows it 's betther than wandering in fear The mornin' was bright, an' the mists rose on high, At last they threw open the big prison-gate, A wild wailin' sound kem on by degrees, Like the sound of the lonesome wind blowin' through trees. On, on to the gallows the sheriffs are gone, An' the cart an' the sodgers go steadily on; An' at every side swellin' around of the cart, An' the hangman gets up with the rope in his hand; an' the people grew still, Then the hangman dhrew near, An' the good priest has left him, havin' said his last prayer. An' the devil's in the dice if you catch him ag'in. Well, a week after this time without firing a cannon, A letter was brought to the town of Kildare, "To ould Misthress O'Brien in Ireland or elsewhere." Enough to pay him and fetch you away To th's land of the free and the brave, Amerikay. So long as you're mother of Shamus O'Brien. An' give me love to swate Biddy and tell her beware For hin or his wig, or his dirty black cap, An' as for dragoons, them paid men of slaughter, Just say that I love them as the divil loves holy water. Fill your bag with pittatyes and whisky and rice, An' when you start from ould Ireland take passage at Cork To the State of Cincinnati in the town of Ohio, J. S. LE FANU. BROTHER WATKINS. We have the subjoined discourse, delivered by a Southern divine who had removed to a new field of labor. To his new flock, on the first day of his ministration, he gave some reminiscences of his former charge, as follows: "My beloved brethering, before I take my text I must tell you about my parting with my old congregation. On the morning of last Sabbath, I went into the meeting-house to preach my farewell discourse. Just in front of me sot the old fathers and mothers in Israel; the tears coursed down their furrowed cheeks; their tottering forms and quivering lips breathed out a sad--Fare ye well, Brother Watkins-ah! Behind them sot the middle aged men and matrons; health and vigor beamed from every countenance; and as they looked up I could see in their dreamy eyes--Fare ye well, Brother Watkins --ah! Behind them sot the boys and girls that I had baptized and gathered into the Sabbath-school. Many times had they been rude and boisterous, but now their merry laugh was hushed, and in the silence I could hear--Fare ye well, Brother Watkins--ah! Around on the back seats and in the aisles, stood and sot the colored brethering, with their black faces and honest hearts, and as I looked upon them I could see--Fare ye well, Brother Watkins-ah! When I had finished my discourse, and shaken hands with the brethering—ah! I passed out to take a last look at the old church-ah! The broken steps, the flopping blinds, and moss-covered roof, suggested only— Fare ye well, Brother Watkins-ah! I mounted my old gray mare, with my earthly possessions in my saddle-bags, and as I passed down the street the servant-girls stood in the doors, and with their brooms waved me a-Fare ye well, Brother Watkins-ah! As I passed out of the village the low wind blew softly through the waving branches of the trees, and moaned-Fare ye well, Brother Watkins—ah! I came down to the creek, and as the old mare stopped to drink I could hear the water rippling over the pebbles a-Fare ye well, Brother Watkins-ah! And even the little fishes, as their bright fins glistened in the sunlight, I thought, gathered around to say, as best they could-Fare ye well, Brother Watkins--ah! I was slowly passing up the hill, meditating upon the sad vicissitudes and mutations of life, when suddenly out bounded a big hog from a fence corner, with aboo! aboo! and I came to the ground, with my saddle bags by my side. As I lay in the dust of the road, my old gray mare ran up the hill, and as she turned the top she waved her tail back at me, seemingly to say-Fare ye well, Brother Watkins--ah! I tell you, my brethering, it is affecting times to part with a congregation you have been with for over thirty years—ah!" Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, In looking on the happy autumn fields, Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, Sad as the last which reddens over one Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; Dear as remembered kisses after death, ALFRED TENNYSON. OLD CHUMS. Is it you, Jack? Old boy, is it really you? Your hair! why, you've only a little gray fuzz! And your beard's white! but that can be beautifully dyed; And your legs aren't but just half as long as they was; And then-stars and garters! your vest is so wide! Is this your hand? Lord, how I envied you that And now it is callous inside, and so fat,— Well, you beat the very old deuce, that is all. Turn round! let me look at you! isn't it odd How strange in a few years a fellow's chum grows! Your eye is shrunk up like a bean in a pod, And what are these lines branching out from your nose? |