R. J. BURDETTE.
Since she went home,
The evening shadows linger longer here,
The winter days fill so much of the year,
And even summer winds are chill and drear,
Since she went home.
Since she went home,
The robin's note has touched a minor strain,
The old, glad songs breathe but a sad refrain,
And laughter sobs with hidden, bitter pain,
Since she went home.
How still the empty rooms her presence blest, Untouched the pillow that her dear head pressed, My lonely heart hath nowhere for its rest,Since she went home.
The long, long days have crept away like years,
The sunlight has been dimmed with doubts and
And the dark nights have rained in lonely tears,
Since she went home.
THE GREEN MOUNTAIN JUSTICE.
"The snow is deep," the Justice said;
"There's mighty mischief overhead.”
High talk, indeed," his wife exclaimed;
"What, sir! shall Providence be blamed?"
The Justice, laughing, said, “Oh, no!
I only meant the loads of snow
Upon the roofs. The barn is weak;
I greatly fear the roof will break.
So hand me up the spade, my dear,
I'll mount the barn, the roof to clear."
"No!" said the wife; "the barn is high,
And if you slip, and fall, and die,
How will my living be secured?—
Stephen, your life is not insured.
But tie a rope your waist around,
And it will hold you safe and sound."
"I will," said he. "Now for the roof-
All snugly tied, and danger-proof!
Excelsior! Excel- But no!
The rope is not secured below!"
Said Rachel, "Climb, the end to throw
Across the top, and I will go
And tie that end around my waist."
"Well, every woman to her taste;
You always would be tightly laced.
Rachel, when you became my bride,
I thought the knot securely tied;
But lest the bond should break in twain,
I'll have it fastened once again."
Below the arm-pits tied around,
She takes her station on the ground,
While on the roof, beyond the ridge,
He shovels clear the lower edge.
But, sad mischance! the loosened snow
Comes sliding down, to plunge below.
And as he tumbles with the slide,
Up Rachel goes on t'other side.
Just half-way down the Justice hung;
Just half-way up the woman swung.
"Good land o' Goshen !" shouted she;
"Why, do you see it?" answered he.
The couple, dangling in the breeze,
Like turkeys hung outside to freeze,
At their rope's end and wit's end, too,
Shout back and forth what best to do.
Cried Stephen, "Take it coolly, wife;
All have their ups and downs in life."
Quoth Rachel, "What a pity 'tis
To joke at such a time as this!
A man whose wife is being hung
Should know enough to hold his tongue."
"Now, Rachel, as I look below,
I see a tempting heap of snow.
Suppose, my dear, I take my knife,
And cut the rope to save my life."
She shouted, "Don't! 'twould be my death-
I see some pointed stones beneath.
A better way would be to call
With all our might, for Phebe Hall.”
"Agreed!" he roared. First he, then she
Gave tongue: "O, Phebe! Phebe! Phe-e-
be Hall!" in tones both fine and coarse,
Enough to make a drover hoarse.
Now, Phebe, over at the farm,
Was sitting, sewing, snug and warm;
But hearing, as she thought, her name,
Sprang up, and to the rescue came,
Beheld the scene, and thus she thought,
"If now a kitchen chair were brought,
And I could reach the lady's foot,
I'd draw her downward by the boot,
Then cut the rope, and let him go;
He cannot miss the pile of snow."
He sees her moving towards his wife,
Armed with a chair and carving-knife,
And, ere he is aware, perceives
His head ascending to the eaves;
And, guessing what the two are at,
Screams from beneath the roof, "Stop that!
You make me fall too far, by half!"
But Phebe answers, with a laugh,
"Please tell a body by what right
You've brought your wife to such a plight!”
And then, with well-directed blows,
She cuts the rope, and down he goes.
The wife untied, they walk around.
When lo! no Stephen can be found.
They call in vain, run to and fro;
They look around, above, below;
No trace or token can they see,
And deeper grows the mystery.
Then Rachel's heart within her sank;
But, glancing at the snowy bank,
She caught a little gleam of hope,—
A gentle movement of the rope.
They scrape away a little snow;
What's this? A hat! Ah! he's below.
Then upward heaves the snowy pile,
And forth he stalks in tragic style,
Unhurt, and with a roguish smile;
And Rachel sees, with glad surprise,
The missing found, the fallen rise.
THE DUTCHMAN'S SERENADE. Vake up, my schveet! Vake up, my lofe! Der moon dot can't been seen abofe. Vake oud your eyes, und dough it's late, I'll make you oud a serenate.
Der shtreet dot's kinder dampy vet,
Und dhere was no goot blace to set;
My fiddle's getting oud of dune,
So blease get vakey wery soon.
O, my lofe! My lofely lofe!
Vas you avake up dhere above;
Feeling sadt und nice to hear
Schneider's fiddle schrabin near?
Vell, anyway, obe loose your ear,
Und try to saw uf you kin hear
From dem bedclose, vat you'm among,
Der little song I'm going to sung:-
O, lady! Vake! Get vake!
Und hear der tale I'll tell;
Oh! you vat's schleebin sound ub dhere,
I like you pooty vell!
Your plack eyes dhem don't shine
Ven you'm ashleep—so vake!
(Yes, hurry ub und vake ub quick,
For gootness, cracious sake!)
Mine Schveet, imbatience, lofe,
I hobe you vill oxcuse;
I'm singing schveetly (dhere, py Jinks!
Dhere goes a shtring prake loose!)
O, putiful, schveet maid!
Oh! vill she efer vake?
Der moon is mooning-(Jimminy! dhere Anoder shtring vent prake!)
Oh! say, old schleeby headt!
(Now, I vas gidting madt-
I'll holler now, I don't care
Uf I vake up her dad!)
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