With often bidding, takes his seat, But at a distance mighty great. Though often asked to draw his chair, He nods, nor comes an inch more near. By madame served, with body bended, With knife and fork and arms extended, He reached as far as he was able To plate, that overhangs the table; With little morsels cheats his chops, And in the passage some he drops. To show where most his heart inclined, He talked and drank to John behind. When drank to, in a modish way, "Your love's sufficient, zur," he'd say: And, to be thought a man of manners, Still rose to make his awkward honors. "Tush!" says the squire; "pray keep your sitting!" "No, no," he cries, "zur, 'tis not fitting: Though I'm no scholar, versed in letters, I knows my duty to my betters." Much mirth the farmer's ways afford, And hearty laughs went round the board. Thus, the first course was ended well But at the next-al! what befell? The dishes were now timely placed, And table with fresh lux'ry graced. When drank to by a neighboring charmer, Up, as usual, starts the farmer.

A wag, to carry on the joke,

Thus to his servant softly spoke:'Come hither, Dick; step gently there, And pull away the farmer's chair." 'Tis done; his congee made, the clown Draws back, and stoops to sit him down; But, by posteriors overweighed, And of his trusty seat betrayed, As men, at twigs, in rivers sprawling, He caught the cloth to save his falling; In vain!-sad fortune! down he wallowed, And, rattling, all the dishes followed: The fops soon lost their little wits; The ladies squalled-some fell in fits; Here tumbled turkeys, tarts, and widgeons, And there, minced pies, and geese, and pigeons; Lord! what a do 'twixt belles and beaux!Some curse, some cry, and rub their clothes! This lady raves, and that looks down, And weeps, and wails her spattered gown. One spark bemoans his greased waistcoat, One-"Rot him! he has spoiled my laced-coat!" Amidst the rout, the farmer long

Some pudding sucked, and held his tongue;

At length, rubs his eyes, nostrils twang, Then snaps his fingers, and thus began: "Plague tak't! I'ze tell you how'd 'twould be; Look! here's a pickle, zurs, d'ye see." "Peace, brute, begone!" the ladies cry; The beaux exclaim, "Fly, rascal, fly!" "I'll tear his eyes out!" squeaks Miss Dolly; "I'll pink his soul out!" roars a bully. At this the farmer shrinks with fear, And thinking 'twas ill tarrying here, Runs off, and cries, “Ay, kill me, then, Whene'er you catch me here again!"

THE OATH.-By Thomas Buchanan Reud.

"Hamlet.-Swear on my sword.

Ghost (below).-Swear!"-SHAKSPEARE.

YE freemen, how long will ye stifle
The vengeance that justice inspires?
With treason how long will ye trifle

And shame the proud names of your sires? Out, out with the sword and the rifle,

In defence of your homes and your fires! The flag of the old Revolution

Swear firmly to serve and uphold, That no treasonous breath of pollution Shall tarnish one star on its fold.

Swear!

And hark! the deep voices replying
From graves where your fathers are lying,
"Swear! Oh, swear!"

In this moment, who hesitates, barters
The rights which his forefathers won;
He forfeits all claim to the charters
Transmitted from sire to son.

Keel, kneel at the graves of our martyrs,
And swear on your sword and your gun;

Lay up your great oath on an altar

As huge and as strong as Stonehenge, And then, with sword, fire, and halter, Sweep down to the field of revenge, Swear!

And hark! the deep voices replying From graves where your fathers are lying, "Swear! Oh, swear!"

By the tombs of your sires and brothers,
The host which the traitors have slain
By the tears of your sisters and mothers,
In secret concealing their pain;
The grief which the heroine smothers
Consuming the heart and the brain;
By the sigh of the penniless widow,
By the sob of our orphans' despair,
Where they sit in their sorrowful shadow,
Kneel, kneel, every freeman, and swear!
Swear!

And hark! the deep voices replying
From graves where your fathers are lying,
"Swear! Oh, swear!"

On mounds which are wet with the weeping
Where a nation has bow'd to the sod,
Where the noblest of martyrs are sleeping,
Let the wind bear your vengeance abroad,
And your firm oaths be held in the keeping
Of your patriot hearts, and your God;
Over Ellsworth, for whom the first tear rose,
While to Baker and Lyon you look,
By Winthrop, a star among heroes,

By the blood of our murder'd McCook,
Swear!

And hark! the deep voices replying

From graves where your fathers are lying,
"Swear! Oh, swear!”

THE MAIN TRUCK, OR A LEAP FOR LIFE. – 3y Colton.

OLD IRONSIDES at anchor lay,

In the harbor of Mahon;
A dead calm rested on the bay,-
The waves to sleep had gone;
When little Hal, the Captain's scn,
A lad both brave and good,

In sport, up shroud and rigging ran,
And on the main truck stood i

A shudder shot through every vein,-
All eyes were turned on high!
There stood the boy, with dizzy brain,
Between the sea and sky;

No hold had he above, below;
Alone he stood in air:

To that far height none dared to go,-
No aid could reach him there.

We gazed, but not a man could speak!
With horror all aghast,-

In groups, with pallid brow and cheek,
We watched the quivering mast.
The atmosphere grew thick and hot,
And of a lurid hue;—

As riveted unto the spot,

Stood officers and crew.

The father came on deck:-he gasped,
"O, God! thy will be done!"
Then suddenly a rifle grasped,
And aimed it at his son.

"Jump, far out, boy, into the wave!
Jump, or I fire," he said;

"That only chance your life can save;
Jump, jump, boy!" He obeyed.

He sunk,-he rose,-he lived, he moved,-
And for the ship struck out.
On board we hailed the lad beloved,

With many a manly shout.

His father drew, in silent joy,

Those wet arms round his neck,

And folded to his heart his boy,-
Then fainted on the deck.

DRIVING HOME THE COWS.

OUT of the clover and blue-eyed grass,
He turned them into the river-lane;
One after another he let them pass,

Then fastened the meadow bars again.

Under the willows and over the hill,
He patiently followed their sober pace;
The merry whistle for once was still,
And something shadowed the sunny face.

Only a boy! and his father had said
He never could let his youngest go:
Two already were lying dead

Under the feet of the trampling foe.

But after the evening work was done,

And the frogs were loud in the meadow-swamp,

Over his shoulder he slung his gun,

And stealthily followed the foot-path damp,

Across the clover and through the wheat,
With resolute heart and purpose grim,
Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet,
And the blind bats flitting startled him.

Thrice since then had the lanes been white,
And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom;
And now, when the cows came back at night,
The feeble father drove them home.

For news had come to the lonely farm

That three were lying where two had lain; And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm Could never lean on a son's again.

The summer day grew cool and late;

He went for the cows when the work was done; But down the lane, as he opened the gate, He saw them coming, one by one,—

Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess,

Shaking their horns in the evening wind,
Cropping the buttercups out of the grass-
But who was it following close behind?
Loosely swang in the idle air

The empty sleeve of army blue;
And worn and pale, from the crisping hair,
Looked out a face that the father knew;—

For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn,
And yield their dead unto life again;
And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn
In golden glory at last may wane.

The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes;

For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb, And under the silent evening skies

Together they followed the cattle home.

THE CONFESSION.-Blackwood's Magazine.

THERE'S somewhat on my breast, father,
There's somewhat on my breast!

The live-long day I sigh, father,
At night I can not rest;
I can not take my rest, father,
Though I would fain do so,

A weary weight oppresseth me,-
The weary weight of woe!