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And then 'twas whispered, mournfully,

The leech had come and he was dead, And all the neighbors flocked to see:

"Poor Little Jerry!" was all they said.

They laid him in his earthly bed

His miller's coat his only shroud—
"Dust to dust," the parson said,
And all the people wept aloud.

For he had shunned the deadly sin,
And not a grain of over toll
Had ever dropped into his bin,
To weigh upon his parting soul.

Beneath the hill there stands the mill

Of wasting wood and crumbling stone; The wheel is dripping and clattering still, But Jerry, the miller, is dead and gone!



[Deliver the following in a manly strain.]

Better than grandeur, better than gold-
Than rank and title a thousand fold-
Is a healthy body, a mind at ease,
And simple pleasures, that always please;
A heart that can feel for a neighbor's woe,
And share his joy with a genial glow,
With sympathies large enough to enfold
All men as brothers, is better than gold.

Better than gold is a conscience clear,

Though toiling for bread in an humble sphereDoubly blest with content and health,

Untired by lust and care of wealth;

Sweet contentment with his lot
Adorn and ennoble a poor man's cot,
For mind and morals, or nature's plan,
Are the genuine test of a gentleman.

Better than gold is a thinking mind,
That in the realm of books can find
A treasure surpassing Australian ore,
And live with the great and good of yore:
The sage's lore and the poet's lay,
The glories of empires passed away,
The world's great drama will thus unfold,
And yield a pleasure better than gold.

Better than gold is a peaceful home,
Where all the fireside charities come;
The shrine of love and the heaven of life,
Hallowed by mother, sister or wife;
However humble the home may be,

Or tried with sorrow by heaven's decrce,

The blessings that never were bought or sold,

And centre there, are better than gold.



We must stay exactly in our place-not an inch above, not an inch below. But how shall I tell if I stand in my exact appointment, not a particle above, not a particle beneath? This is the test. If you can perform your duty easily, without being cramped or exhausted, that is the right place. That man is in a horrible condition who is ever making prodigious efforts to do a little more than he can do. It is just as easy for a star to swing in its orbit as for a mote to float in the sunbeam. Nature never sweats. The great law of gravitation holds the universe on its back as easily as a miller swings over his shoulder a bag of Genesee wheat. The winds never run themselves out of breath. The rivers do not weary in their course.

The Mississippi and the Amazon are no more tired than the mea. dow brook. Himalaya is not dizzy.

Poets talk about the waters of our great cataract being in agony, but I think they like it, How they frolic and clap their hands miles above, as they come skipping on toward the great summersault, siuging, "Over we go, over we go!" When the universe goes at such tremendous speed, and the least impediment might break one of the great wheels, is it not a wonder that we do not sometimes hear a prodigious crash, or thunders bang loud enough to make the world's knees knock together? Yet a million worlds in their flight do not make as much noise as a honey bee coquetting among the clover tops. Everything ¡n nature is just as easy. Now, if the position you occupy requires unnatural exertion, your only way out is either to take a step higher up, or take a step further down. Providence does not demand that you should break your back, or put your arm out of joint, or sprain your ankle. If you can only find out just what you are to do, you can do it perfectly easy.

Young man, be sure you begin right. It is dangerous work, this changing an occupation or profession. Not once in a thousand times is it done successfully. The sea of life is so rough that you cannot cross over from one vessel to another except at great peril of falling between. Thousands of men have fallen down to nothing between the mason's trowel and the carpenter's saw; between the lawyer's briefs and the author's pen; between the medicine chest and the pulpit. It is no easy matter to switch off on another track this thundering express train of life. It takes about ten years to get fairly started in any business or profession, and I tell you we have not got many decades to waste in experiment.



[Boldly and with vigor.]

Burg Niedeck is a mountain in Alsace, high and strong,
Where once a noble castle stood-the Giants held it long;
Its very ruins now are lost, its site is waste and lone,
And if you seek for Giants there, they all are dead and gone.

The Giant's daughter once came forth the castle gate before
And played, with all a child's delight, beside her father's door;
Then sauntering down the precipice, the girl did gladly go,
To see, perchance, how matters stood in the little world below.

With few and easy steps she passed the mountain and the wood; At length, near Haslach, at the place where mankind dwelt, she stood;

And many a town and village fair, and many a field so green, Before her wandering eyes appeared-a strange and curious scene;

And as she gazed, in wonder lost, on all the scene around,
She saw a Peasant at her feet, a tilling of the ground,

The little creature crawled about so slowly here and there,
And, lighted by the morning sun, his plough shone bright and fair.

"Oh, pretty plaything !" cried the child, "I'll take thee home with me."

Then with her infant hands she spread her 'kerchief on her knee, And cradling horse, and man, and plough, all gently on her arm, She bore them home with cautious steps, afraid to do them harm!

She hastes with joyous steps and quick (we know what children are),

And spying soon her father out, she shouted from afar,
"O father, dearest father, such a plaything I have found,
I never saw so fair a one on our own mountain ground!"

Her father sat at table then, and drank his wine, so mild,
And, smiling with a parent's smile, he asked the happy child
"What struggling creature hast thou brought so carefully to me?
Thou leapest for very joy my girl; come, open, let me see.”

She opens her 'kerchief carefully, and gladly, you may deem,
And shows her eager sire the plough, the peasant and his team;
And when she placed before his sight the new found pretty toy,
She clasped her hands, and screamed aloud, and cried for very joy.

But her father looked quite seriously, and shaking slow his head, "What hast thou brought me home, my child? this is no toy," he said; "Go take it quickly back again, and put it down below;

The Peasant is no plaything, girl—how could'st thou think him so?

Go, go, without or sigh or sob, and do my will," he said, "For know, without the Peasant, girl, we none of us had bread; 'Tis from the Peasant's hardy stock the race of Giants are: The Peasant is no plaything, child-no-God forbid he were."



[Give this in a pithy, humorous vein.]

"God bless the man who first invented sleep!"
So Sancho Panza said, and so say I;
And bless him, also, that he didn't keep

His great discovery to himself; or try
To make it as the lucky fellow might-
A close monopoly by "patent right!"

Yes-bless the man who first invented sleep
(I really can't avoid the iteration);

But blast the man, with curses loud and deep,

Whate'er the rascal's name, or age, or station,
Who first invented, and went round advising
That artificial cut-off-Early Rising!

"Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed!"
Observes some solemn, sentimental owl.

Maxims like these are very cheaply said;
But, ere you make yourself a fool or fowl,
Pray just inquire about the rise—and fall,
And whether larks have any bed at all!

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