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The " time for honest folks to be in bed”
Is in the morning, if I reason right;
Upon his pillow till 'tis fairly light,
It was a glorious thing to rise in season;
At 10 o'clock A. M.—the very reason
Awake to duty and awake to truth-
Of our best deeds and days, we find, in sooth,
For the soft visions of the gentle night,
To live as only in the angels' sight-
I like the lad who, when his father thought
Of vagrant worm by early songster caught,
THE TRUE GENTLEMAN,
[Boldly and with energy.] The true leman is above a mean thing. He cannot stoop to # mean fraud. Ho invades no secret in the keeping of another. He betrays no secrets confided to his own keeping. He never struts in borrowed plumage. He never takes selfish advantage of our mistakes. He uses no ignoble weapons in controversy. He never stabs in the dark. He is ashamed of innuendoes. He is not one thing at a man's face and another behind his back. If by accident he comes in possession of his neighbor's counsels, he passes upon them an act of instant oblivion. He bears sealed packages without tampering with the wax. Papers not meant for his eye, whether they Alutter in at his window or lie open before him in unguarded exposure, are sacred to him. He invades no privacy of others, however sound the sentry sleeps. Bolts and bars, locks and keys, hedges and pickets, bonds and securities, notice to trespassers, are none of them for him. He may be trusted himself out of sight anywhere. He buys no office, he sells none, he intrigues for none. He would rather fail of his rights than win them through dishonor. He will eat honest bread. He tramples on no sensitive feeling. He insults no man, If he has rebuke for another, he is straightforward, open, manly. He cannot descend to scurrility. In short, whatever he judges honor able he practices towards every man.
MUSIO OF LABOR.
[To be given in a stirring manner.]
The whirling of the plane,
The creaking of the crane,
The grating of the drill,
The whirling of the mill,
The rattling of the loom,
The fan's continual boom,
The clipping of the tailor's shears
The driving of the awlThese sounds of industry
I love-I love them all.
The clinking of the magic type,
The earnest talk of men, The toiling of the giant press,
The scratching of the pen, The tapping of the yard stick,
The tinkling of the scales, The whistling of the needle
(When no bright cheek it pales), The humming of the cooking stove,
The surging of the broom, The pattering feet of childhood,
The housewife's busy hum, The buzzing of the scholars,
The teacher's kindly callThese sounds of active industry
I love- I love them all.
I love the ploughman's whistle,
The reaper's cheerful song,
Spurring his stock along,
As he hies him to the town,
As the ripened fruit comes down, The busy sound of threshers
As they clean the ripened grain, The husker's joke and catch of glee
'Neath the moonlight on the plain, The kind voice of the dairyman,
The shepherd's gentle callThese sounds of pleasant industry
I love I love them all.
[Simply and tenderly.] I had told him, Christmas morning,
As he sat upon my knee, Holding fast his little stockings,
Stuffed as full as full could be, And attentive, listening to me
With a face demure and mild, That old Santa Claus, who filled them,
Did not love a naughty child. “But we'll be good, won't we, moder ?”.
And from off my lap he slid, Digging deep among the goodies
In his crimson stockings hid, While I turned me to my table,
Where the tempting goblet stood, With a dainty drink brimmed over,
Sent me by a neighbor good. But the kitten, there before me,
With his white paw, nothing loath, Sat, by way of entertainment
Slapping off the shining froth; And, in not the gentlest humor
At the loss of such a treat, I confess, I rather rudely
Thrust poor pussy in the street. Then how Benny's blue eyes kindled !
Gathering up the precious store He had busily been pouring
In his tiny pinafore, With a generous look, that shamed me,
Sprang he from the carpet bright, Showing by his mien indignant
All a baby's sense of right.
“Come back, Harney,” called ho loudly,
As he held his apron white, “You shall have my candy wabbit I".
But the door was fastened tight. So he stood, abashed and silent,
In the centre of the floor, With defcated look, alternate
Bent on me and on the door.
Then, as by some sudden impulsc,
Quickly ran ho to the fire,
Watched the flames go higher and higher, In a brave, clear key he shouted,
Like some lordly littlo elf, "Santa Kaus, come down the chimney
Make my moder 'have herself !" "I will be a good girl, Bonny,"
Said I, feeling the reproof;
Mewing on the gallery roof.
Langhter chased away the frowni, And they gamboled 'neath the live oaks
Till the dusky night came down. In my dim fire-liglıted chamber
Harney purred beneath my chair, And my play-worn boy beside me
Knelt to say his evening prayer: “God bess fader, God bess moder,
God bess sister”--then a pauseAnd the sweet young lips devoutly
Murmured, “God boss Santa Kaus!" He is sleeping; brown and silken
Lie the lashes, long and meek, Like caressing, clinging shadows,
Ou lis plump and peachy cheek.