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THE ANCIENT MINER'S STORY.
Oh yes. I'm fixed as solid, sir, as most of folks
that's livin'
At least the coyote Poverty has ceased to gnaw
an' grin
That used to bunt me up an' downthat is, it
has to-day
What if it comes to-morrow, though, I
shouldn't care to say
A boy in old Connecticutthis dream I used
to hold
What if the cellar of our house should spring
a leak some day
And I'd find silver where I saw a shining lump
of gold
I've got a cellar in this rock that's just that
sort o' thing
The sum my father slaved himself for twenty
years to pay
I've dug out of this old hill-side in less than
half a day
If I could pile up your path, I'd make him
stare I guess
But these horny-handed hands are moulding fast to gentleness
I'd race you another up this hill, and open to
her view
Enough to give a London belle all she could
spend or do
I'd run a heap o' happiness out of her dear
eyes I know
But mine have struck a lead of gold in quite a
different place
My girl. Well maybe this is soft, but since
I've struck it rich
It wouldn't tell this to any one except "a ten-
derfoot"
Well, when I left those eastern hills she was
a charming witch
And promised me what she would do when I
came back rich
But her old father hadn't the heart to let us
marry then
And so I shook off Yankee dust and took a
western trail
My way it wasn't very clear. The old man
died, you see
I swore I never would come back till I could
buy him back
You don't know what it is to hunt and dig
from dawn to dawn
To dodge claim-jumpers, Injunsshows, then
find them clean away
You lose the trail; then half your claim, then
trail turns up again
With treasures that you couldn't find heaped
up on every side
And then at last I wandered, like: then tapered to a crawl
I wondered on it for a while, then wrote a
little note
And just as I had struck this mine, and my
old hope awoke
There came the postman with the newsit was my
friend's reply:
"She's been a wandering in her mind; the
fever turned afternoon
She went within the asylum walls, as crazy as
a loon
A rush across the barren plain; a snaffle in
railroad ride
And there she wasthe asylum, too, a-kneelin' at
her side
I thought she knew me just at first; but soon
she shrank away
And muttered low, an' laughed, whatever I
might say
She never found me crouches in a western
window seat
And says: "If he should come he'll know, an'
strike it rich"
No word so welcome now, Old chum; the Eastern
hills for me
And something seemed to always say: "Go
back and try your luck"
And here I am. Of course this old my purpose
is to stay
A message now above and below
I'm President, Cashier and Board of quite a
wealthy bank
With none except myself to pleaseand a fool
at that I know
But nothing makes my heart beat fastand I
can't help but think
Was not a thing o' dust, nor be, save victory or
pile of gold
But I have learned a thing or two; I know as
well as you
When we lock up our lives for wealth, the gold
key goes astray
And all the riches that we clasp can't unlock
days gone through those
happy days in which
I owned a heart and did not know it cost me
all I had
Will Carleton, in Harper's Weekly.
From the Yale Courant.
The village maid, whose girlish grace
I won, those golden summer days,
Brought up in simple, modest ways,
With store of all housewifely arts,
Had little learning else to boast,
A year or two at school at most.
I knew it. Yet, when first her eyes,
O'erflowing with that trust in mine,
What wealth of promise there did shine!
Whate'er my future might not be,
"When we were wed and I are wed,
I'll cultivate her mind," I said.
We tried it in the honeymoon.
I planned a course of history,
Art, literature, and poetry"
Combined; and though she took it in,
I read to her, and gave her "talks"
On science in our morning walks.
And sheah! when can I forget
Her look of interest in it yet
The heavy eyes so gravely bent
Upon my face, I could not see
I sometimes wished a lurking doubt
If she knew what 'twas all about.
For oftentimes, in lighter mood,
She'd murmur something sweet and low
That was not always apropos;
Her judgments, too, were often crude,
And her remarks, at times, I found,
Were painfully irrelevant.
Somehow I can't express a sense
Of failure, though for her dear face
Still keeps its sweet, confiding grace,
Its calm, unconscious innocence.
She'd look the same were I to speak
In Sanscrit or Homeric Greek
I think I'll have to give it up.
I'll have to bear her as she is.
The first, the only drop of gall
In love's divine, o'erflowing cup!
The one grand failure of my life!
I cannot "cultivate my wife!"
Robertson Trowbridge
What mighty ills have not been done by woman!
Who was't betrayed the Capitol? A woman!
Who lost Mark Antony the world? A woman!
Who was the cause of a long ten years' war,
And laid at last old Troy in ashes? Woman!
Destructive, damnable, deceitful woman!
Otway.
Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at
the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole;
stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.
Shakespeare.
A cunning woman is a knavish fool.
Most females will forgive a liberty rather than a slight;
and if any woman were to hang a man for stealing
her picture, although it were set in gold, it would be
a new case in law; but if he carried off the setting
and left the portrait, I would not answer for his safety.
Colton.