Believe me stile, as I have ever been The steadfast liver of per fellow mend, my weakness, teel ofte liveet of holy libertés; with theat Any сне Free red by blard redeemed but rest by enn Each feller broken, but in Gordy Johie & Whitter Brother of Bacchus, later born! Or judge of thee meant: only thou Scent to match thy rich perfume For the smaller sort of boys, Stinkingest of the stinking kind! Nay, rather, Plant divine, of rarest virtue; Or in part but to express That they do not rightly wot - Or, as men, constrained to part With what's nearest to their heart, While their sorrow 's at the height Lose discrimination quite, And their hasty wrath let fall, To appease their frantic gall, On the darling thing, whatever, Whence they feel it death to sever, Though it be, as they, perforce, Guiltless of the sad divorce. For I must (nor let it grieve thee, Friendliest of plants, that I must) leave thee. For thy sake, Tobacco, I Would do anything but die, And but seek to extend my days Long enough to sing thy praise. But, as she who once hath been A king's consort is a queen Ever after, nor will bate Any tittle of her state Though a widow, or divorced, So I, from thy converse forced, The old name and style retain, A right Katherine of Spain; And a seat, too, 'mongst the joys Of the blest Tobacco Boys; Where, though I, by sour physician, Am debarred the full fruition Of thy favors, I may catch Some collateral sweets, and snatch Sidelong odors, that give life Like glances from a neighbor's wife; And still live in the by-places And the suburbs of thy graces; And in thy borders take delight, An unconquered Canaanite. CHARLES LAMB. WE are two travelers, Roger and I. Five years we've tramped through wind and weather, And slept out-doors when nights were cold, We've learned what comfort is, I tell you! (This out-door business is bad for the strings), Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle, | I'd sell out heaven for something warm Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, She's married since, So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving To such a miserable, thankless master! No, sir! see him wag his tail and grin ! By George! it makes my old eyes water! That is, there's something in this gin That chokes a fellow. But no matter! We'll have some music, if you 're willing, - a parson's wife; "T was better for her that we should part, Better the soberest, prosiest life Than a blasted home and a broken heart. I have seen her? Once I was weak and spent But little she dreamed, as on she went, Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped! And Roger (hem! what a plague a cough is, You've set me talking, sir; I'm sorry; sir !) - there! it I'm better now; that glass was warming. Why not reform? That's easily said, We must be fiddling and performing For supper and bed, or starve in the street. But I've gone through such wretched treat- Not a very gay life to lead, you think? ment, Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread, And scarce remembering what meat meant, That my poor stomach 's past reform; And there are times when, mad with thinking, But soon we shall go where lodgings are free, And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink; The sooner the better for Roger and me! |