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And mé scarce less anxiety
Lest áll should not well managed be."
Incomparably honest friend,
Pray ón; my lécture 's at an end;
There 's not a word you 've said but 's true;
I 'll kneel beside you and pray too."
FLEURUS, HAINAULT (BELGIUM), Nov. 10, 1854.
Jack and Jóck once mét each other
On a road that east and west lay,
Pósting both as fast as áble,
Westward Jack, and Jóck due eástward :
“Whíther, Jáck, in súch a húrry ?”
Saíd Jock, stópping short and greeting.
“Straight to heaven,” repliéd Jack hásty,
“Túrn about, Jock, and come with me."
Whát! to heaven?" said Jock astonished;
« Jack, you can't to heaven get thát way;
Heáven lies eastward every child knows
Come with me, I 'm bound straight for it.
“Báh!” said Jack, “you 're súrely jóking;
Whý, it 's straight to hell you 're going.
you 're wise you 'll túrn with mé, Jock; Read the signpost: Heaven *** miles EAST.”
“Whát care Í, Jack, fór your signpost?
All my friends have still gone this way;
Fáther, mother, bóth grandfathers,
All my úncles, aúnts and cousins."
“Fór your friends I cáre as little,
Jóck, as you care for my signpost,
Bút to end our difference lét us
Leave it to the toll-bar keéper."
To the tóll - bar Jack and Jock go,
Dóff their bónnets, pút the question:
“Gentlemén,” replies the tóll - man,
“Please both of you páy the tóll first."
Paid the tóll, says thé toll- keeper
With a shrewd shrug of his shoulders: --
“Gentlemen, you 're free to take now
Either road to heaven or neither."
Só the two friends followed on straight
Each the way he had been going,
And I doúbt much either 's nearer
Heáven today than when he started.
Walking from BASECLES to TOURNAY (BELGIUM), Nov. 14, 1854.
THE BEGGAR AND THE BISHOP.
"My lord bishop," said the beggar,
“ Thoú and 1 in Christ are brethren,
Lét us therefore live as brothers;
Í 'll begin, do thoú as Í do.
“Hére 's one hálf my crust and bacon,
Hére 's one of my twó sixpences;
Nów give me one hálf the income
Óf thy seé and présentations.”
“Yés, beyond doubt we are bréthren,"
Saíd the bishop with a gráve smile,
"And have bóth received our portions
From the same impártial Parent.
“Tó divide again were impious
Díscontentedness on our parts;
Keep thou thine as I will mine keep,
Ánd let bóth praise the great giver.
“ Bút as Í am boúnd in fairness
Tó acknowledge I 've the lion's share,
Take this charitable shilling
Ánd my blessing, and no more say."
Walking from CANTERBURY to SITTINGBOURNE (KENT), Nov. 23, 1854.
TONGUELESS thou 'st yét a triple voice, gray lock;
For, first, thou speakest of a time when soft,
Brown, glóssy, curly hair my temples shaded;
When súpple and elastic were my joints,
My strong heart full of joy and hope and courage,
My infant reason breathless in pursuit
Of fugitive, light-foot, ignis- fatuus Knowledge;
A time when in my curling locks my mother
Her fingers used to wreathe and smiling say:
“Heaven bless my boy and make him a good man.”
And next thou speakest of a time, gray lock,
When prématúrely with my yet brown hair
White hairs began to mingle, and my mother
With ténder hand would pluck them and say sighing:
“Thése might have wéll a little longer waited,
And spared the sorrow to a mother's eyes.”
And Í would smile, and press her hand and say:
“Bé of good heárt; we've many a year before us,
Mother and son, to live, and love each other,
My vigorous manhood sheltering and protecting
Hér in whose shélter sáfe I grew to manhood.”
And lást, thou speakest of a time, gray lock
A tíme, alás! no longer in perspective,
Dístant and dim and dreaded, but here present
Whén the kind fingers, that in my brown curls
Once wreathed themselves or plucked the odd white hair,
Lie mouldering in the sepulchre, and I,
Three fourths my journey made to the same goal,
Pláy with my fingers in my daughter's curls
And sigh and say: -- “Already a white hair!"
Such triple voice hast thou, truthful gray lock.
FONTAINE L’EVEQUE, HAINAULT (BELGIUM); Nov. 12,
FOR THE TOMBSTONE OF MARAT.
Slaín by an angel in the guise of woman
Here lies that fiend incarnate, Jean Marat;
The enemy of mankind, THE PEOPLE'S FRIEND. *
Alás, magnanimous Corday, that the world
Must búy its riddance from the incubus
Át the too high price of thy virgin blood !
LILLE, DEP, du Nord (FRANCE); Nov. 17, 1854.
LÉT men boast their Brútus,
Scévola and Cócles,
Wómen háve their greater,
Nóbler, púrer Córday.