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Don't make it a wise man;
Wisdom is mere fólly -
Persecuted álways,
Háted by the whole world.

Bút make it a kind man;
Kindness still is happy,
Éven while it's cheated,
íll used by the whole world.

TOURNAY (BELGIUM); Nov. 15, 1854.

THE SOLDIER AND THE BRIGAND.

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“Lawless róbber, bloody cút-throat,"
Said the soldier to the brigand,
“I shall see thee hanged I hope yet,
Were it bút as an example
Thát slow-footed jústice sometimes
Overtakes the malefactor."

"Licensed robber, wholesale cút-throat,"
Said the brigand to the soldier,
“Í shall see thee shot I hope yet,
Wére it bút as an example
That one-sided jústice sometimes
Ís by accident impártial.”

Star Inn , GILLINGHAM (KENT); Nov. 23, 1854.

To my gray beard.

In 's a bárgain, gráy beard,
Signed and sealed and published,
Thoú and I the opposite
High contracting parties.

Thou on thý part, gray beard,
Únderták'st to cover
Ánd, as far as máy be,
Hide from view the furrows

Time has on my súnk cheeks
Ánd aboút my lips ploughed,
Ảnd before my toothless
Shrúnk gums háng a thick veil.

Thou shalt fúrther, gráy beard,
All the livelong winter
With thy friendly múffle
Shield my throat and lánk jaws,

Máking me feel warmer
Thán if round my neck tied
Cómfortér of lámb's wool
Ór chinchilla tippet.

Lástly, thoú engagest
That no one shall henceforth
Táke me for a woman
Ór dwarfed, withered schoolboy.

Í, on mý part, bind me
Évery day to trím thee,
Wash, comb, oil and brúsh thee
And in order keep thee;

Álso to my lást gasp
Stoútly to defend thee
From the extérmináting
Bárber's soáp and rázor.

Só in strict alliance
We shall live together,
Shéltering and protecting
Úntil death each other.

óf our sólemn treáty
This the protocol is.
Keep thou thị word, gray beard,
Ánd I 'll trúly mine keep.

QUEEN'S SQUARE, BLOOMSBURY, LONDON; Dec. 3, 1854.

EVENING ODE,

ADAPTED TO THE PSYCHOLOGICAL AND POETICAL TASTE OF THE AGE.

Hárk! 'tis the meditative hour
When the soul feels in all their power
Its áspirations heavenward rise
Dráwing it gently toward the skies
And high angelic colloquies.

Wélcome! sweet hour of rest and calm,
That bring'st the wounded spirit balm,
That, mild as thine own pensive star,
Stillest the breast's intestine war,
And bídd'st the passions cease to jar.

Let nó unhallowed thought intrude
Upon my evening solitude,
When faith and hope with taper bright
Scattering the darkness of the night
Shed áll around extatic light,

Pointing to realms of bliss above,
Régions of innocence and love,
Where never breast shall heave a sigh,
Where never tear shall dim the eye,
Where none are born and none shall die;

Where spirits, that here lived in pain
Drágging their sordid earthly chain,
Ín - entering at the narrow door
Shall báthe in bliss for evermore
Upón a safe and stormless shore.

DALKEY LODGE, DALKEY (IRELAND), Febr. 9,

1855.

SÁTURDÁY clothed in plain drúgget
And with care and hard work worn out,
Háppened once to méét her idle
Sister Sunday in her sátins:

“í 'm so glad to meet you, sister,”
Saturdáy in húmble tóne said,
“Fór I know you 're ténderheárted
Ánd will lend a hand to hélp me.

“From before daylight this morning
Í 've been washing úp and scrúbbing,
Brúshing, dústing, réguláting,
Till I 've not a bóne but 's áching.

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“Cóme, do put your hánd to, síster;
Éxercise you know is wholesome
Ánd a sóvereign cúre for énnui
Ánd you 're looking dúll and languid.”

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