River! River! rapid River! River! River! headlong River! Like eternity. MRS. SOUTHEY, THE LION AND THE GOATS. PREFER a safe and humble lot To luxuries by danger got. A Lion seeing from below Goats feeding on a craggy brow, "Come down,” he says; "you here will find Herbage of a superior kind." "We thank you for your royal care,” Says one, "but like our present fare: The pasture may not be so good, A PRAYER. FATHER of light and life! thou Good Supreme! From every low pursuit, and feed my soul With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss! THOMSON. NOT AN UNCOMMON COMPLAINT. Enter JOHN, followed by a BEGGAR. Beggar. For the love of mercy, sir, pity a poor boy, and give him alms! John. Give him alms! Why, you have two stout arms of your own, and look as strong and hearty as a young bear. Beggar. Ah! sir, it is all a deception. I have a disease about me which I can not well explain to you, but which saps my strength and prevents my working. Let me feel of your pulse. John. You a sick man? (Feels of his pulse.) A good, strong, regular pulse! Why, what's the matter with you? Beggar. If you would but give me a little money first, sir, I will tell you all that I know about my complaint. John. I don't like to encourage beggars; but, since you. are an invalid, I will assist you. (Offering money.) There's a quarter of a dollar. Beggar. Would you take the trouble, sir, to put it in my pocket? You see my arm drops to my side, if I but raise it. John. Poor fellow! I will make the quarter a half. (Putting money in the BEGGAR's pocket.) There! Now let me know all about your troubles. Beggar. Well, sir, you must know that my father sent me to school, but this complaint of mine prevented my studying. The very sight of a book would bring on a paroxysm. Father then bound me apprentice to a farmer; but, the moment I took a rake or a hoe in hand, I would have a violent attack of this terrible disease, till, sir, I had to give up. John. Poor, poor fellow! I have but a few cents left, but here they are. Beggar. Shall I trouble you again, sir? (JOHN puts them in his pocket.) John. You seem to be tired of standing, my poor fellow. Let me hand you a chair. (Hands him a chair, and helps him to sit down.) Beggar. Thank you, sir, thank you; I have felt, all the morning, as if an attack were coming on. John. How does it come on? Beggar. Why, sir, I feel all over like a wet rag, and as if I did n't want to move. Sometimes I don't want to drag one foot before the other. John. Have you taken no medicine? Beggar. Well, father made me swallow some essence of birch, and tried drenching me with cold water. But nothing would cure me. John. What do the doctors say? Beggar. The doctors say that the malady is beyond their reach. One doctor recommended the bastinado. John. The bastinado? Is that a medicine? Beggar. Truly, I don't know what it is, sir; but I think it's an outward application. John. But what's the nature of the complaint? What part of your system does it affect in particular? Beggar. Alas! sir, the disease which afflicts me is far different from what you conceive, and is such as you can not discern; yet it is an evil which has crept over my whole body; it has passed through my veins and marrow, in such a manner that there is no member of my body that is able to work for my daily bread. John. Is there no name for the disease? Beggar. O, yes! (Rising, and yawning) By some it is called laziness — by others, slōth. John. (Trying to strike him with a stick.) Rascal! Impostor! Give me back my money! I'll cure you of your disease! (Chases him about the stage.) Here is a doctor for you! (Showing his stick.) You lazy reprobate! Could not lift your hand to your pocket. eh? Beggar. O! don't make me run! (Exeunt, JOHN beating him.) Don't make me run! NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS TO CHILDREN. My children, 't is the New Year's morn, OSBORNE. And many a wish for you is born, And many a prayer of spirit true SPEECH OF A CHOCTAW CHIEF. BROTHER, my voice is weak; you can scarcely hear me; it is not the shout of a warrior, but the wail of an infant; I have lost it in mourning over the misfortunes of my people. These are their graves, and in those aged pines you hear the ghosts of the departed. Their ashes are here, and we have been left to protect them. Our warriors are nearly all gone to the far country west; but here are our dead. Shall we go, too, and give their bones to the wolves? Brother, you ask us to leave our country, and you tell us this is the wish of our father, the great white Chief at Washington. Brother, our hearts are full. Twelve winters ago, our chiefs sold our country. Every warrior that you see here was opposed to the treaty. If the dead could have been counted, it would never have been made. But, alas! though they stood around, they could not be seen or heard. Their tears came in the rain-drops, and their voices in the wailing wind. But the pale-faces knew it not, and our land was taken away. Brother, we do not now complain. The Choctaw suffers, but he never weeps. You have the strong arm, and we can not resist. But the pale-face worships the Great Spirit-so does the red man and the Great Spirit loves truth. When you took our country, you promised us land. There is your promise in the book. Twelve times have the trees dropped down their leaves, and yet we have received no land. houses have been taken from us. The white man's plow turns up the bones of our fathers. We dare not kindle our fires; and yet you said we might remain, and you would give us land. Brother, is this truth? Our You stand in the moccasins of a great chief; you speak the words of a mighty nation. Your talk was long. My people are small; their shadow scarcely reaches to your knees; they are scattered and gone. When I shout, I hear my voice in the depths of the woods, but no answering shout comes back. My words, therefore, are few. I have nothing more to say. |