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Then foreman Bennett spoke, and said,
“The men are all agreed.
Than see the mill in need!”
Has still a thousand hands;
Full work enough commands;
A panic never feels;
In motion all its wheels.
HOW MARRIAGE IS LIKE A DEVONSHIRE LANE
JOHN MARRIOTT. The author of the following ballad, descriptive of the Devonshire lanos a alden time, was v.car of Broadclist.
In a Devonshire lane as I tottered along,
And the conjugal fence, which forbids us to roam,
WHAT DROVE ME INTO A LUNATIC
ASYLUM.*_ELI PERKINS. What ruined me and got me into an idiot asylum was this: I used to have a strong contempt for lawyers. I thought their long cross-examinations were brainless dialogues for no purpose. Lawyer Johnson had me as a witness in a wood case. In my direct testimony I had sworn truthfully that John Hall had cut ten cords of wood in three days. Then Johnson sharpened his pencil and commenced examining me.
“Now, Mr. Perkins," he began, “how much wood do you say was cut by Mr. Hall?”
“ Just ten cords, sir," I answered boldly. “I meas ured it.”
" That's your impression ?" “ Yes, sir.”
“ Well, we don't want impressions, sir. What we want is facts before this jury-f-a-c-t-s, sir, facts !”
“The witness will please state facts hereafter,” said the Judge, while the crimson came to my face.
“Now, sir," continued Johnson, pointing his finger at me,“ will you swear that it was more than nine cords ?"
“ Yes, sir. It was ten cords—just—"
“There! never mind," interrupted Johnson. “Now, how much less than twelve cords were there?”
“ Two cords, sir.” *Fron St. Jacob's Oil Family Calendar, 1001, by permission
you know there were just two cords less, sir? Did you measure these two cords, sir?” asked Johnson, savagely.
* No, sir, I
There, that will do! You did not measure it. Just as I expected,----all guess-work. Now didn't you swear a moment ago
measured this wood?”
“Now, sir," continued Johnson, slowly, as he pointed his finger almost down my throat, "now, sir, on your oath, will you swear that there were not ten cords and a half?”
“Yes, sir," I answered meekly. “Well now, Mr. Perkins, I demand a straight answer -a truthful answer, sir.” “T—-ten c-c-cords," I answered, hesitatingly. “ You swear it?” “1-1-0-0-do."
“Now," continued Johnson, as he smiled satirically, “ do you know the penalty of perjury, sir?”
“ Yes, sir, I think
“On your oath, on your 8-o-l-e-m-n oath, with no evasion, are you willing to perjure yourself by solemnly swearing that there were more than nine cords of wood ?”
“ Yes, sir, 1
“Aha! Yes, sir. You are willing to perjure yourself then? Just as I thought (turning to the Judge); you see, your Honor, that this witness is prevaricating. He is not willing to swear that there were more than nine cords of wood. It is infamous, gentiemen of the jury, such testimony as this.” The jury nodded assent and smiled sarcastically at me.
“Now,” said Johnson, “I will ask this perjured witness just one more question.
"I ask you, sir-do you know-do you realize, sir, what an awful—a-w-f-u-1 thing it is to tell a lie?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, my voice trembling.
And, knowing this, you swear on your solemn oath, that there were about nine cords of wood ?”
"No, sir, I don't do anything of
“Hold on, sir! Now how do you know there were just nine cords?”
I don't know any such thing, sir! I-" “ Aha! you don't know then? Just as I expected. And yet you swore you did know,----swore you measured it. Infamous! Gentlemen of the jury, what shall we do with this perjurer ?”
“ But I-"
“Not a word, sir,-hush! This jury shall not be insulted by a perjurer! Call the next witness !” This is why I am
now keeping books in a lunatic asylum.
LITTLE JO.-Mary MCGUIRE.
Written expressly for this Collection.
He couldn't find the way last year;
I wish he had, for little Jo was hereDear little Jo! we're better off a sight,
Than what we were last year
When he was here.
And not enough, not near enough to eat,
Just bread and tea; but not a bit of meat On Christmas day! I didn't care to play,
The snow kept falling fast
And sleighs went past.
He moaned as if it hurt him just to look,
And she said “Hush, and go away,
Jo doesn't want to play.”
And we were there alone all day, you see,
And then toward night the wind arose and blew,
And I remember now so plain,
How all the snow turned into rain. That made it lonesomer, you know,
And little Jo grew worse toward night,
And moaned so pitiful, his face was white, Why, just as white, and cold, almost, as snow.
You see we hadn't fire to keep him warm
Through such a storm.
Mother said first I might kiss little Jo,
I didn't do it every night, you know,
And scattered on the pillow, soft and bright:
I noticed then how solemn and how white, And lonesome mother look she didn't talk,
Except to bid me say my prayers, and say 'em low,
So's not to waken Jo;
She didn't say another single word;
But kissed Jo as he stirred.
Against the window; mother sat beside
Jo's bed, and when he tossed about and cried She soothed him with a hymn about the Lord,
The dear Christ-child who on one Christmas day,
Long years ago, within a manger lay. There was such comfort in that pretty hymn,
Or else in mother's voice,-I nestled deep
Within the coverlid and went to sleep, Still hearing in my dreams -though faint and dim
The sound of rain, and mother singing low,
Singing to little Jo.
Up in the bed; the dreadful storm had passed.
Mother was up and sewing just as fast ! It made me very glad to notice that;
She hadn't sewed since Jo was took that way,–
That's why we were so hungry Christmas day.
He hadn't wakened yet, and lay so still ;