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I see that you are smiling, sir, at my givin' her so much;
Yus, divorce is cheap, sir, but I take no stock in such;
True and fair I married her, when she was blithe an: young,
And Betsy was always good to me, exceptin' with lier tongue.

When I was young as you,

and not so smart, perhaps,
For mc slie mittened a lawyer, and several other chaps;
And all of 'em was flustered, and fairly taken down,
Aud for a time I was counted the luckiest man in town,

Once, when I had a fever-I won't forget it soon-
I was hot as a basted turkey and crazy as a loon–
Never an hour went by me when she was out of sight;
She nursed me truc and tender, and stuck to me day and night.

And if ever a house was tidy, and ever a kitchen clean,
ller house and kitchen was tidy as any I ever seen,
And I don't complain of Betsy or any of lier acts,
Exceptin' when we've quarreled, and told each other facts.
So draw up the paper, lawyer; and I'll go home to-night,
And read the agreement to her and see if it's all right;
And then in the mornin' I'll sell to a tradin' man I know-
And kiss the child that was left to us, and out in the world I'll

go.
And one thing put in the paper, that first to me didn't occur;
That wlien I am dead at last she will bring me back to her,
And lay me under the maple we planted years ago,
When she and I was happy, before we quarrelled so.
And when she dies, I wish that she would be laid by me;
And lyin' together in silence, perhaps we'll then agree;
And if ever we meet in heaven, I wouldn't think it queer
If we loved each other the better because we've quarreled here.

Will. M. Carleton.

BETSY DESTROYS THE PAPER.

I've brouglit back the paper, lawyer, and fetched the parson

here, To see that things are regular, and settled up fair and clear ; For I've been talking with Caleb, and Caleb has with me, And the 'mount of it is we're minded to try orce more to agrer, So I came here on the business,-only a word to say (Caleb is staking pea-vines, and couldn't come to-day.)

Just to tell you and parson how that we've changed our mind;
So I'll tear up the paper, lawyer, you see it wasn't signed.
And now if parson is ready, I'll walk with him toward home;
I want to thank him for something, 'twas kind of him to come;
Ile's showed a Christian spirit, stood by us firm and true;
We mightn't have chauged our mind, squire, if he'd been a

lawyer too.

you said,

There !-low good the sun feels, and the grass, and blowin'

trees, Something about them lawyers makes me feel fit to freeze; I wasn't bound to state particular to that man, [plan, But it's right you should know, parson, about our change of We'd been some days a waverin' a little, Caleb and me, And wished the hateful paper at the bottom of the sea ; But I guess 'twas the prayer last evening, and the few words That thawed the ice between us, and brought things to a head. You see, when we came to division, there was things that

wouldn't divide; There was our twelve year-old baby, she couldn't be satisfied To go with one or the other, but just kept whimperin' low, “I'll stay with papa and mamma, and where they go I'll go." Then there was grandsire's Bible-- he died on our wedding day ; We couldn't halve the old Bible, and should it go or stay? The sheets that was Caleb's mother's, lier sampler on tlie wall, With the sweet old names worked in— Tryphena, and Eunice,

and Paul.

It began to be hard then, parson, but it grew harder still,
Talkin' of Caleb established down at McHenry'sville;
Three dollars a week 'twould cost lim ; no mendin' nor sort
of care,

[hair. And board at the Widow Meacham's, a woman that wears false

Still we went on a talkin'; I agreed to knit some socks,
And make a dozen striped shirts, and a pair of wa'mus frocks;
And he was to cut a doorway from the kitchen to the shed :
“Save you climbing steps much, in frosty weather," lie said.

fle brought me the pen at last; I felt a sinkin', and he Looked as he did with the agur, in the spring of sixty-three. 'Twas then you dropped in, parson, 'twasn't much that was

said, “Little children, love one another," but the thing was killed

stone dead.

1 xhoud like to make confession ; not that I'm going to say
The fault was all on my side, that never was my way,
But it may be true that women-tho' how 'tis I can't see-
Are a triflo more aggravatiu' than men know how to be.
Then, parson, the neighbors' meddlin'—it wasn't pourin' oil;
And the church a laborin' with us, 'twas worse than wasted

toil; And I've thought, and so has Caleb, though maybe we are

wrong, If they'd kept to their own business, we should have got along. There was Deacon Amos Purdy, a good man as we know, But hadn't a gift of laborin’except with the scythe and hoe; Then a load came over in peach time from the Wilbur neighbor

hood, "Season of prayer," they called it; didn't do an atom of good. I'll tell you about the heiser-one of the kindest and bestThat brother Ephraim gave me, the fail he moved out West; I'm free to own it riled me that Caleb should think and say She died of convulsions-a cow that milked four gallons a day. But I needn't have spoke of turnips, needn't have been so cross, And said liard things, and hinted as if 'twas all my loss ; And I'll take it all back, parson; that fire shan't ever break

out, Though the cow was choked with a turnip, I never had a doubt. Then there are p’ints of doctrine, and views of a future state, I'm willing to stop discussin’; we can both afford to wait; 'Twon't bring the millennium sooner, disputin' about when it's

due, Although I feel an assurance that mine's the Scriptural view. But the blessedest truths of the Bible, I've learned to think

don't lie In the texts we hunt with a candle to prove our doctrines by, But them that come to us in sorrow, and when we're on our

knees;

But there's the request he made; you know it, parson, about
Bein' laici under the maples that his own land set out,
And me to be laid beside liim when my time comes to go;
As if--as if-don't mind me; but 'twas that unstrung me so.
And now that somescales, as we think, have fallen from our

eyes,
And things brought so to a crisis have made us both more wise,
Why, Caleb says, and so I say, till the Lord parts liim and me,
We'll love each other better, and try our best to agree.

TO A SKELETON. Tho MSS. of this poem, which appeared during the first quarter of the present century, was said to have been found in the Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons, in London, near a perfect human skeleton, and to have been sent by the curator to the Morning Chronicle for publieatio!). Iters cited so much attention that every effort was made to discover the author, anıt a responsible party went so far as to offer a reward of titty guineas for infor mation that would discover its origin. The author preserved his incognita aud, we believe, has never been discovered.

Benoid this ruin! 'Twas a skull
Once of etlercal spirit full.
This narrow cell was Life's retreat,
This space was Thought's mysterious seat.
What beauteous visions filled this spot,
What dreams of pleasure long forgot?
Nor hope, nor joy, nor love, nor fear,
Hlave left one trace of record here.

Beneath this mouldering canopy
Once shone the bright and busy eye ;
But start not at the dismal void, -
If social love that eye employed,
If with no lawless fire it gleamed,
But through the dews of kindness beamed,
That eye shall be forever bright
When stars and sun are sunk in night.

Within this hollow cavern lung
The ready, swist, and tuneful tongue;
If Falsehood's honey it disdained,
And when it could not praise was chained,
If bold in Virtue's cause it spoke,
Yet gentle concord never bruke, -
This silent tongue shall plead for thee
When Time uuveils Eternity!

Say, did these fingers delve the mine,
Or with the enviel rubies shine ?
To lew the rock or wear a gem
Can little now avail to them.
But if the page of Trutlı they sought,
Or comfort to the mourner brought,
These hands a richer moeil shall claim
Than all that wait on Wealth and Fame.

Avails it whether bare or shod
Thiese fect the paths of duty trod ?
If from the bowers of Ease they fled,
To seek Affliction's luumble shed;
If Grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned,
And home to Virtue's cot returned,
These feet with angel wings shall vie,
And tread the palace of the sky!

A REVOLUTIONARY SERJON.

Preached on the eve of the battle of Brandywine, (Septemter 10. 1777,) in the presence of Washington and his Army, at Chadd's Förd.

"TUEY TIIAT TAKE THE SWORD SHALL PERISI BY THE SWORD.” SOLDIERS and Countrymen :- \Ve have met this evening perhaps for the last time. We have shared the toil of the march, the peril of the fight, the dismay of the retreat-alike we have ondured toil and hunger, the contumely of the internal foe, the outrage of the foreign oppressor. We have sat night after night beside the same camp-fire, shared the same rough soldier's fare; we have together heard the roll of the reveille which called us to duty, or the beat of the tattoo which gave the signal for the hardy sleep of the soldier, with the earth for his bed, and the knapsack for his pillow.

And now, soldiers and brethren, we have met in the peaceful valley, on the eve of battle, wbile the sunlight is dying away beyond yonder heights, the sun-light that to-morrow morn will glimmer on scenes of blood. We bave met amid the whitening tents of our encampment; in times of terror and gloom have we gathered together—God grant it may not be for the last time. It is a solemn time. Brethren, does not the awful voice of nature, seem to echo the sympathies of this hour?

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