I see that you are smiling, sir, at my givin' her so much; When I was young as you, sir, and not so smart, perhaps, Once, when I had a fever-I won't forget it soon-- And if ever a house was tidy, and ever a kitchen clean, So draw up the paper, lawyer; and I'll go home to-night, go. And one thing put in the paper, that first to me didn't occur; And when she dies, I wish that she would be laid by me ; BETSY DESTROYS THE PAPER. I'VE brought back the paper, lawyer, and fetched the parson here, To see that things are regular, and settled up fair and clear; So I came here on the business,-only a word to say Just to tell you and parson how that we've changed our mind; And now if parson is ready, I'll walk with him toward home; There!-how good the sun feels, and the grass, and blowin' trees, [plan. We'd been some days a waverin' a little, Caleb and me, 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 Then there was grandsire's Bible-he died on our wedding day; It began to be hard then, parson, but it grew harder still, of care, Still we went on a talkin'; I agreed to knit some socks, fle brought me the pen at last; I felt a sinkin', and he "Little children, love one another," but the thing was killed stone dead. 1 shoud like to make confession; not that I'm going to say 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, "Season of prayer," they called it; didn't do an atom of good. I'll tell you about the heifer-one of the kindest and best- But I needn't have spoke of turnips, needn't have been so cross, 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; So if Caleb won't argue on free-will, I'll leave alone the decrees. One notion of Caleb's, parson, seems rather misty and dim ; I've no such an expectation; why, parson, if that is so, But there's the request he made; you know it, parson, about And now that somescales, as we think, have fallen from our cyes, And things brought so to a crisis have made us both more wise, Why, Caleb says, and so I say, till the Lord parts him and me, We'll love each other better, and try our best to agree. TO A SKELETON. The 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 publication. It excited so much attention that every effort was made to discover the author, and a responsible party went so far as to offer a reward of fifty guineas for infor mation that would discover its origin. The author preserved his incognito, and, we believe, has never been discovered. BEHOLD this ruin! 'Twas a skull This narrow cell was Life's retreat, This space was Thought's mysterious seat. Beneath this mouldering canopy But through the dews of kindness beamed, Within this hollow cavern hung The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue; And when it could not praise was chained, If bold in Virtue's cause it spoke, Yet gentle concord never broke,- Say, did these fingers delve the mine, Avails it whether bare or shod A REVOLUTIONARY SERMON. Preached on the eve of the battle of Brandywine, (September 10, 1777,) in the presence of Washington and his Army, at Chadd's Ford. "THEY THAT TAKE THE SWORD SHALL PERISH BY THE SWORD." SOLDIERS and Countrymen :-We 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 endured 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, while the sunlight is dying away beyond yonder heights, the sun-light that to-morrow morn will glimmer on scenes of blood. We have 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? |