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“She balances ?

She wavers ! Now let her


If she misses stays and broaches to
We're all”—[then with a shout]

“Huray! huray !
Avast! belay!
Take in more sail !

Lord, what a gale !
Ho, boy, haul taut on the hind mule's tail ! ”


“Ho ! lighten ship? ho! man the pump!

Ho, hostler, heave the lead ! “A quarter-three ! 'tis shoaling fast!

Three feet large !—t-h-r-e-e feet !Three feet scant !” I cried in fright,

“Oh, is there no retreat ?"

Said Dollinger the pilot nian,

As on the vessel flew, “Fear not, but trust in Dollinger,

And he will fetch you through.”

A panic struck the bravest hearts,

The boldest cheek turned pale;
For plain to all, this shoaling said
A leak had burst the ditch's bed!
And, straight as bolt from crossbow sped,
Our ship swept on, with shoaling lead,

Before the fearful gale !

“Sever the tow-line! Cripple the mules !" Too late!.

There comes a shock !


Another length, and the fated craft

Would have swum in the saving lock !

Then gathered together the shipwrecked crew

And took one last embrace,
While sorrowful tears from despairing eyes

Ran down each hopeless face;
And some did think of their little ones

Whom they never more might see,
And others of waiting wives at home,

And mothers that grieved would be.

But of all the children of misery there

On that poor sinking frame,
But one spake words of hope and faith,

And I worshipped as they came :
Said Dollinger the pilot man-

(O brave heart strong and true !) "Fear not, but trust in Dollinger,

For he will fetch you through.”

Lo! scarce the words have passed his lips

The dauntless prophet say'th, When every soul about him seeth

A wonder crown his faith !

And count ye all, both great and small,

As numbered with the dead !
For mariner for forty year,

On Erie, boy and man,
I never yet saw such a storm,

Or one 't with it began !

So overboard a keg of nails

And anvils three we threw, Likewise four bales of gunny-sacks,

Two hundred pounds of glue,
Two sacks of corn, four ditto wheat,

A box of books, a cow,
A violin, Lord Byron's works,

A rip-saw and a sow.

A curve! a curve! the dangers grow !

“ Labbord !-stabbord !-s-t-e-a-d-y !_s0 !-
Hard-a-port, Dol !-hellum-a-lee !

Haw the head mule !—the aft one gee !
Luff!-bring her to the wind !”

For straight a farmer brought a plank,

(Mysteriously inspired)-
And laying it unto the ship,

In silent awe retired.
Then every sufferer stood amazed

That pilot man before ;
A moment stood. Then wondering turned,

And speechless walked ashore.



Dispatch iz taking time bi the ears. Hurry iz taking it bi the end ov the tail.

The miser who heaps up gains tew gloat over iz like a hog in a pen fatted for a show.

If you must chaw terbacker, young man, for Heaven's sake, chaw old plugg, it iz the nastyest.

Without friends and without enemys iz the last reliable ackount we hav ov a stray dog.

Men generally, when they whip a mule, sware; the mule remembers the swareing, but forgits the licking.

Sum folks wonder whare awl the lies cum from, but i don't, one good liar will pizen a whole country.

Hunting after fame iz like hunting after fleas, hard tew ketch, and sure tew make yu uneazy if yu dew or don't ketch them.

Menny people spend their time trieing tew find the hole whare sin got into this world—if two men brake through the ice into a mill pond, they had better hunt for sum good hole tew git out, rather than git into a long argument about the hole they cum tew fall in.


Charles F. Adams.

I HAF von funny leedle poy,

Vot gomes schust to mine knee;
Der queerest schap, der createst rogue,

As efer you dit see.
He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings

In all barts of der house ;
But vot off dot ? he vas mine son,

Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss.

He get der measles und der mumbs,

Und eferyding dot's oudt;
He sbills mine glass of lager bier,

Poots schnuff indo mine kraut.

He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese,

Dot vas der roughest chouse : I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy

But leedle Yawcob Strauss.

He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum,

Und cuts mine cane in dwo,
To make der schticks to beat it mit,--

Mine gracious, dot vos drue !
I dinks mine hed was schplit abart,

He kicks oup sooch a touse :
But never mind; der poys vas few

Like dot young Yawcob Strauss.

He asks me questions, sooch as dese:

Who baints mine nose so red ? Who vas it cuts dot schmoodth blace oudt

Vrom der hair ubon mine hed?

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BEN GREEN was a New Hampshire boy,

Who stood full six feet two :
A jovial chap this same Ben Green,

Though he had oft been blue.

He loved a girl named Olive Brown,

Who lived near Bixby's pond,
And who, despite her brunette name,

Was a decided blonde.

A pink of rare perfection she,

The belle of all the town ;
Though Ben oft wished her Olive Green,

Instead of Olive Brown.

And she loved Ben, and said that nought

Should mar their joy serene ;
And, when she changed from Olive Brown,

'Twould surely be to Green.

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