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To see if the moorings of gay “Susan Jane"
A beautiful yacht, and the captain's sole bride.
My poor little messmate,” he chokingly said, “I thought you with mother, and here you lie dead.” As Angela bearing, he turned from the shore, How clearly his heart heard her sweet voice once more, From far o'er the sea the glad strain seemed to come* Yes, yes, I am going, I'm soon going bome !"
OLD CHURCH BELLS.
Ring out merrily,
Kuell out drearily,
Measured and wearily,
Priests chanting lowly,
Toll at the hour of prime,
Matin and vesper chime,
Rolling, like holy waves,
Over the lowly graves,
Peal out evermore
Peal as ye pealed of yore,
In sunshine and gladness,
Through clouds and through sadness,
MERIKY'S CONVERSION.-JULIA PICKERING.
THE OLD TIME RELIGION,
BROTHER Simon.-I say, brover Horace, I hearn you giro Meriky the terriblest beating las' nite. What you and she hab a fallin' out about?
BROTHER HORACE.- Well, brover Simon, you knows yourse'f, I never has no dejection to splanifying how I rules my folks at home, and stablishes order dar when it's pintedly needed, and 'fore gracious! I leab you to say dis time ef 't wan't needed, and dat pow'ful bad.
You see, I'se allers been a plain, straight-sided nigger, an' hain't never had no use for new fandangles, let it be what it mout; 'ligion, polytix, business—don't keer what.Ole Horace say: De ole way am de bes' way, an' you fellers dat's all runnin' teetotleum crazy 'bout ebery new jim-crack dat's started, better jes' stay whar you is, an'let them things alone. But they won't do it, no ’mount of preaching won't sarve um. And that is jes’ at this partickeler p’int dat Meriky got dat dressin'. She done been off to Richimun Town a livin' in sarvice dar dis las' winter, and Saturday a week ago she comed home to make a visit. Well, dat was all good enough. Course we was all glad to see our darter. But you b'l'eve dat gal hadn't turned stark bodily naked fool? Yes, sir; she wa'n't no more like de Meriky dat went away jes? a few munts ago, dan chalk's like cheese. Dar she come in, wid her close pinned tight enuff to hinder her from settin', and her ha'r a-danglin' right in her eyes jes' for all de worl' like a sheep a-looking fru a brush-pile, and you
think she haint forgot how to talk? She jes' rolled up her eyes ebery oder word and fanned and talked like she spected to die de nex' bref. She'd toss dat mush-head ob hern and talk proper as two dixunarys. 'Stead ob she callin' ob me " Daddy,” and her mudder “Mammy," she say, “Par and Mar, how can you bear to live in setch a one-hoss town as this? Oh! I think I should die.” I jes' stared at that girl till I make her out, an' says I to myself, “ It's got to come,” but I don't say nothin' to nobody 'bout it-all de same I know it had to come fus' as las'. Well, I jes' let her hab more rope, as de sayin' is, tell she got whar I 'cluded was 'bout de end ob her tedder. Dat were on last Sunday mornin', when she went to meetin' in sich a rig, a-puttin' on a'rs, tell she couldn't keep a straight track. When she comed home she brung kumpny wid her, and, ob course,
I couldn't do nuthin' then; but, I jes' kept my ears open, an’ ef dat gal didn't disqualify me dat day, you can have my hat. Bime-by dey all gits to talkin' bout 'ligion and de chu'ches, and den one young fellow, he step up, an’ says he, "Miss Meriky, give us your 'pinion 'bout de matter?" Wid dat she flung up her head proud as de Queen Victory, an’ says she, “ I takes no intelligence in sich matters ; dey is all too common for me. Baptisses is a foot or two below my grade. I tends de Pisclopian chu'ch whar I resides, an' 'spects to jine dat one de nex' anniversary ob de bishop. Oh! dey does ebery thing so lovely, and in so much style. I declar', nobody but common folks in de city goes to de Baptiss chu'ch. It made me sick at my stomick to see so much shoutin' and groanin' dis mornin', 'tis so ungenleel wid us to make so much sarcumlocutions in meetin'."
And thar she went on a giratin' 'bout de preacher a-comin' out in a white shirt, and den a-runnin' back and gittin' on a black one, and de people a-jumpin' up and a-jawin' ob de preacher outen a book, and a-bowin' ob dey heads, and a-sayin' ob long rigamaroles o' stuff, tell my liead fa'rly buzzed, and I were dat mad at de gul I jus' couldn't see nuffin in dat room. Well, I jes' waited tell the kumpny riz to go, and den I steps up, and, says I, “Young folks, you needn't let what Meriky told you 'bout dat chu'ch put no change inter you. She's sorter out ob her right mine
now, but de nex' time you comes, she'll be all right on dat and seberal oder subjicks;" and den dey stared at Meriky mighty hard, and goes away.
Well, I jes' walks up to her and I says, “ Darter," says I, what chu'ch are dat you say you gwine to jine ?"--and, says she, very prompt like, “ De Pisclopian, Par," and says I,
Meriky, I'se mighty consarned 'bout you, kase I knows your mine aint right, and I shall jis' hab to bring you 'roun' de shortest way possible.” So I retch me a fine bunch ob hick’ries I done prepared for dat 'casion. And den she jumped up, and says she, “What make you think I loss my senses?" “Bekase, darter, you done forgot how to walk, and to talk, and dem is sure signs," and wid dat I jes' let in on her, tell I 'stonished her 'siderably. 'Fore I were done wid her she got ober dem dyin' a’rs and jumped as high as a hoppergrass. Bime-by she 'gins to holler, “Oh, Lordy! daddy! daddy! don't give me no more!" And, says I, “You're improvin', dat's a fac'—done got your nat’ral voice back. What chu'ch does you ’long to, Meriky?” And says she, a-cryin', “I don't ’long to none, Par.”
Well, I gib her anodder lettle tetch, and says I, “What chu'ch does you ’long to, darter ?" and, says she, all choked like, “I doesn't ’long to none.” Den I jes make dem hick'ries ring for 'bout five minutes, and den I say, "What chu'ch you ’long to now, Meriky ?" And says she, fa’rly shoutin',
Baptiss, I'se a deep-water Baptiss." Bery good," says I, " you don't 'spect to hab your name tuck offen dem chu'ch books?” And
No, sar; I allus did despise dem stuck up Pisclopians; dey ain't got no 'ligion nohow.”
Brover Simon, you never see a gal so holpen by a good
genteel thrashin' in all your days. I boun’ she won't never stick her nose in dem new fandangle chu'ches no more. Why, she jes' walks as straight dis morning, and looks as peart as a sunflower. I'll lay a tenpence she'll be a-singin' before night dat good old hymn she usened to be so fond ob. You knows, brover Simon, how de words run:
Baptis', Baptis' is my name,
My name's written on high ; 'Spects to lib an' die de same,
My name's written on high.” BROTHER SIMON. - Yes, dat she will, I be boun'; ef I does ay it, brove Horace, you beats any man on chu'ch gubernment an'immily displinement ob any body I ever has seen.
Brother HORACE. –Well, brover, I does my bes'. You mus' pray for me, so dat my hands may be strengthened. Dey feels mighty weak after dat conversion I give dat Meriky las' night.
HEROES OF THE MINES.--I. EDGAR JONES.
'Mid many strangely thrilling tales
That time to a wondering world consigns,
Where men, down deep in its dark coal mines,
Imprisoned fast in the fearful gloom;
Confined them there in a living tomb.
And men with faces stern and still,
That death had claimed in the trembling hill;
That rose from the burning mine below;
Like the waves of hell in their crimson flow.
With a fierce desire to seek their dead;
But hearts were heavy with grief, as lead.
In the chambers somewhere beneath the ground,
And 'scaped the fate that the rest had found.