14. And he who will not "sign the pledge,"
And keep his promise fast,

May be, in spite of fate, a stark
Cold-water man, at last!

LESSON XIX.

TOBY TOSSPOT.

COLMAN.

1. ALAS! what pity 'tis that regularity,
Like Isaac Shove's is such a rarity,
But there are swilling wights in London town

Termed jolly dogs, choice spirits, alias swine,
Who pour in midnight revel, bumpers down,
Making their throats a thoroughfare for wine.
These spendthrifts, who life s pleasures thus run on
Dozing with headaches till the afternoon,
Lose half men's regular estate of sun,

By borrowing too largely of the moon.

2. One of this kidney-Toby Tosspot hight—
Was coming from the Bedford late at night,
And being Bacchi plenus,-full of wine,
Although he had a tolerable notion,
Of aiming at progressive motion,
Twasn't direct-'twas serpentine.

3. He worked with sinuosities, along,

Like Monsieur Corkscrew, worming through a cork,
Not straight like Corkscrew's proxy, stiff Don Prong—a fork,

4. At length, with near four bottles in his pate,

He saw the moon shining on Shove's brass plate,

When reading, "Please to ring the bell,"
And being civil beyond measure,

66

Ring it!" says Toby-" Very well; I'll ring it with a deal of pleasure." Toby, the kindest soul in all the town, Gave it a jerk that almost jerked it down.

5. He waited two full minutes-no one came;

He waited full two minutes more,—and then,
Says Toby, "If he's deaf, I'm not to blame;
I'll pull it for the gentleman again."

6. But the first peal woke Isaac in a fright,

Who, quick as lightning, popping up his head,
Sat on his head's antipodes, in bed,

Pale as a parsnip,-bolt upright.

7. At length he wisely to himself doth say, calming his fears, "Tush! 'tis some fool has rung and run away;

When peal the second rattled in his ears!

8. Shove jumped into the middle of the floor;

And, trembling at each breath of air that stirred,
He groped down stairs, and opened the street door,
While Toby was performing peal the third.

9. Isaac eyed Toby, fearfully askant,—'

And saw he was a strapper stout and tall,

Then put this question:-"Pray, sir, what d'ye want?"
Says Toby,-"I want nothing sir, at all!"

10. "Want nothing!-sir, you've pulled my bell, I vow,
As if you'd jerk it off the wire."

Quoth Toby,-gravely making him a bow,—
“I pulled it, sir, at your desire."

11. "At nine!"—"Yes, yours; I hope I've done it well;
High time for bed, sir; I was hastening to it;
But if you write up—' Please to ring the bell,'
Common politeness makes me stop and do it."

LESSON XX.

PAY THE PRINTER.

DOW, JR.

TEXT.-"If ye are honest, honorable men, go ye and pay the printer."

1. MY DEAR FRIENDS:-The debt that sits heaviest on the conscience of a mortal, provided he has one, is the debt due the printer. It presses harder on one's bosom than the nightmare, galls the soul, frets and chafes every ennobling sentiment, squeezes all the juice of fraternal sympathy from the heart, and leaves it drier than the surface of a roasted potato. A man who wrongs the printer out of a single red cent, can never expect to enjoy the comforts of this world, and may well have doubts of finding happiness in any other.

2. Oh, you ungrateful sinners! If you have hearts moistened with the dew of mercy, instead of gizzards filled with gravel, take heed what I say unto you. If there be one among you in this congregation who has not settled his account with the printer, go and adjust it immediately, and be able to hold ap your heads in society like a giraffe; be respected by the wise and good-free from the tortures of a guilty conscience, the mortification of repeated duns, and escape from falling into the clutches of lawyers, which is about one and the same thing. If you are honest and honorable men, you will go forthwith and pay the printer.

3. You will not wait for to-morrow, because there is no tomorrow; it is but a visionary receptacle for unredeemed prom

ises

-an addled egg in the great nest of the future; the debi or's hope, the creditor's curse. If you are dishonest, low. minded sons of Satan, I don't suppose you will pay the printer, as you have no reputation to lose, no character to sustain, no morals to cultivate. But, let me tell you, my friends, that if you don't do it; your path to the tomb will be strewn with thorns, you will have to gather your daily food from brambles; your children will die of dysentery, and yourselves will never enjoy the blessings of health.

4. I once called upon a sick person whom the doctor had given up as a gone case. I asked him if he had made his peace with his Maker? He said he thought he had squared up. I inquired if he had forgiven all his enemies. He replied yes. I then asked him if he had paid his printer. He hesitated a moment and then said, he believed he owed him about two dollars and fifty cents, which he desired to have paid before he bid good-bye to the world. His desires were immediately grat ified, and from that moment he became convalescent. He is now living in the enjoyment of health and prosperity, at peace with his conscience, his God, and the whole world. Let him be an example for you, my friends. Patronize the printer, take his paper and pay for it in advance, and your days will be long upon the earth and overflowing with the honey of happiness.

LESSON XXI.

LECTURE ON MATRIMONY.

FANNY FERN.

1. Now, girls, said Aunt Hetty, put down your embroidery and worsted work, do something sensible, and stop building air castles, and talking of lovers and honeymoons; it makes me sick, it's perfectly antimonial. Love is a farce--matrimony

is a humbug-husbands are domestic Napoleons, Neros, Alexanders, sighing for other hearts to conquer after they are sure of yours.

2. The honeymoon is short lived as a lucifer match; after that you may wear your wedding dress at the wash-tub, and your night-cap to meeting, and your husband would n't know it. You may pick up your own pocket handkerchief, help yourself to a chair, and split your gown across the back reach ing over the table to get a piece of butter, while he is laying in his breakfast as if it was the last meal he should eat this side of Jordan; when he gets through he will aid your diges tion-while you are sipping your first cup of coffee-by inquiring what you'll have for dinner, whether the cold lamb was all ate yesterday, if the charcoal is all out, and what you gave for the last green tea you bought.

3. Then he gets up from the table, lights his cigar with the last evening's paper, that you have not had a chance to read, gives two or three whiffs of smoke, sure to give you a headache for the afternoon, and just as his coat-tail is vanishing through the door, apologizes for not doing "that errand" for you yesterday-thinks it doubtful if he can to-day-" so pressed with business." Hear of him at 11 o'clock, taking an ice cream with some ladies at Vinton's, while you are at home new lining his coat-sleeves.

4. Children by the ears all day, can't get out to take the air, feel as crazy as a fly in a drum; husband comes home at night, nods a "how d'ye do, Fan," boxes Charley's ears, stands little Fanny in the corner, sits down in the easiest chair in the warmest corner, puts his feet up over the grate, shutting out all the fire, while the baby's little pug nose grows blue with the cold; reads the newspaper all to himself, solaces his inner man with a hot cup of tea, and just as you are laboring under the hallucination that he will ask you to take a mouthful of fresh air with him, he puts on his dressing gown and slip