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SELECTIONS FROM THE POETS.

308

As for Susan, her heart was kind
An' good -what there was of it, mind;
Nothin' too big an' nothin' too nice,
Nothin' she wouldn't sacrifice
For ona she loved ; an' that 'ere one
Was herself, when all was said an' done.
An' Charley an' 'Becca meant well, no doubt,
But any one could pull 'em about'
An' all our folks ranked well, you see,
Save one poor fellow, and that war me
An' when, one dark an' rainy night,
A neighbor's horse went Out of sight,
They hitched on me as the guilty chap
That carried one end o' the halter-strap.
An' I think, myself, that view of the case
Was n't altogether out o' place;
My mother denied it, as mothers do,
But I 'm inclined to believe 't was true.
Though for me one thing might be said -
That I, as well as the horse, was led;
And the worst of whisky spurred me on,
Or else the deed would have never been done.
But the keenest grief I eeer felt,
Was when my mother beside me knelt,
An' cried an' prayed till I melted down,
As I would n't for half the horses in town.
I kissed her fondly, then and there,
An' swore henceforth to be honest and square.
I served my sentence - a bitter pill
Some fellows should take, who never will;
And then I decided to "go out West,"
Concludin' 't would suit my health the best;
Where, how I prospered, I never could tell,
But Fortune seemed to like me well.
An' somehow, every vein I struck
Was always bubblin' over with luck;
An' better than that, I was steady an' true,
An' put my good resolutions through.
But I wrote to a trusty old neighbor, an' said,
"You tell 'em, old fellow, that I am dead,
An' died a Christian; 'twill please 'er more
Than if I had lived the same as before."
But when this neighbor he wrote to me,
"Your mother is in the poor house," says he;
I had a resurrection straight way,
An' started for her that very day ;
And when I arrived where I was grown,
I took good care that I should n't be known;
But I bought the old cottage, through and through
Of some one Charley had sold it to ;

And held back neither work nor gold,
To fix it up as it was of old;
The same big fire-place, wide and high,
Flung up its cinders toward the sky;
The old clock ticked on the corner-shelf-
I wound it an' set it a-goin' myself;
An', if everything was n't quite the same,
Neither I nor Manly was to blame;
Then -over the hill to the poor house
One bloomin', blusterin' winter's day,
With a team an' cutter I started away;
My fiery nags was as black as coal;
(They some'at'resembled the horse I stole;)
I hitched an' entered the poor house door-
A poor old woman was serubbin' the floor;
She rose to her feet in great surprise
And looked, quite startled, into my eyes;
I saw the whole of her trouble's trace,
In the lines that marred her dear old face;
"Mother!" I shouted, "your sorrows are done!
You're adopted along o' your horse-thief son.
Come over the hill from the poor house!"
She didn't faint; she knelt by my side,
An' thanked the Lord till I fairly cried.
An' maybe our ride wasn't pleasant and gay,
An' maybe she was n't wrapped up that day;
An' maybe our cottage was n't warm and bright;
An' maybe it wasn't a pleasant sight,
To see her agettin' the evenin's tea,
An' frequently stoppin' and kissin' me;
An' maybe we didn't live happy for years,
In spite of my brothers' and sisters' sneers,
Who often said, as I have heard,
Th,t they wouldn't own a prison bird
(Though they're gettin' over that, I guess,
For all of them owe me more or less;)    ?
But I've learned one thing, and it cheers a mano
In always a-doin' the best he can:
That whether, on the big book, a blot
Gets over a fellow's name or not,
Whenever he does a deed that's white
It's credited to him fair and right.
An' when you hear the great bugle's notes,
An' the Lord divides his sheep and goats;
However they may settle my case,
Wherever they may fix my place,
My good old Christian mother, you '1 see,
Will be sure to stand right up for me.
So overthe hill from the poor house!

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