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And I eat that cook in a week or less,

And as I eating be
The last of his chops, why, I almost drops,

For a wessel in sight I see!

“And I never larf, and I never smile,

And I never lark nor play,
But sit and croak, and a single joke
I have

which is to say:

"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,

And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,

And the crew of the captain's gig!'"

W. S. GILBERT.

56 HOME, SWEET HOME.

Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
That seek through the world, is not met with elsewhere.

Home! home! sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home.

An exile from home, pleasures dazzle in vain :
Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again ;
The birds singing gaily that come at my call,
Give me them with that peace of mind dearer than all.

Home! home! sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home.

John HOWARD PAYNE. 57. THE CHILD MUSICIAN.

He had played for his lordship’s levee,

He had played for her ladyship’s whim,
Till the poor little head was heavy,

And the poor little brain would swim.

And the face grew peaked and eerie,

And the large eyes strange and bright,
And they said too late

“He is weary!
He shall rest for, at least, To-night".

But at dawn, when the birds were waking,

As they watched in the silent room,
With the sound of a strained cord breaking ,

A something snapped in the gloom.

'Twas a string of his violoncello,

And they heard him stir in his bed :
“Make room for a tired little fellow,
Kind God!” was the last that he said.

HENRY Austin Dobson.

58. DON JOSE'S MULE, JACINTHA.

In palmy days, now long gone by, no Don in Cadiz city Possessed a mule like Don José's, so useful or so pretty. O children, listen to my tale, and give a tear of pity

To Don José's mule, Jacintha.

Once Don José had lived gaily, and then his servants all,
From the head-cook in the kitchen to Jacintha in her stall,
On
every dainty fattened but oh! there came a fall

To Don José's mule, Jacintha.

Once Don José's purse was well filled, but his hand was ever ready To his brothers and his nephews, who were spendthrifts and

unsteady “O my master, unwise givers sure at last themselves grow needy!"

Thought Don José's mule, Jacintha.

True enough, there came a morning when the Alcayde's men

were laying Hands on all Don José's chattels, for there seemed no way of

paying Otherwise his debts and bond-writs; then, oh, sorrowful the braying

Of Don José's mule, Jacintha.

Poor Don José's house was ransacked of its treasures old and new, Pictures, gems, and suits of armour, gold and relics from Peru: Nothing spared they, even taking all the trappings red and blue

Of Don José's mule, Jacintha.

But Don José was hildalgo of the true Quixotic spirit
If misfortune were upon him, far too proud was he to fear it;
And quite worthy such a master, for the same heroic merit,

Was Don José's mule, Jacintha.

With a stately contemplation glanced Don José on his villa Glanced on every grove of myrtle and on every marble pillar; Thought of sunny olive vineyard and of luscious, well-filled cellar

Then of his mule, Jacintha.

Said Don José, "Not for fountains, nor for halls of gilded stone Was man's soul made, nor for riches, nor for meat and drink

alone, But for grateful, true affection and no other man shall own

Don José's mule, Jacintha."

He continued contemplating, meantime smiling somewhat sadly “Ah! 'tis well my servants left me scanty fare would suit

them badly;

But there's one who bore me up-hill, and will bear me down as gladly

'Tis Don José's mule, Jacintha.

“She can do without her trappings; she'll not rage because her

ration Comes at every meal-time shorter than her humblest expectation; Scorn she'll never dream of showing at my ruined situation Will Don José's mule,

Jacintha.

“She'll not tell me I was foolish she'll not preach her own

advice; She'll not constantly upbraid me in a half-condoling voice; But she'll serve me when I need her and no gold shall be the price

Of Don José's mule, Jacintha."

Then Don José mounted gaily, though his secret heart was

swelling, And the two together travelled to a humble little dwelling: Said the Don, "For consolation, give me that which has no telling,

Like Don José's mule, Jacintha's!"

Night and morning came Don José to Jacintha's modest stable, And his thin white hands would groom her with the skill that

they were able, And the largest share of salad, from her master's scanty table,

Had Don José's mule, Jacintha.

Every day he took an airing , and no king could sit more stately: Then Jacintha's ears pricked proudly, and she moved her legs

sedately; Oh, never fallen greatness was upheld by mule so greatly

As Don José by Jacintha.

Neither trotting, neither ambling, was her sober, saddened pace, But a kind of martial marching, full of dignity and grace; Every cavalcade and palfrey, every chariot gay gave place

To Don José's mule, Jacintha.

When Don José empty-handed came unto the stable door,
Far too proud for disappointment, or to show a wish for more,
Gaily to her empty hay-rack, as if she'd ample store,

Went Don José's mule, Jacintha.

Very solemn grew Jacintha, suiting thus her master's mood; Very bare-ribbed grew Jacintha, but her head was never bowed, “We'll die like true Castilians," was the maxim staunch and proud

Of Don José's mule, Jacintha.

True enough, there broke a morning when the thin hand came

no more, With its scanty bunch of parsley, to Jacintha's stable door; Then as one who lies down gladly when a hard day's work is o'er,

Lay Don José's mule, Jacintha.

Softly then, the snow-flakes hurried from the passing winter

clouds, And the master and the servant wrapped in white, unspotted

shrouds, Till the spring-time brought the wild flowers, and they bloom in coloured crowds, O'er Don José and Jacintha.

M. BETHAM-EDWARDS.

59. CLEAR AND COOL.

Clear and cool, clear and cool,
By laughing shallow, and dreaming pool;

Cool and clear, cool and clear,
By shining shingle, and foaming weir;
Under the crag where the ousel sings,
And the ivied wall where the church-bell rings,

Undefiled, for the undefiled,
Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child.

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