Jr. Horatio Alger

Just from the sentry's tramp (I must take it again at ten), I have laid my musket down,

I sit in the shadow of apple-boughs, In the fragrant orchard close, And around me floats the scented air,

'Tis just three months and eke a day, Since in the meadows, raking hay, On looking up I chanced to see

From the door of the homestead the mother looks forth, With a glance half of hope, half of fear, For the clock in the corner now points to the hour

I wrote my name upon the sand, And trusted it would stand for aye; But, soon, alas! the refluent sea

This verdant field that smiles to Heaven In Nature's bright array, From common uses set apart,

Friar Anselmo (God's grace may he win!) Committed one sad day a deadly sin; Which being done he drew back, self-abhorred,

My Charlie has gone to the war, My Charlie so brave and tall; He left his plough in the furrow,

Underneath protected branches, from the highway just aloof; Stands the house of Grand'ther Baldwin, with its gently sloping roof. Square of shape and solid-timbered, it was standing, I have heard,

I. (Feb. 23, 1869.) Fair Harvard, dear guide of our youth's golden days;

Yet look at the thousands whose every day prayer, Far more than their own or their neighbor's salvation, Absorbs every thought, every dream, and all care,

"What else do we live for in this world beside?" Alas! 't is the question of ten times a day, That comes on the wind, or that floats on the tide,

What else do they live for? They live but for this; And nothing but this ever troubles their thinking; Rich eating, rich dressing, and flirting's their bliss,

"What else do they live for in this world beside?" What else but for Kittys or one of the same, Do mothers their daughters at schools give the touch

Now heaven in mercy be kind to the wretch, Who marries for money or fashion or folly; He'd better accept of the noose of Jack Ketch

Now heaven in mercy be kind to the wretches Who stay on the earth like this Mrs. Merdle! More wretched than ever a wretch on the hurdle

"To-morrow!" who'll warrant to-morrow we'll see? Who'll care the next day or day after for dinner? Or what the next fashion of new dress will be?

And now by your leave I will try to expound it, In truth as it is and the way that I found it. My dinner, sometimes, like things transcendental

'Twas on Lake Erie's broad expanse One bright midsummer day, The gallant steamer Ocean Queen

Throw open wide your golden gates, O poet-landed month of June, And waft me, on your spicy breath,

King Cotton looks from his window Towards the westering sun, And he marks, with an anguished horror,

"Dear Charlie," breathed a soldier, "O comrade true and tried, Who in the heat of battle

A violet grew by the river-side, And gladdened all hearts with its bloom; While over the fields, on the scented air,

Now Merdle this day having toss'd with his horns The bears that were pulling so hard at the stocks, And gored every bull that was treading his corns,

Florence wears an added grace, All her earlier honors crowning; Dante's birthplace, Art's fair home,

Some turkey? why yes--the least mite will suffice; A side bone and dressing and bit of the breast; The tip of the rump--that's it--and one o' the fli's--

She Discourseth of Nothing to Eat and the Cost thereof. Why Merdle--why did you bring Dinewell to-day? So very, though welcome, so quite unexpected!

But he's an old fogy, you may know by this sign-- He don't smoke tobacco, drink lager or wine; And swears that rich gravy, roast pork or chop,

But you are not eating, and I fear that the fish, Or else 't is the gravy's not done to your wish. You're starving while waiting for something to eat--

But this is concocted by rules so complete; Though piquant, is healthy and easy digested; And if you will note it as slowly we eat,

A pudding! why yes, as I live, too, it's plum; So plain, Susan makes them on purpose for me I never refuse, when the plum puddings come,

So while we are eating the fruits of the vine, Don't let us forget such a health giving juice, As Champagne, or Sherbet, or other good wine,

No matter how costly or flimsy her dresses, The angel you honor with your kind attentions; No matter how foolish her wardrobe inventions,

Now Colonel, to husband you need not be winking, While wiping the soup with a smile from your lips; I know just as well as he does how you're thinking

'If wishes were horses'--I've heard when a girl-- 'If wishes were horses, the beggars would ride'-- If wishes were pheasants, I'd wish with a skirl

Though Houris are handsome, though lovely the place-- More lovely perhaps than our own country seat-- I never could see, in the light of free grace

With prices outrageous they charge now for meat, And servants so worthless are every day growing, I wonder we get half enough now to eat,

Come, John, Jane, and Susan, the soup take away, And bring in the turbot, the sheep's head and bass; And have you got lobster and salad to-day?

"Now Merdle--now Colonel--I know you are waiting. And thinking my talking to eating's a bar, Still hoping, by tasting, my appetite sating,

"Impatient--oh yes--just the way with you men! I never have time to half finish my eating Ere Merdle is done; such a fidget is then,

I have a beautiful castle, With towers and battlements fair; And many a banner, with gay device,

By the Author of "Nothing to Wear" "I'll nibble a little at what I have got." --"My appetite's none of the best.

Though famine prevails not at all in the city; Though none of starvation have died in the street; Yet many there are now exciting our pity,

To Egypt's king, who ruled beside The reedy river's flow, Came God's command, "Release, O king,

"Phoebe! Phoebe! Where is the chit? When I want her most she's out of the way. Child, you're running a long account

The case, too, was urgent, for there stood a sinner, Whose fate hung on chance--a chance for his dinner; A chance for all mortals, with truth I assert,

Thirty years have come and gone, Melting away like Southern Snows, Since, in the light of a summer's night,

An old frog lived in a dismal swamp, In a dismal kind of way; And all that he did, whatever befell,

In the far-off Polar seas, Far beyond the Hebrides, Where the icebergs, towering high,

It is the year's high noon, The earth sweet incense yields, And o'er the fresh, green fields

One autumn day, when hedges yet were green, And thick-branched trees diffused a leafy gloom, Hard by where Avon rolls its silvery tide,

I am glad that you have come, Arthur, from the dusty town; You must throw aside your cares,

Now soup, if you like made of beef very nice, You'll find this the next thing to the height of perfection; And eaten with ketchup, or thickened with rice,

Mrs. Merdle Describes the Sufferings of Dyspepsia and its Remedy. But come, now, I hear by the sound of the ringing That dinner is ready; and time none to spare

While waiting debating I stated before, Jack Merdle drove up in his carriage and bays, "Halloo," said the banker, "I see you're ashore--

One golden summer day, Along the forest-way, Young Colin passed with blithesome steps alert.

Now Merdle, en passant, I had known for a score Of years, when a dinner with Jones, Brown or Smith As good as one gets for a quarter or more,

But what "lady patron" as queen holds the sway; Or sweeping, whose hoops in the street are most sweeping; The burthen is not of this truth-telling lay,

Oh! Kitty Malone--Mrs. Merdle 'tis now-- Was there ever on earth than this, greater folly? Still gorging, while groaning, and swearing a vow,

"A Victory! --a victory!" Is flashed across the wires; Speed, speed the news from State to State,

The point I advance, if it need confirmation, I'll prove by a witness that few will dispute, A pink of perfection and truth in the naion

In the hushed hours of night, when the air quite still, I hear the strange cry of the lone whippoorwill, Who Chants, without ceasing, that wonderful trill,

And what do you eat in the mess there compounded? For roast beef, the gravy the soap-man should claim-- The soup some odd things might turn up if sounded,

Another expounder of life's thorny mazes Excited our pity at fortune's hard fare, And troubled the city's most troublesome places,

When the clouds in the Western sky Flush red with the setting sun,-- When the veil of twilight falls,