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OUR CHRISTMAS TURKEY.

THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH.

Sit down at the table, good comrade of mine;
Here is cheer, and some flasks of the vintage of Rhine;
Here is warmth, here is comfort, and smiles that betray
But a part of the welcome that greets you to-day;
And here in the centre, enthroned on a plate,
Superb in surroundings and royal in state,

You behold-why, what cynic could give him a scowl?—
With his cranberry courtiers, our national fowl.

Folk call him a Turkey-the name is absurd;
This fowl is a purely American bird.

His strut and his gobble, his arrogant air,

His plumage of bronze, speak my countryman there.

But no! he's a coward! ah, well, that depends!

He can fight for his hen, and his chicks, and his friends;
And in one thing he shows an American soul—
You never can force him to crawl through a hole.

There's an edge to the carving-knife polished and bright;
The plates are all warm and the napkins all white;
Before us the celery gleams through its vase,

And the cranberry jelly is set in its place.

Thrust the sharp fork astraddle our beauty's breast-bone;
From his side cut thin slices, the whitest e'er known,
For the ladies, God bless them! but my ruder sense
Craves the thigh, and the last part that gets o'er the fence.

Ah! white meat or brown meat, it matters not much-
'Tis taste we must please, not our seeing nor touch;
And with either for dinner we're not at a loss,
If we've celery in plenty, and cranberry sauce;
For then, with a flask of good Rudesheimer wine,
We can manage, I fancy, in comfort to dine:
Nay, more-with a turkey like this at command
Who'd not be a patriot, proud of his land?

They had figs in Judea, and fatlings so fine,

Young kids dressed with olives, and what they called wine;

They had palm-trees and date-trees, and odors as rare
As the sweetest of roses could fling on the air.
What their fruits and their flowers to these cranberries red,
And their palms and their date-trees this celery instead!
While as to their kids, and their lambs and their quails,
One turkey-let's eat, for comparison fails.

THE UNAPPARENT HEIR.

"Mr. Penguin, an egg!"

"Good gracious! my dear, Where is it?" "Don't joggle. Right under me here." "In the nest that we made ?"

"We! Isn't that fun?

I built it of stones, and you brought me just one
Extremely small pebble the day it was done."
"But the egg-are you certain ?" "As sure as can be;
So get ready this moment and start for the sea;
There eat and grow fat, and your pouch fill with food ·
Of the kind that will strengthen and nourish our brood."
"Our brood? Why, you said there was only one egg."
"Don't stand wasting time, Mr. Penguin, I beg.
That egg, you'll remember, was laid, sir, by me,
And the chick that I hatch, you may wager, will be
Worth twenty young penguins of lower degree.
Methinks I can see him becomingly dressed
In a little dark coat and a little white vest,
With cunning wee flippers, eyes wondrously keen-
The handsomest penguin that ever was seen!
At first his short steps I most carefully guide,
Then graceful and haughty he walks at my side,
Like a prince among birds, with his head carried high,
And the sea-fowl who gather to see us go by
Are ready, my dear, of sheer envy to die!"

While she spoke, a small bird, much resembling a crow,
Peeped over a rock at the picture below,

And he danced like an imp, and he waggled his head,

And he grinned such a grin when he heard what she said.

ANON.

And he laughed a strange laugh, without making a sound,
As he flew from the rock to the nest on the ground;
And behind Mrs. Penguin he crept like a snail,
And jerked a long feather straight out of her tail.

Then as quickly she turned, he as quickly took wing,

While she screamed, "Oh, you robber! you hard-hearted thing!
Oh, Penguin, how can you, how dare you stand there
Like a fowl made of marble, and heartlessly stare?
Don't you see what he's got? I am mad with despair!"
But, alas! all in vain did she threaten and shriek;
Crow was off with the egg sticking fast on his beak;
And Pen remarked, calmly, "Next time 'twere as well
To say naught of your son till he's out of the shell."

A SUDDEN CURE.

A melancholy woman lay
In sickness on her bed,

And in a faint and broken voice

To her sad husband said:

"Dear David, when my earthly form

Has turned to lifeless clay,
Oh, wait an' weep a little while,
Nor throw yourself away.

"I know a woman kind and true,

On whom you may depend;

Oh, marry Aramilla Jones

She is my dearest friend."
"Yes, Hannah, I have wanted long
To speak of this before:

For Aramilla Jones an' I

Have talked the matter o'er."

"Then you an' Aramilla Jones
Have been too smart and sly;
I tell you, David Wilkinson,
I'm not a-goin' to die!"

ANON.

Her dark eyes flashed; her strength returned;
She left her bed of pain:

A week had scarcely passed away
When she was well again.

THE CALIPH AND SATAN.

A versified Translation from the Persian.

In heavy sleep the Caliph lay,

When some one called, "Arise, and pray!"
The angry Caliph cried, "Who dare
Rebuke his king for slighted prayer?"
Then from the corner of the room
A voice cut sharply through the gloom:
"My name is Satan. Rise! Obey
Mohammed's law; awake, and pray."

"Thy words are good," the Caliph said,
"But their intent I somewhat dread,
For matters cannot well be worse

Than when the thief says, 'Guard your purse!'
I cannot trust your counsel, friend,

It surely hides some wicked end."

Said Satan, "Near the throne of God,
In ages past, we devils trod;

Angels of light, to us 'twas given

To guide each wandering foot to heaven.
Not wholly lost is that first love,
Nor those pure tastes we knew above.

Roaming across a continent

The Tartar moves his shifting tent,
But never quite forgets the day
When in his father's arms he lay;
So we, once bathed in love divine,
Recall the taste of that rich wine.
God's finger rested on my brow-
That magic touch, I feel it now!
I fell, 'tis true-oh, ask not why,

J. F. C.

For still to God I turn my eye.
It was a chance by which I fell,
Another takes me back from hell.
'Twas but my envy of mankind,
The envy of a loving mind.
Jealous of men, I could not bear
God's love with this new race to share.
But yet God's tables open stand,

His guests flock in from every land;
Some kind act toward the race of men
May toss us into heaven again.

A game of chess is all we see,
And God the player, pieces we;

White, black-queen, pawn-'tis all the same,

For on both sides He plays the game;

Moved to and fro, from good to ill,
We rise and fall as suits his will."

The Caliph said, "If this be so

I know not, but thy guile I know;
For how can I thy words believe,
When even God thou didst deceive?
A sea of lies art thou-our sin
Only a drop that sea within."

"Not so," said Satan, "I serve God,
His angel now, and now his rod;
In tempting I both bless and curse,
Make good men better, bad men worse;
Good coin is mixed with bad, my brother,
I but distinguish one from the other."

"Granted," the Caliph said, "but still
You never tempt to good, but ill;
Tell, then, the truth, for well I know
You come as my most deadly foe."

Loud laughed the fiend, "You know me well,

Therefore my purpose I will tell.

If you had missed your prayer, I knew

A swift repentance would ensue ;

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