Recitations for the Social Circle Part 29

THE MODERN BELLE.

The daughter sits in the parlor, And rocks in her easy-chair; She is dressed in silks and satins, And jewels are in her hair; She winks, and giggles, and simpers, And simpers, and giggles, and winks; And though she talks but little, It's vastly more than she thinks.

Her father goes clad in russet-- All brown and seedy at that; His coat is out at the elbows, And he wears a shocking bad hat.

He is h.o.a.rding and saving his dollars, So carefully, day by day, While she on her whims and fancies Is squandering them all away.

She lies in bed of a morning Until the hour of noon, Then comes down, snapping and snarling Because she's called too soon.

Her hair is still in papers, Her cheeks still bedaubed with paint-- Remains of last night's blushes Before she attempted to faint.

Her feet are so very little, Her hands so snowy white, Her jewels so very heavy, And her head so very light; Her color is made of cosmetics-- Though this she'll never own; Her body is mostly cotton, And her heart is wholly stone.

She falls in love with a fellow Who swells with a foreign air; He marries her for her money, She marries him for his hair-- One of the very best matches; Both are well mated in life; She's got a fool for a husband, And he's got a fool for a wife.

THE PUZZLED DUTCHMAN.

ANONYMOUS.

_A Humorous Recitation._

One who does not believe in immersion for baptism was holding a protracted meeting, and one night preached on the subject of baptism. In the course of his remarks he said that some believe it necessary to go down in the water, and come up out of it, to be baptized. But this he claimed to be fallacy, for the preposition "into" of the Scriptures should be rendered differently, as it does not mean into at all times. "Moses," he said, "we are told, went up into the mountain; and the Saviour was taken up into a high mountain, etc. Now we do not suppose either went into a mountain but went unto it. So with going down into the water; it means simply going down close by or near to the water, and being baptized in the ordinary way, by sprinkling or pouring." He carried this idea out fully, and in due season closed his discourse, when an invitation was given for any one so disposed to rise and express his thoughts. Quite a number of his brethren arose and said they were glad they had been present on this occasion, that they were well pleased with the sound sermon they had just heard, and felt their souls greatly blessed. Finally, a corpulent gentleman of Teutonic extraction, a stranger to all, arose and broke the silence that was almost painful, as follows:

"Mister Breacher, I is so glad I vash here to-night, for I has had explained to my mint some dings dat I never could pelief pefore. Oh, I is so glad dat into does not mean into at all, but shust close py or near to, for now I can pelief many dings vot I could not pelief pefore. We reat, Mr.

Breacher, dat Taniel vos cast into de ten of lions, and came out alife.

Now I neffer could pelief dat, for wilt peasts would shust eat him right off; but now it is fery clear to my mint. He vash shust close py or near to, and tid not get into de ten at all. Oh, I ish so glad I vash here to-night. Again we reat dat de Heprew children vas cast into de firish furnace, and dat always look like a beeg story too, for they would have been purnt up; but it ish all blain to my mint now, for dey was shust cast py or close to de firish furnace. Oh, I vas so glad I vos here to-night.

And den, Mister Breacher, it ish said dat Jonah vash cast into de sea, and taken into de whale's pelly. Now I neffer could pelief dat. It alwish seemed to me to be a beeg fish story, but it ish all blain to my mint now.

He vash not into de whale's pelly at all, but shump onto his pack and rode ash.o.r.e. Oh, I vash so glad I vash here to-night.

"And now, Mister Breacher, if you will shust exblain two more ba.s.sages of Scriptures, I shall be oh so happy dat I vas here to-night! One of dem ish vere it saish de vicked shall be cast into a lake dat burns mit fire and primstone alwish. Oh, Mister Breacher, shall I be cast into dat lake if I am vicked, or shust close py or near to--shust near enough to be comfortable? Oh, I hope you tell me I shall be cast only shust py a good veys off, and I vill pe so glad I vash here to-night. Do oder ba.s.sage is dat vich saish blessed are they who do these commandments, dat dey may have right to de dree of life, and enter in droo de gates of the city, and not shust close py or near to--shust near enough to see vat I have lost--and I shall pe so glad I vash here to-night."

THE FAST MAIL AND THE STAGE.

BY JOHN H. YATES.

Lay by the weekly, Betsey, it's old like you and I, And read the morning's daily, with its pages scarcely dry.

While you and I were sleepin', they were printing them to-day, In the city by the ocean, several hundred miles away.

"How'd I get it?" Bless you, Betsey, you needn't doubt and laugh; It didn't drop down from the clouds nor come by telegraph; I got it by the lightning mail we've read about you know, The mail that Jonathan got up about a month ago.

We farmers livin' 'round the hill went to the town to-day To see the fast mail catch the bags that hung beside the way; Quick as a flash from thundering clouds, whose tempest swept the sky, The bags were caught on board the train as it went roarin' by.

We are seein' many changes in our fast declinin' years; Strange rumors now are soundin' in our hard-of-hearin' ears.

Ere the sleep that knows no wakin' comes to waft us o'er the stream, Some great power may be takin' all the self-conceit from steam.

Well do we remember, Betsey, when the post-man carried mails, Ridin' horseback through the forest 'long the lonely Indian trails, How impatiently we waited--we were earnest lovers then-- For our letters comin' slowly, many miles through wood and glen.

Many times, you know, we missed them--for the post-man never came-- Then, not knowin' what had happened, we did each the other blame; Long those lover quarrels lasted, but the G.o.d who melts the proud Brought our strayin' hearts together and let sunshine through the cloud.

Then at last the tidings reached us that the faithful post-man fell Before the forest savage with his wild terrific yell, And your letters lay and moldered, while the sweet birds sang above, And I was savin' bitter things about a woman's love.

Long and tedious were the journeys--few and far between, the mails, In the days when we were courtin'--when we thrashed with wooden flails; Now the white winged cars are flyin' long the sh.o.r.es of inland seas.

And younger lovers read _their_ letters 'mid luxury and ease.

We have witnessed many changes in our three-score years and ten; We no longer sit and wonder at the discoveries of men; In the shadow of life's evenin' we rejoice that our dear boys Are not called to meet the hardships that embittered half our joys.

Like the old mail through the forest, youthful years go slowly by; Like the fast mail of the present, manhood's years how swift they fly; We are sitting in the shadows; soon shall break life's brittle cord-- Soon shall come the welcome summons by the fast mail of the Lord.

STORY OF THE LITTLE RID HIN.

BY MRS. WHITNEY.

Well, thin, there was once't upon a time, away off in the ould country, livin' all her lane in the woods, in a wee bit iv a house be herself, a little rid hin. Nice an' quiet she was, and niver did no kind o' harrum in her life. An' there lived out over the hill, in a din o' the rocks, a crafty ould felly iv a fox. An' this same ould villain iv a fox, he laid awake o' nights, and he prowled around shly iv a day-time, thinkin' always so busy how he'd git the little rid hin, an' carry her home an' bile her up for his shupper. But the wise little rid hin niver went intil her bit iv a house, but she locked the door afther her and pit the kay in her pocket. So the ould rashkill iv a fox, he watched, an' he prowled, an' he laid awake nights, till he came all to skin an' bone, an' sorra a ha'porth o' the little rid hin could he git at. But at lasht there came a shcame intil his wicked ould head, an' he tuk a big bag one mornin', over his shouldher, an'

he says till his mother, says he, "Mother, have the pot all bilin' agin' I come home, for I'll bring the little rid hin to-night for our shupper." An'

away he wint, over the hill, an' came c.r.a.pin' shly an' soft through the woods to where the little rid hin lived in her shnug bit iv a house. An'

shure, jist at the very minute that he got along, out comes the little rid hin out iv the door, to pick up shticks to bile her tay-kettle. "Begorra, now, but I'll have yees," says the shly ould fox, an' in he shlips, unbeknownst, intil the house, an' hides behind the door. An' in comes the little rid hin, a minute afther, with her ap.r.o.n full of shticks, an' shuts too the door an' locks it, an' pits the kay in her pocket. An' thin she turns round,--an' there stands the baste iv a fox in the corner. Well, thin, what did she do, but jist dhrop down her shticks, and fly up in a great fright and flutter to the big bame acra.s.s the inside o' the roof, where the fox couldn't git at her!

"Ah, ha!" says the fox, "I'll soon bring you out o' that!" An' he began to whirrul round, an' round, an' round, fashter, an' fashter, an' fashter, on the floor, afther his big, bushy tail, till the little rid hin got so dizzy wid lookin', that she jist tumbled down aff the bame, and the fox whipped her up and popped her intil his bag, and stharted off home in a minute. An'

he wint up the wood and down the wood, half the day long, with the little rid hin shut up shmotherin' in the bag. Sorra a know she knowed where she was at all, at all. She thought she was all biled an' ate up, an' finished shure! But, by an' by, she remimbered herself, an' pit her hand in her pocket, an' tuk out her little bright scissors, and shnipped a big hole in the bag behind, an' out she leapt, an' picked up a big shtone an' popped it intil the bag, an' rin aff home, an' locked the door.

An' the fox he tugged away up over the hill, with the big stone at his back thumpin' his shouldhers, thinkin' to himself how heavy the little rid hin was, an' what a fine shupper he'd have. An' whin he came in sight iv his din in the rocks' and shpied his ould mother awatchin' for him at the door, he says, "Mother! have ye the pot bilin'?" An' the ould mother says, "Sure, an' it is; an' have ye the little rid hin?" "Yes, jist here in me bag. Open the lid o' the pot till I pit her in," says he.

An' the ould mother fox she lifted the lid o' the pot, an' the rashkill untied the bag, and hild it over the pot o' bilin' wather, an' shuk in the big, heavy shtone. An' the bilin' wather shplashed up all over the rogue iv a fox, an' his mother, an' schalded them both to death. An' the little rid hin lived safe in her house foriver afther.

ONLY A SONG.

It was only a simple ballad, Sung to a careless throng; There were none that knew the singer, And few that heeded the song; Yet the singer's voice was tender And sweet as with love untold; Surely those hearts were hardened That it left so proud and cold.

She sang of the wondrous glory That touches the woods in spring, Of the strange, soul-stirring voices When "the hills break forth and sing;"

Of the happy birds low warbling The requiem of the day, And the quiet hush of the valleys In the dusk of the gloaming gray.

And one in a distant corner-- A woman worn with strife-- Heard in that song a message From the spring-time of her life.

Fair forms rose up before her From the mist of vanished years; She sat in a happy blindness, Her eyes were veiled in tears.