“I work from morn till night, and try
To please her all the while,
And think sometimes I’d give the world
Just for one pleasant smile.
“But every day I give offence,
In spite of all my care;
And cruel words from day to day,
It is my lot to bear.”
MINNIE.
Oh, how I pity Peggy Hill!
Her case is sad indeed;
I’m thankful for my happy home,—
Dear mother, let me read.
And let Almira get her work;—
Fido, you run away
Till after tea, then on the green
We’ll run, and jump, and play.
THE INDIAN AND THE PLANTER.
By the door of his house a planter stood,
In fair Virginia’s clime,
When the setting sun had tinged the wood
With its golden hue sublime.
The lands of this planter were broadly spread,
He lacked not gold or gear,
And his house had plenty of meat and bread
To make them goodly cheer.