If a hurricane rise in the midnight skies,
And the stars are lost to view,
Glide safely along,
With a smile and a song,
And "paddle your own canoe."
Up this world, and down this world,
And over this world and through,
Though weary and worn,
Bereft and forlorn,
Still "paddle your own canoe."
Never give up when trials come,
Never grow sad and blue.
Never sit down
With a tear and a frown,
But "paddle your own canoe."
There are daisies springing along the shores,
Blooming and sweet for you;
There are rose-hued dyes
In the autumn skies—
Then "paddle your own canoe."
TO SNORERS.—94.
An inventive Yankee has produced an apparatus which, he says, is a cure for snoring. He fastens upon the nose a gutta-percha tube leading to the tympanum of the ear. Whenever the snorer snores, he himself receives the first impression, finds how disagreeable it is, and, of course, reforms.
INGENIOUS BOOT-BLACK.—95.
The street boot-blacks are one of the "institutions" of New York, as well as of some other large cities. These boys are generally so polite and so industrious that we rather like them, and sometimes take a "shine up" just to see them work, and to chat with the smart little fellows. Here is a case illustrating their ingenuity:—A well-dressed man standing at a hotel-door not long since was hailed by one of them with the usual question, "Shine up, sir?" "What do you charge for blacking boots?" asked the man, who was somewhat noted for stinginess. "Five cents," was the reply. "Too much, too much; I'll give you three cents," said the man. "All right," said the youngster, and at it he went with might and main, and very soon had one boot shining like a mirror; but, instead of commencing on the other he began to pack up his brushes. "You havn't finished," exclaimed the man. "Never mind," replied the boot-black, with a twinkle in his eye; "I won't charge you anything for what I've done; there comes a customer who pays." The man glanced at the shining boot, then at the other, which was rusty and bespattered with mud, thought of the ridiculous figure he would make with one polished boot, and amid the laughter of the bystanders agreed to give the sharp boy ten cents to finish the job, which he did in double quick time, and with great pleasure.
A YANKEE'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.—96.
Sir, I was born and raised in Connecticut;
Bolted to sea, and was wreck'd in Japan;
Quite a respectable figure I 'spect I cut,
When coming back to keep school I began.
Guess at the saw-mill I proved a top sawyer,
And as a minister made a small splurge;
Reckon I felt more at home as a lawyer,
Ere as a doctor I learn'd how to purge.
But the long words in the medical lexicon
Soon I forgot from a couple of years
Spent in campaigning against the darn'd Mexican,
When I commanded the Bragg Volunteers.
Just for a change, then a paper I edited,
Scorch'd politicians, and pitch'd into books;
That was before I was envoy accredited—
Austrian plenipo—General Snooks.
'Tis a slow life—that of Minister resident—
Posting despatches to kings, and what not;
But, as they propose to run me for President,
Hang'd if I care to repine at my lot.