,
When we heard the fiddle ring
Up the curtain of Romance,
And in crowded public halls
Played with hearts like jugglers'-balls.--
_Feats of mountebanks, depend_!--
Tom Van Arden, my old friend.

Tom Van Arden, my old friend,
Pardon, then, this theme of mine:
While the fire-light leaps to lend
Higher color to the wine,--
I propose a health to those
Who have _homes_, and home's repose,
Wife- and child-love without end!
. . . Tom Van Arden, my old friend.

JUST TO BE GOOD.

Just to be good--
This is enough--enough!
O we who find sin's billows wild and rough,
Do we not feel how more than any gold
Would be the blameless life we led of old
While yet our lips knew but a mother's kiss?
Ah! though we miss
All else but this,
To be good is enough!

It is enough--
Enough--just to be good!
To lift our hearts where they are understood;
To let the thirst for worldly power and place
Go unappeased; to smile back in God's face
With the glad lips our mothers used to kiss.
Ah! though we miss
All else but this,
To be good is enough!

HOME AT NIGHT.

When chirping crickets fainter cry,
And pale stars blossom in the sky,
And twilight's gloom has dimmed the bloom
And blurred the butterfly:

When locust-blossoms fleck the walk,
And up the tiger-lily stalk
The glow-worm crawls and clings and falls
And glimmers down the garden-walls:

When buzzing things, with double wings
Of crisp and raspish flutterings,
Go whizzing by so very nigh
One thinks of fangs and stings:--

O then, within, is stilled the din
Of crib she rocks the baby in,
And heart and gate and latch's weight
Are lifted--and the lips of Kate.

THE HOOSIER FOLK-CHILD.

The Hoosier Folk-Child--all unsung--
Unlettered all of mind and tongue;
Unmastered, unmolested--made
Most wholly frank and unafraid:
Untaught of any school--unvexed
Of law or creed--all unperplexed--
Unsermoned, aye, and undefiled,
An all imperfect-perfect child--
A type which (Heaven forgive us!) you
And I do tardy honor to,
And so, profane the sanctities
Of our most sacred memories.
Who, growing thus from boy to man,
That dares not be American?
Go, Pride, with prudent underbuzz--
Go _whistle_! as the Folk-Child does.

The Hoosier Folk-Child's world is no