ith a smile that warms my heart,
Might have borne with me life's better part,
But lost to me, here in poverty's ditch,
What were mine if things was only sich."

Thus the old beggar moodily sung,
And his eyes dropped tears as his hands he wrung.
I could but pity to hear him berate,
In dolorous tones the decrees of Fate,
That laid on his back its iron switch,
While he cried, "If things was only sich."

"If things was only sich!"--e'en all
Might the past in sad review recall;
But little the use and little the gain,
Exhuming the bones of buried pain,
And whether we're poor or whether we're rich,
We'll say not, "If things was only sich."

ON THE SHORES OF TENNESSEE.

E.L. BEERS.

The opening verses should be given in a low, almost plaintive
tone; when the flag is seen, the exclamations should be
ejaculated with spirit and rapturous delight. Care should
be taken not to give the negro _patois_ too broad, or it may
prove a defect; where properly spoken it is really a beauty:

"Move my arm-chair, faithful Pompey
In the sunshine bright and strong,
For this world is fading, Pompey--
Massa won't be with you long;
And I fain would hear the south wind
Bring once more the sound to me,
Of the wavelets softly breaking
On the shores of Tennessee.

"Mournful though the ripples murmur
As they still the story tell,
How no vessels float the banner
That I've loved so long and well.
I shall listen to their music,
Dreaming that again I see
Stars and stripes on sloop and shallop
Sailing up the Tennessee;

"And, Pompey, while old Massa's waiting
For Death's last dispatch to come,
If that exiled starry banner
Should come proudly sailing home.
You shall greet it slave no longer--
Voice and hand shall both be free
That shout and point to Union colors
On the waves of Tennessee."

"Massa's berry kind to Pompey;
But old darkey's happy here.
Where he's tended corn and cotton
For dese many a long gone year.
Over yonder, Missis' sleeping--
No one tends her grave like me:
Mebbe she would miss the flowers
She used to love in Tennessee.

"'Pears like, she was watching Massa--
If Pompey should beside him stay,
Mebbe she'd remember better
How for him she used to pray;
Telling him that way up yonder
White as snow his soul would be,
If he served the Lord of