California Agriculturist and Live Stock Journal. 



Dandelion in January. 



J ju.i make a mistako, my darling? 



Dirt you bear the joy-bells riug, 

 Det'p iu the tanKle of Rraesfs, 



Till yoii tUouj/ht it was surely Spring? 

 , And forth, in your winbome beauty. 



You st<;iiiif(l with a modest ail*, 

 Mntchiufi the golden weather 



With the grace of your golden hair. 



It iR not in the least 6urpriBing 



That a sUy 60 tender ag this 

 ShuuM wakeu the dreaming flowers 



As if with an April kiss. 

 Indeed, the marvel is only 



That all the beautiful train 

 Violet, fiuow-drop and lily. 



Do not troop hither again. 



If we, with our grown-up learning. 



Wero not BO dreadfully wine, 

 We should oi-rtrtinly think that Summer 



^Vas standing' before our eyi^s; 

 For hurc are her glorious colors, 



And here in her fervjd sun. 

 Tray, how could you tell, little flower, 



Her reign was over aud dune ? 



But what will you do when a morning 



ShaU come to your dwelling-place. 

 And si:"wl with a dnrk displeasure, 



Into your laughing face? 

 "Where will you hide in the morning 



That shatters your house so fair, 

 And weaves a glitter of hoar-frost 



Ovei' your faded hair? 



Not with the touch of April. 



Not with the breath of May, 

 Cometh the chill old Winter, 



Her weight on your heart to lay. 

 My poor little dandelion. 



When you heard the joy-bells ring, 

 Why did you not wait and, listen, 



Aud be sure that it was Spring ? 



Up from the tiny flower 



Came a voice as fine as a thread: 

 I tell you. in ench an hour, 



I couldn't lie still in bed; 

 And to see this Indian Summer, 



And its light as clear as May, 

 Is worth whatever mny happen 



On yoiu" dread wintry day. 



Courage to Do Right. 



We may have conrnge, all of us. 



To start at honor's call. 

 To meet a foe. protect a friend. 



Or face a cannon ball; 

 To show the world one hero lives — 



The foremost in the -fight- 

 But do we always manifest 



The courage to do right? 



To answer, nol with steady breath, 



And quick, unfaltering tongue. 

 When tierce temptation, ever near. 



Her syren song has sung ? 

 To care not for the bantering tone. 



The jest or studied slight; 

 Content if we can only have 



The courage to do right? 



To step aside from fashion's Gour.^«, 



■ Or cnstom's favored plan. 



To pluck an outcast from the street. 



Or help a fellow man? 

 If lint, then let us nnbly fry, 



llenceforth.with :ill our might, 

 In every case to muster up 



The courage to do right. 



The Forest Trees. 



BY ELIZA COOK. 



Up with your heatls, ye sylvan lords! 



Wave proudly iu the breeze: 

 For oar cradle bands and colfin boanle 



Must come from the forest trees. 



Wo blesa ye for yonr Summer shade, 

 When our weak limbs fail and tii-e; 



Our thanks are due for your Winter aid, 

 When wo pile'the bright log Are. 



Oh I where would be onr rule on the sea, 



And the fame of the sailor band; 

 Were it not for the oak and cloud-crown'd pIno 



That spring on the quiet land? 



When the ribs and masts of the good ship live 



Ami weather the gale with case; 

 Take his glass from the tar who will not give 



A health to the forest trees. 



Ye lend to Life its earliest Joy, 



And wait on its latest page- 

 In the circling hnop for the rosy boy, 



And the easy chair for Age. 



The old man tottere on his way. 



With footsteps sbt»rt aud slow; 

 But without the stick for his help and stay, 



Nor a yard' length could he go. 



The hazel twig in the stripling's hand 



Hiith magic power to please; 

 And the trusty stafl and sleuder wand 



Are pluck'd from the forest trees. 



Ye are seen in the shape of the blessed plow 



And the merry ringing flail; 

 Ye shiue in the dome of a monarch's home. 



And the sacred altar-rail. 



In the rustic poYch, the panoU'd wall, 

 In the gay triumphal ear; 



In the rude-built hut, or the banquet hall- 

 No matter, there ye arel 



Then up with your koads, ye pylvan lordsl 



Wave proudly iu the breeze; 

 From our cradle bands to our coflin boards, 



We're in debt to the forest trees. 



Backbone. 



When you see a fellow-mortal 



Without fixed aud fearless views. 

 Hanging on the skirts of others, 



Walking in their cast-oft' shoes, 

 Bowing low to wealth and favor 



With uncovered, abject head, 

 Keady to retract or waver' 



Willing to be driven or led; 

 Walk yourself with firmer bearing. 



Throw your mortal shoulders back. 

 Show your spine has nerve and marrow — 



Just the things which his must luck. 



When you see a theologian 



Hugging close some ugly creed. 

 Fearing to reject or question 



Dogmas which his priest may read. 

 Holding back a noble feeling. 



Choking down each manly view, 

 Caring more for fonus aud symbols 



Than to know the good and true; 

 Walk yourself with firmer bearing. 



Throw your mortal shoulders back, 

 Show your spine has nerve and marrow — 



Just the ihings which his must lack. 



WTien you see a politician 



Crawling through contracted holes, 

 Beggiug for some fat position 



In the ring or at the polls, 

 With no sterling manhood in him, 

 Notliing staple, broad, or sound. 

 Destitute of pluck or ballast, 



Double-sided all around; 

 Walk yourself with firmer bearinpf. 



Throw your mortal shoulders back, 

 Show your spine has nerve and marrow- 

 Just the things which his must lack, 

 A stronger work 

 Was never heard 

 In sense and tone 

 Than this — backbone. 



A modest song and plainly told — 



The text is worth a mine of gold. 



For many men most sadly lack 



A noble stiflne s in the back, —[Sol. 



What Are We Going to Do? 



What are we going to do, good friends. 



In the year that is to come, 

 To baftle that fearful fiend of death 



Whose messenger is rum ? 

 Shall we fold our hands and bid him pass. 



As ho has passed before, 

 Leaving his deadly poisoned draught 



At every unbarred door? 



What ai'e we going to do, good friends. 



Still wait for crime and pain. 

 Then bind the bruises, and heal the wounds. 



And sooth the free aKam? 

 Let the flend still torture the weary wife. 



Still poison theconiing child. 

 Still break the suffering mother's heart. 



Still drive the sister wild? 



Still bring to the grave the gray-haired sire, 



Still miirtvr the brave youn^^ soul. 

 Till the vyaters of death, like a burning stream, 



O'er the whole great nation roll; 

 And poverty take the place of wealth. 



And sin and crime and shame 

 Dnig d..wn to the very depths of hell 



The highest and proudest name? 



Is this our mission on earth, good friends. 



In the years that are to come? 

 If not. let us rouse aud do the work 



Against the spirit of rum. 

 There is not a soul so poor and weak. 



In all this goodly land. 

 But against this evil a word may speak, 



And lift a warning hand. 



Then lift awaming hand, good friends. 



With a cry for home and hearth. 

 Adding voice to voice, till the sound shall sweep, 



Like the rum's death-knell, o'er the earth. 

 And the weak and wavering shaU hear. 



And the faint grow brave and strong. 

 And the true and good and great and wise 



Join himds to right this wrong. 



Don't Run in Debt« 



Don't run in debt— never mind, never mind 



If your clothes are all faded and torn; 

 Fix "em up, make them do; it is better by far 



Than to have the heart weary and worn. 

 Who will love you the more for the set of your hat, 



Or your rufif, or the tie of your shoe; 

 The style of your boots or shade of cravat, 



If they know you're in debt for the new? 



Good friends, let me beg of yon, don't mnJn dcT)t, 



It the chairs and the enfa ai-e old; 

 They'll fit your backs better than any new set 



Unices they are paid for— witli gold. 

 If the bouse is too small draw the closer together, 



Keep it warm with a hearty good will; 

 A big one, unpaid for. in all kinds of weather. 



Will send to the warm heart a chill. 



Don't nin in debt— dear girls, take a hint, 



If the fashions have changed since laft season. 

 Old Nature is out in the very same tint— 



And old Nature, methinks, has some reason; 

 But just say to your friends, I cannot afford 



To spend time to keep up with fashion, 

 My purse is too light and honor too bright 



To be tarnished with such silly passions. 



Gents, don't run in debt— let your friends, if the want. 



Have fine houses and clothing and flowers; 

 But, unless they are paid for, be more of a man 



Than to envy their sunshiny hours, 

 If you've money to spare, I've nothing to say. 



Spend your dollars and dimes as you please; 

 But, mind you, the man who bis note has to pay 



Is the man who is never at ease. 



Kind husbands, don't run in debt any more, 



'Twill fill your wife's cup full of sorrow, 

 To know that a neighlmr may call at \oxir door 



With a bill you must settle to-morrow. 

 O. take my advice— it is good— it is truel 



But, lest you may, some of you, doubt it, 

 I'll whisper a secret, bow, seeing 'tis you— 



I've tried it, and kJiow all about it. 



The chain of a debtor is heavy and cold. 



Its links all corrosion and rust; 

 Gild it o'er as you will, if is never of gold; 



Then spurn it aside with disgust — 

 "I've tried it, and know all about it,'* 



rAccomplished. 



Softly fell the twilight sha<low, 



Overbill and vale and dell, 

 And the moonbeams, soft and radiant, 



Kissod the tree-tops as they fell; 

 While wituin a low-walled chamber 



On a rude couch lay a child, 

 Pale and fragile as a lily. 



With a sweet face, pure and mild. 



On her brow was stamped the impress 



Of the holy band above. 

 And from out her eyes so lovely 



hhune the lightof heavenly love. 

 " Mother," aud the pale lips parke<l 



With a trembling, gasping moan— 

 " Mother. I must die ami leave you: 



Die and leave you all alone. 



" All alone, for father is not 



Like the father I once knew — 

 Stong and upright in his manhood, 



Gentlr, loving, kind and true. 

 I have wept'and prayed, oh! mother. 



How I've beggetl that Ood would hear 

 lly petition for my father, 



And you, my mother dear. 



" I am dying now, dear mother. 



And before another dawn 

 I shall bid farewell to earth life — 



Who will love you when I'm gone ?" 

 The form beside the couch there kneeling 



Trembled as with pain of death. 

 The white face from out the pillows 



Kobe, while with deep drawn breath 



Spoke the'mother, 'mid her weeping, 



Sti-uggling with a nameless dread— 

 "Oh. my child, my precious darling! 



Can I live when vo\i are dead ?" 

 Then another form rose upright, 



Tremblii;gly approached the bed, 

 Fell upon his knees beside it. 



And in broken accents said: 



" Child, I will care for your mother, 



•And if God calls yuu away, 

 I will love her as you've loved Iier. 



Hear, mv darling, while I pray. 

 Our i'ather."— low the words came. 



Choked with sobs of grief, and sl<»w, 

 *' Spare our darling! If she mtst die. 



Give us fitrengtn to bear the blow. 



" And again. Oh, Father! hear mo 



While upon my knees I vow, 

 I'll forever leave the wine cup 



Which has brought me thus so low." 

 " God, I thank thee," the child murmured. 



Drooping low her lovely head; 

 Then a hush reigned in the chamber. 



And the fair, sweet child was dead. 



KNOWLEDGE is no burden. 



