AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST, 347 
PUSH ON? 
BY HENRY J. SARSENT. 
“A little humor now and then, 
Is relished by the best of men.” 
MY ONLY ONE. 
The following lines were copied from the back 
of a one dollar bill: 
And thou must go, my beautiful, 
To pay remorseless dun, 
And pass forever from my hand, 
My cherished, only “ 1.” 
Thou wert as good as X or V, 
For thou wert all I had; 
And now, to lose thee in this way, 
Confound it, ’tis too bad ! 
The rich have scores of larger bills, 
And double eagles, too, 
But they can’t feel the love I felt, 
My poor, poor one , for you. 
But go away ! I can not smile, 
For really ’tis no joke 
To think I am, when thou are gone, 
Decidedly “ dead broke !” 
WHITTLES. 
Blackwood, it seems, after having read a 
tragedy purporting to emanate from Shak- 
speare’s spirit, has heard of another drama 
which Shakspeare has also lately promul¬ 
gated, and which is called, “ The Two Loaf¬ 
ers of Arkansas.” The following extract 
is given: 
Tarnation seize me, if 1 bear the taunt 
Of this young locofoeo !—Skin a coon ? 
’Twere easy. Ay !—and ask me to do more— 
To whip my weight in wild cats ; or to dive 
For alligators in the turbid stream, 
And having ta’en them by the rugged throats. 
To wrench their entrails from their jagged jaws, 
And fling them on the bank—why, that were but 
A summer evening’s play ! There’s not a boy 
Within Arkansas but might do the same, 
And after, clamber to the squirrel’s nest, 
And rob it of its nuts. Shall the base loafer ' 
Than whom the June-bug which the night-hawk cracks 
Is in creation greater of account, 
Chaw me so catawampously ? Away— 
’Tis night—be red, my bowie-knife, ere day !■ 
EPITAPH. 
A Jersey poet desires us to publish the 
following : 
“ Weep, stranger, for a father spilled 
From a stage-coach and thereby killed; 
His name was John Sykes, a maker of sassengers, 
Slain with three other outside passengers.” 
Not so very Green. —A young and appa¬ 
rently verdant slip, who gave his hailing 
place as “ old Varmount,” found himself sur¬ 
rounded, upon a certain occasion, by a crowd 
of quizzing upstarts, who seemed bent upon 
displaying their own smartness, at the ex¬ 
pense of the Yankee. 
“ Hello, Jonathan !” says one, “ where you 
bound?” 
“ Deoun to Bosting, on a little tramp,” was 
the reply. 
“ What’s your business in Boston?” con¬ 
tinued the inquisitive gentleman. 
Oh, I’m deoun arter my pension money,” 
responded greeny. 
“ Pension money!” ejaculated whiskeree— 
“ how much do you get, and what are you 
drawing pension money for?” 
“ Oh !” answered the countryman, “ I get 
four cents every year—tew mind my own 
business, and tew let other folk’s business 
alone !” 
The crowd had no more remarks to offer. 
The answer was entirely satisfactory. 
Awake ! and listen. Everywhere— 
From upland, grove and lawn, 
Out breathe the universal prayer, 
The orison of morn. 
Arise ! and don thy working garb ; 
All nature is astir ; 
Let honest motives be thy barb, 
And usefulness thy spur. 
Stop not to list the boisterous jeers, 
(He would be what thou art,) 
They should not e’en offend thine ears, 
Still less disturb thy heart. 
What though you have no shining hoard, 
(Inheritance or stealth;) 
To purchase at the broker’s board, 
The recompense of wealth— 
Push on ! You’re rusting while you stand ; 
Inaction will not do ; 
Take life’s small bundle in your hand, 
And trudge it briskly through 
Push on! 
Don’t blush because you have a patch 
In honest labor won ; 
There’s many a small cot roofed with thatch 
Is happier than a throne. 
Push on ! The world is large enough 
For you, and me, and all; 
You must expect your share of rough, 
And, now and then, a fall. 
But up again ! act out your part— 
Bear smilingly your load ; 
There’s nothing like a cheery heart 
To mend a stony road. 
Push on ! 
Jump over all the i/’s and hut’s; 
There’s always some kind hand 
To lift life’s wagon from the ruts, 
Or poke away the sand. 
Remember, when your sky of blue 
Is shadowed by a cloud, 
The sun will shine as soon for you 
As for the monarch proud. 
It is but written oil the moon 
That toil alone endures ; 
The king would dance a rigapoon. 
With that blithe soul of yours. 
Push on 1 You’re rusting while you stand, 
Inaction will not do, 
Take life’s small bundle in your hand. 
And trudge it briskly through. 
Push on ! 
“ Julius, ’spose dere is six chickens in a 
coop, and de man sells three, how T many is 
dere left ?” 
“ What time of day was it ?” 
i “ What has that got to do with it ?” 
“A good deal. If it was arter dark dere 
would be none left; dat is if you happened 
to come along dat way.” 
! “ Look heah, nigger, stop dem pusson- 
al’ties, or I’ll shy a brick at dat head of 
yourn.” 
“ Dick, I say why don’t you turn the buf¬ 
falo robe the other side out—hair is the 
warmest.” 
“ Bah, Tom, you get out. Do you suppose 
that the animal himself don’t know how to 
wear his hide ?” 
A Clean Towel. —One of the most amus¬ 
ing incidents of the late excursion to Rock 
Island is thus related in the Utica Telegraph : 
“ A gentleman in the wash-room said Jo 
the captain of the boat, ‘ Can’t you give me 
a clean towel, captain ?’ 1 No,’ said the 
captain, ‘ more than fifty passengers have 
used that towel there, and you are the first 
one that’s said a word against it.’” 
I didn’t say Bristles. —The Louisville 
Journal relates the following anecdote . 
We remember that some years ago, Roger 
M. Sherman, and Perry Smith, were opposed 
to each other as advocates in an important 
case before a court of justice. 
Smith opened the case with a violent ti¬ 
rade against Sherman’s political character. 
Sherman rose and very composedly re¬ 
marked : 
“ I shall not discuss politics with Mr. Smith 
before the Court, but I am perfectly willing 
to argue questions of law, to chop hairs or 
even to split hairs with him.” 
“ Split that then,” said Smith, at the same 
time pulling a short rough looking hair from 
his own head, and handing it over toward 
Sherman. 
“ May it please the honorable court,” re¬ 
torted Sherman, “ I didn’t say bristles.” 
Sheridan and His Son Tom. —Sheridan 
had a great distaste for anything like meta¬ 
physical discussions, whereas Tom had taken 
a liking for them. Tom one day tried to 
discuss with his father the doctrine of neces¬ 
sity. “ Pray, my good father,” said he, 
“ did you ever do anything in a state of per¬ 
fect indifference—without motive, I mean, of 
some kind or other ?” Sheridan, who saw 
what was coming, and by no means relish¬ 
ing such subjects, even from Tom or any one 
else, said : “ Yes, certainly !” “ Indeed !” 
“ Yes, indeed!” “ What, total indifference— 
total, entire, thorough indifference ?” “ Yes, 
total, entire, thorough indifference !” “ My 
dear father, tell me what it is that you can 
do with—mind—total, entire, thorough indif¬ 
ference ?” “ Why listen to you, Tom !” said 
Sheridan. This rebuff, as Tom told me, so 
disconcerted him, that he had never forgot¬ 
ten it, nor had he ever again troubled his 
father with any of his metaphysics. 
Moore’s Memoirs. 
Coquettes. —The ladies !—bless them !— 
are, as a general rule, coquettes from baby¬ 
hood upward. Little shes of three years 
old play little airs and graces upon small 
heroes of five ; simpering misses of nine 
make attacks upon gentlemen of twelve . 
and at sixteen, a well grown girl, under en¬ 
couraging circumstances—say, she is pretty, 
in a family of ugly elder sisters, or an only 
child and heiress, or an humble wench at a 
country inn—is at the very pink and prime 
of her coquetry ; they will jilt you at that 
age with an ease and arch-infantine simplici¬ 
ty that never can be surpassed in maturer 
years. [Frazer’s Magazine. 
The Chief End of Girls. —Young women 
generally do much better when set up with 
men, than when set up in business. The 
two arrangements are quite different. If 
there is one thing more than another that 
the .female institution was cut out and fin¬ 
ished for, it is the other half of a courting 
match. [American Paper. 
Diverting Dialogue. —“ Mamma, can a 
door speak?” “Certainly not, my love.” 
“ Then, why did you tell Anne, this morning, 
to answer the door?” “ It is time for you 
to go to school, dear.” 
“ What are you about there ” said a gen¬ 
tlemen to a boy whom he had found in his 
orchard, disposing of a few apples to the 
best advantage, viz : in hat and handker¬ 
chief, for pockets he had not. 
“ I’m about going,” replied the boy. 
“If you don’t give me a penny,” said a 
young hopeful to his mamma, “ I know a 
boy that’s got the measles, and I’ll go and 
catch them, so I will.” 
