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Friar Philip

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Poor friar Philip JoBt hia wife, The charra and comfort of his Jife ; He mowrnad her - not like modern men - For ladies werf: worth having theD. The world web aKered in Lis view, All things put on a yellow hue ; Even ladíes, once his chief deliht, Were now ofl'enBive to his sight ; In short, he pined and looked so ill, The doctor hoped to make a bil. At last, ue made a vow to fly, And hid himself from evcry eye ; Took iip his lodftings in a wood, To turn a hermit and grow good. He had a son, now you must know, abo ut a twelvf month old or bo ; Him Philip took up in his arniö, To snatch him from all female charme, lutending he should never know There were sueh things as iris below, Butlead anhnnest hermit'e life, " Lest he, likewise, might lose his wife. The place he chose for his retreat Was ouce a lion's country seat ; Far in a wild, romantic wood, The hermit's little cottage stood, Hid, by the trees, from human view- The eon himself could acaree get through. A little garden, tilled with caie, Supplied them with their daily fare; Fresh water-creeses from the spiiag - Turnlps or greens, or some such thing - Hermits don'c care much what they eat, And appetite can make it sweet I Twas here out httle hermit grew - His father taught bim all he linew, Adapting, like a chcerful sage, Hls lessons to the pupil s age. At ftve years old, he snowod üim flowers, Taught him thoir variouo names and powers; Taught him to blow upon a reed, To eay his prayers and get the creed. At ten, he lectured him en herbs (Bettor than learning nouns and verbs), The names aiid qualities of trees, Mauners and customs of the bees ; Then talked of oysters f uil of pearls, But not one word about the girte. At fifteen years, he turned his eyes To view the wonders of the skies ; Called all tbe starB by their right names, As you would cali on John or James; And showed him all the signs above, But not a whisper about love. And now nis sixteenth year was nigh, And yet he had not learned to sigh ; Had sleep and appetite to Bpare ; He couid not teil the name of care ; And all because he did not know There were such Ihings as gïrls below. But now a tempest reged around - The hermit'e little nest was drowned - Good-by, then, too, poor Philip'd erop ; It did not leave a turnip top. Poor Philip grieved, and his son, too - They prayed - they knew not what to do ; If they were hermits, they must live. And wolves have not much a!ms to give. Now, in his native town, he know He had disciples - rich ones, too - Who would not let him beg in valn, But set the hermit up again. But what to do with his young son- Pray teil me what you would have done? Take him to toWn he was afraid, For wht if he should see a maid ! In love, as sure as he had eyes, Then any quantity of sighs ! Leave him at home? The wolves, the bears - Poor Philip had a father's fears ! In short, he knew not what to do, But thought, at last, he'd take him, too ; And so, with truly pious care, He oounts hiB beads in anxious prayer- Intended as a sort of charm, To keep hls darling lad from harm ; That is, from pretty ladies' wües, Especially their eyes and smiles - Then brushed his coat of silver gray, And now you see them on their way. It was a town, they all agree, Where there was everything to see, As paintiügB, statues, and so on - All that men love to look upon. Our little lad, you ïcay supposa, Had never seen 60 many Bhows ; He stands, with open moutn and eyes, Like one just fallen from the skies ; Pointing at everything he Bees - " What 's this? What's that? Oh, here, what'e these?" At last lie spies a charming thing t hat men cali angel wlien they sing - YoiiDg lady, when they speak in prose ; Hwcet thing ! as everybody knows. Transported, ravished at the sight, He feels a etrange but sweet delight. " What's thiB ? What's this ? Oh, heavens !?' he cries, " That looks so sweetly with its eyee - Oh, ehall I catch it? Is it tame ? What ie it, father ? What's its name?" Poor Philip knew not what to Bay, But tried to turn his eyes away ; He crossed himeelf and made a vow, '■ 'Tis as I feared, all's over now ; Then, prithee, have thy wits Iet loose ? It is a bird men cali a goose." ' A goose ! Oh, pretty, pretty tbing ! And will it sing, too, will it sing? )h, come, come qaickly, let us rua ; ?hat's a good father, catch me one ! Ve'll take itwith us to our cell - ndeed ! indeed, I'li treat it well !"


Old News
Michigan Argus