At least as soulful as myself

I judge my neighbor. Nor his wealth, Nor poverty, nor even stealth

Will serve to change me;

But when I find him wrapt in self,
That does estrange me.

While of my work there may be doubt,
And while I'm loath my claims to shout;
I'll let your betters find them out,
And take appeal

From judgment of a clumsy lout
By a great deal.

No poor "neglected Burns" am I,
Nor Shakespeare in obscurity;
And while I'm not 'tis plain to see
A Milton immature;

Thou, in a fool's security

Art set, beyond all cure.

My worth is past your computation,
From you I need no consolation,
Why man! you'd make a reputation
And doubtless make it pay,
With stuff that from my compilation
I've long since thrown away.

At Byron's bays I've no pretense;
I like to rhyme and rhyme with sense.
Let merit judge my competence,
Whate'er my due.

And let this be my compliments
To likes o' you.

SOME FIFTEEN YEARS AGO.

On meeting an old schoolmate and chum after many years, far from early scenes.

Dear Ned, old boy! I'm glad to see your bright familiar face,

It's like a ray of sunshine in this somewhat dreary place; Not many friends of boyhood's days now often cross my

way,

And they that do I grieve to say, have little time to stay.

The years have passed between us, Ned, and you and I

are men,

And boyish confidence and hopes we'll never share again; But still in retrospection there's a chastened, purer joy, So let us talk of days pure gold, that needed no alloy.

"What is thy sweet will?"-Page 37.

SOME FIFTEEN YEARS AGO.

In that sunny city of the South our childhood's days were spent,

Her waters and her woods about, sweet influence have lent To make a golden framing for pale memory's silhouette, To soothe the care of later years, the heart ache and the fret.

There's the dear old Bennett public school, what scenes it does recall

With its thousand lusty youngsters who knew us one and all;

For a finer set of teachers you might search the wide world o'er;

But one of them I loved the best, God bless her, is no

more.

Remember how with bands galore the soldiers marched away

To celebrate George Washington, and on Palmetto day? And what a show the old town made in "Gala Week" the first,

It seemed the very cobble stones their ancient bonds would burst.

And when British guns were booming and St. Michael's bells did clash,

And Charleston's troops in gay array did cut a glittering dash;

We were in the crowd that followed them down to the

Battery seas,

To cheer Her Royal Highness off, the sweet Princess Louise.

SOME FIFTEEN YEARS AGO.

Trolley cars! Is that a fact? Why, bless my soul, that's

news,

The one mule car was all I knew on streets and avenues; They were never in a hurry and along did slowly glide, And only those with leisure could afford to take a ride.

Methinks the boys of our days, these later times can't match,

They play at little girlish games and cry at every scratch; How often, Ned, on summer days, two youngsters, you

with me

Have taken our frail open boat just fifteen miles to sea?

Nor did we count it any task to swim a mile or more, And stay all day a-catching fish some dozen miles from shore;

And the "kid" that couldn't go to mud in twenty feet of

sea,

Was not the kind of "kid" it took to follow you or me.

But some there were, our dearest chums, most reckless of the lot

Who striving to excel the crowd their prudence quite forgot,