ong about "Tray,"
But no one has courage to write about Skye;
So methinks I will rhyme, in my own rugged way,
Of the queer little dog with the beautiful eye.

The land that he came from is said to be cold,
And nature has dress'd him its storms to defy--
In the ugliest coat that ever was seen--
But giv'n him a charming and beautiful eye.

His coat is so ugly it makes him look old
And scrawny and poor and most ready to die;
But you'd change your opinion, I think, if you saw
The life and the beauty that beams from his eye.

'Twere hard to conceive of an uglier thing
Than this queer little dog from the island of Skye--
Grotesque and uncouth, and ugly as sin--
Yet bless'd with a mild and a beautiful eye.

Among dogs, like the heathen Chinee among men,
His civilization is not very high;
But then his dark ways we can always excuse
On account of his lovely and charming bright eye.

He is sad and forlorn, yet so gentle and kind,
You could not but love him I'm sure it you'd try--
This dog so demure and so kindly inclined--
This dog with the mild and the beautiful eye.

Sometimes he will follow his master to church;
Tho' his piety's weak, I must say with a sigh,
Perhaps he's as good as some other ones there
Whose piety seems to be all in their eye.

He's full of strange antics--most little dogs are--
And tho' he's forlorn, he can mischief descry;
Indeed--I'm strongly impress'd with the fact--
It eternally lurks in his beautiful eye.

His hair is the queerest that dog ever wore;
Tho' kind to his master, of strangers he's shy;
He is wise in his way; deeply learned in dog lore;
Intelligence beams from his beautiful eye.

He's patient and faithful, affectionate too;
My love for his virtues time's lapse will defy;
I'm sure, if you knew him, you'd love him, like me,
This dog with the mild and the beautiful eye.

IF YOU DON'T BELIEVE IT, TRY IT.

'Tis better far to wear away
In honest strong endeavor,
Than idly rust in slow decay
And work and labor never;
By honest toil to earn your bread,
Or wherewithal to buy it;
'Tis very well, and truly said--
If you don't believe it, try it.

Ye idle loafers in the streets,
The honest workman spurning,
Know this--a living to be sweet
Is better for the earning.
To loaf and lounge and lie about,
On others' toil to riot,
Is only practiced by a lout;
No honest man will try it.

Oh! him that earns his daily bread