THE KIST O' WHUSTLES.

Ashburton Guardian, Volume VII, Issue 1766, 14 February 1888, Page 2

THE KIST O' WHUSTLES.

Mr W. M Cir!«toni inserts the following m. '« Onr F.r a ,« i>» friend ":— They've got a bran new organ. Sue, .jEojE-jaii «b|4f- .&» and search ; ■ _?nev'red<.h«J just What tbey aaid they'd &9,>± An* fetahed it into church. They've bound the critter shall be seen,

Ano n the preaiher'a right, They've hoisted up their new maohine , In everybody's oight. They've got a chorister and ohoir, Agin' my voice and vote ; For it was never my desire To praise the Lord by note. I've been a sister good and true For five an' thirty year t I've done what seemed raj oart to do, An' prayed my duty clear. I've eung the hymns both slow. and quick, Just aa tbe preacher read, I And twice wh n Daaoou Tubbs was siok I took the fork an' led 1 An' now their bold, new-fangled ways Is comin' all about, An' I, right m my latter days, Am fairly crowded out 1 To-day the preacher, good old dear, With tears all m his eyes, Bead — " Wnen I oan read my title fileae To mansions m the akies." I al'ays liked that He* sad hymn, I s'pose I al'ays will ; It somehow gratifies my whim In good o>d Ortonville. But when that choir got up to dag I oouldn't catch a word ; They sung tha most dog-gonait thing A body aver heard. Some worldly chaps were standin' near, An' when I see 'em grin, I bid farewell to every fear, And boldly waded tn. I thought I'j chase their tune along. An' tried with all my might ; * But though my voice is good and strong I couldn't steer it right. When they were high, then I was low, An' a'so oontrawise ; An' I too fast, and then too Blow To " mansions m the skies." An' af .er every verse, you know, They played a little toon, I I didn't understand, and so . I started m too soon, I pitched it pretty middlin' high, I fetohed a lusty tone ; But oh, alaß 1 I found that I Was singin' there alone. They laughed a little, I am told, But I had done my best, And not a wave of trouble rolled Across my peaceful breast. And Sister Brown-— I could but look— 1 She sits right front of me ; She never was no singing book And never meant to be. But then she al'ays tried to do The best she oould, she said ; She understood tbe time right through An' kept it with her bead. ! But when she tried this mornio', oh, I 1 bad to laugh or cough 1 It kep' her head a bobbin' so, It c'en a' most came off. An' Deaoon Tubba— he all broke dow As one might well suppose ; He took one look at Sister Brown, An' meekly earatcbed hia noae. He looked bis hymn book through and through i An' laid it on tbe seat, : An' then a penßive sigh he drew, I An' looked completely beat. An' when tbey took another 'bout He didn't even ri^e, But drawed hia red bandanner out An' wiped his weepin' eyeß. I've been a Bister good'an' true .For five an' thirty year ; I've done what Beemed my part to do, An' prayed my duty clear. - But death will stop my voice, I know, For he is on my track, An' some day 1 to ohurqh will gq | An' paver more oome back. An' when tbe folk*, get up to sing-— Wnene'er that liiqo shah be— I hope I'll have oo " patent " thing A aquealio' over me 1