SELECTED POETRY.

Cromwell Argus, Volume V, Issue 221, 3 February 1874, Page 7

SELECTED POETRY.

A BACHIiLOB’jj LAMENT They’re .stepping off, the friends I knew, They’re going one by one ; They’re taking wives to tames their lives, Their jovial days are done ; I can’t get one old crony now ? To join nie in a spree, ■ • U ■ They’ve all grown grave domestic men, They look askance at me. And though, perchance, their wives May have a comely face, And at the table's upper end Conduct themselves with grace,— . Still I hate the prim reserve that reigns, The caution, and the state ; I hate to see my friends grown proud Of furniture and’plate. How strange ! They go to bed at ten, And rise at half-past nine ; And seldom do they now exceed A pint—or so—of wine. ...- .. They play at whist for sixpences ! They very seldom dance ! They never read a word of rhyme, Or open a romance ! They talk, indeed, of politics, Of taxes, and of crops ! ■ And very quietly with their wives They trot about to shops ! " And then they all have children, too, To squall through thick and thin, And seem quite proud to multiply Small images of sin. s If these be Hymen’s vaunted joys, •• • I’d have him shun my door, Unless, indeed, he’ll quench his torch And live a Bachelor. Clarke, the Millionaire. t% And the rich man died and was buried.” T will not give the sequel. W. J. T. Clarke, the richest, meanest man in Victoria, has gone where ho will be judged. Many people the moment a man has died cry out, Da mortuis nil nisi bunion, say nothing but good of the dead, —but what is one to do when nothing gcfod can be said I The day that the Colonial Bank hoisted its flag in honour of deceased Dives, 'T wandered up and down Collins-street seeking in the eagerness of my charitable soul to find some one who would speak well of the dead. I went into every shop and hotel, but still my quest, was vain ; the San Graal was not. to be found. Suddenly I came against a friend. He looked •weary and worn, his clothes Were travelstained, his boots were worn'out at the toes, and his general aspect lamentable. “ Why,” said I, “what have you been doing,/” “Trying to find a person who said he was sorry Big Clarke was dead.” I gave up my •quest. ' ~

Yet this man must have had good qualities. Whatever may be said of his ignorance or his meanness, he must have had a strong mind, a clear head, to have become the millionaire, he was. But he allowed the craving for money to overcome all that was good and noble in his nature. As some people succumb to strong drink, so this man became the prey of avarice. It became the passion of bis soul. He knew neither rest nor peace. There was no pleasure for him. except in the accumulating of wealth. He might .have lived pleasantly, gathered honour, love, and friendship in his old age, become the idol of the people of the colony, and long after his death his name would shed a fragrance round. Kind deeds, charity, would have won him happiness that no gold fconld bestow. He knew no real happiness, although the pos sessorof countless gold, and he has gone to his grave unwept, uuhononred. But there is much truth in the lines—

The darkest night that shrouds the sky Of beauty.has a share, . ... The blackest heart has signs to tell That God still lingers there, I pity all that evil are; I pity and I mourn : , But the ISun’eme has punished all; And uh ! I dare not scorn, So let him return to the dust, and let his life be an example to others. When W. J. T. Clarke was on his deathbed, some time ago, he sent for an'old friend and neighbour, who is of a very religions turn of mind. Clarke had his millions—he is reputed to have died worth from £2,000,000 to £4,ooo,ooo,—but this man, a simple farmer, had nothing but his little plot of ground. But what he had was of imperishable worth. Clarke asked the old gentleman to read the Bible todiim, and for some time he listened attentively. Suddenly the servant came in with a letter. It bore The postmark of the town near one of the millionaire’s best stations. The dying - man roused himself up and said to the farmer, “ Lay the Bible by for the present—l must see how the lambing has gone on at station this year.” When the deceased millionaire was at the point of death some few months since, a bank manager visited him. He found Clark almost insensible, unable to. move, and to all appearances breathing his last But when the bank manager came in his face brightened, and, beckoning him with his shaking hand, he said, in a voice so low as to be almost inaudible, “ How are Colonial Bank shares selling in the Exchange to-day ?” From “On the Flags,” in Town a:id Country.