For several years a sweeper of streets in Boston.

"When all the blandishments of life are gone,
The coward sneaks to death—the bold live on."

Yes, I'm alive, in spite of fate,
Tho' hard has been my lot of late;
Yet, cold as is my winter bed,
'Tis warmer than where sleep the dead.
For dead folks have no cheering cup;
And when they're cold, can't snuggle up,
As my fair help-meet* says—(you know
I took a fourth some months again).—
But "how I talk"! my conscience says
That I have meant well all my days;
'Twas not my fault that villains tore
Poor Hardy from his native shore;
It was not you, who, when his strength
Was spent with want and toil, at length
Did e'en his scanty fare deny,
And cast him on the world to die.
But, should I perish than I should crave,
I judge you not, although my wife,
(My third I think) once said, my life
Would be required (and then she'd cry)
Of all who let her Charley die.
    Give then the poor old man a mite,
    And let him linger here,
    For if he gets no small change soon,
    His great and last is near.

January 1, 1825.

* NOTE.—Help-meet. Philologists differ considerably about
the origin and meaning of this term. Some, who contend for the
above orthography, say that it implies a meet, or proper help to a
man;—others, that she is to help him meet the calamities of life.
Another class, doubting the correctness of the orthography, con-
tend that she is a help-meat to man; that is, she helps him pro-
cure his meat. Another, and by far the most numerous class, a-
dopting, in part, the latter orthography, believe that the m is an
interpolation, and that the word should read, help-eat. We in-
cline to the latter reading, it being the only applicable one in
the present case, and supported by an ancient version of Gene-

    "And she a goodlye appell pluckt,
    And taystinge liked hyghte welle,
    And helpit her spouse thereto alsoe,
    Who dared to eat—and felle."

Hence, says an ancient commentator, "a wyffe is hyghte