THE MOTHER OR, MATERNAL MISERIES! A PARODY OF DR. WATTS’S “SLUGGARD." Rejoice, thou barren that bearest not; break forth and cry, thou that tramileet St. Pabi. to the Galations. 'TIS the griefs of a Mother, I heard her complain,— “ They’ve undone me too soon — I’d be childless again 1” As the slave on the tyrant, so she, on each day, Wastes her strength and her beauty, and never seems gay. A thousand more squalls, and dull cares without number. These steal her best days, and her nights, too, encumber; And as brats “get up’’ they’re yet more on her hands, — Each gets into mischief, or quiet ne er stands ! I pass’d by her dwelling, and saw each young trier— Her louts and her minxes grown stouter and higher; The clothes she had on her a “ tramp” would despise. And her person still wastes, till— she droops and she dies! I made her a visit, and hoped she’d began To take the best course for reforming her plan: She told me her plight gave sure signs of another. Though she scarce had a crust, and her group craved no brother ! Said I then to myself, — ^“Here’s a lesson for all; That woman but shows what to each might befal ; So thanks to my nous, for my care and my fearing. Which taught me in time to shun breeding and rearing 1 1” A MALTHUSIAN, ONE WHO HAS CONSIDERED BEARING IN ALL ITS BEARINGS !