A Parental Ode Thomas Hood
’Twas ever Thus Henry S. Leigh
Miss Maloney on the Chinese Question Mary Mapes Dodge
The Heathen Chinee Bret Harte
Ho-ho of the Golden Belt John G. Saxe
The Hired Squirrel Laura Sanford
Ballad of the Trailing Skirt New York “Life”
To the Girl in Khaki “Modern Society”
The Tender Heart Helen G. Cone
A Song of Saratoga John G. Saxe
The Sea Eva L. Ogden
A Tale of a Nose Charles F. Adams
Leedle Yawcob Strauss Charles F. Adams
Dot Baby of Mine Charles F. Adams
A Dutchman’s Mistake Charles F. Adams
The Owl Critic James T. Fields
The True Story of King Marshmallow Anonymous
The Jackdaw of Rheims R.H.  Barham
Tubal Cain Charles Mackay
The Three Preachers Charles Mackay
Say not the Struggle A.H.  Clough
Patriotism Lord Tennyson
To-day and To-morrow Gerald Massey
Ring Out, Wild Bells Lord Tennyson
“Rule, Britannia!” James Thomson

THE
IMPERIAL RECITER.
EDITED BY ALFRED H. MILES.

THE ENGLISHMAN.

BY ELIZA COOK.

    There’s a land that bears a well-known name,
      Though it is but a little spot;
    I say ’tis the first on the scroll of fame,
      And who shall aver it is not? 
    Of the deathless ones who shine and live
      In arms, in arts, or song,
    The brightest the whole wide world can give
      To that little land belong. 
    ’Tis the star of the Earth—­deny it who can—­
    The Island-home of the Englishman.

    There’s a flag that waves o’er every sea,
      No matter when or where;
    And to treat that flag as aught but the free
      Is more than the strongest dare. 
    For the lion spirits that tread the deck
      Have carried the palm of the brave;
    And that flag may sink with a shot-torn wreck,
      But never float o’er a slave;
    Its honour is stainless—­deny it who can—­
    And this is the flag of the Englishman.

    There’s a heart that beats with burning glow,
      The wrong’d and the weak to defend;
    And strikes as soon for a trampled foe
      As it does for a soul-bound friend. 
    It nurtures a deep and honest love,
      The passions of faith and pride,
    And yearns with the fondness of a dove,
      To the light of its own fireside,
    ’Tis a rich rough gem—­deny it who can—­
    And this is the heart of an Englishman.