I have seen her? Once: I was weak and spent
On the dusty road, a carriage stopped;
But little she dreamed, as on she went,

Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped!

You've set me to talking, sir; I'm sorry;

It makes me wild to think of the change! What do you care for a beggar's story? Is it amusing? you find it strange? I had a mother so proud of me !

'Twas well she died before-Do you know If the happy spirits in heaven can see The ruin and wretchedness here below?

Another glass, and strong, to deaden This pain; then Roger and I will start.

I wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden, Aching thing, in place of a heart?

He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could,
No doubt, remembering things that were,-

A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food,
And himself a sober, respectable cur.

I'm better now; that glass was warming,-
You rascal! limber your lazy feet!
We must be fiddling and performing

For supper and bed, or starve in the street.
Not a very gay life to lead, you think?

But soon we shall go where lodgings are free, And the sleepers need neither victuals or drink;The sooner the better for Roger and me! -J. T. Trowbridge.

M

ISTER Socrates Snooks, a lord of creation,
The second time entered the married relation:
Xantippe Caloric accepted his hand,

And they thought him the happiest man in the land.
But scarce had the honeymoon passed o'er his head,
When one morning to Xantippe, Socrates said,
"I think for a man of my standing in life,
This house is too small, as I now have a wife.
So, as early as possible, carpenter Carey

Shall be sent for to widen my house and my dairy.”

"Now Socrates dearest," Xantippe replied,
"I hate to hear everything vulgarly my’d;
Now whenever you speak of your chattels again,
Say our cow-house, our barn-yard, our pig-pen."
"By your leave, Mrs. Snooks, I will say what I please
Of my houses, my lands, my garden, my trees."
"Say our," Xantippe exclaimed in a rage.
"I won't, Mrs. Snooks, though you ask it an age!"
Oh, woman! though only a part of man's rib,
If the story in Genesis don't tell a fib,

Should your naughty companion e'er quarrel with you,
You are certain to prove the best man of the two.
In the following case this was certainly true;

For the lovely Xantippe just pulled off her shoe,
And laying about her, all sides at random,
The adage was verified-"Nil desperandum."
Mister Socrates Snooks, after trying in vain,
To ward off the blows which descended like rain-
Concluding that vaior's best part was discretion.
Crept under the bed like a terrified Hessian;
But the dauntless Xantippe, not one whit afraid,
Converted the siege into a blockade.

At last, after reasoning the thing in his pate,
He concluded 'twas useless to strive against fate:
And so, like a tortoise protruding his head,

Said, "My dear, may we come out from under our bed?' "Hah! hah!" she exclaimed, "Mr. Socrates Snooks,

I perceive you agree to my terms by your looks:
Now Socrates-hear me-from this happy hour,
If you'll only obey me, I'll never look sour."

'Tis said the next Sabbath, ere going to church,
He chanced for a clean pair of trousers to search:
Having found them, he asked, with a few nervous

twitches,

"My dear, may we put on our new Sunday breeches?"

EAF, giddy, helpless, left alone,

DE

To all my friends a burthen grown:

No more I hear my church's bell;
Than if it rang out for my knell;

At thunder now no more I start Than at the rumbling of a cart; Nay, what's incredible alack!

I hardly hear a woman's clack.

WHIL

ILE Quaker folks were Quakers still, some fifty years ago,

When coats were drab, and gowns were plain, and speech was staid and slow, [curl, Before Dame Fashion dared suggest a single frizz or There dwelt, 'mid Penfield's peaceful shades, an oldtime Quaker girl.

Ruth Wilson's garb was of her sect. belows,

Devoid of fur

She spoke rebuke to vanity from bonnet to her toes; Sweet redbird was she, all disguised in feathers of the dove,

With dainty foot and perfect form, and eyes that dreamt of love.

Sylvanus Moore, a bachelor of forty years or so,

A quaintly pious, weazened soul, with beard and hair of tow

And queer thin legs and shuffling walk and drawling nasal tone,

Was prompted by the Spirit to make this maid his own

He knew it was the Spirit, for he felt it in his breast
As oft before in meeting-time and, sure of his request,
Procured the permit in due form. On Fourth day of
that week

He let Ruth know the message true that he was moved to speak.

"Ruth, it has been revealed to me that thee and I shall wed,

I have spoken to the meeting, and the members all have said

That our union seems a righteous one, which they will not gainsay,

So if convenient to thy views, I'll wed thee next Third day."

The cool possession of herself by Friend Sylvanus Moore

Aroused her hot resentment, which by effort she forbore

She knew he was a goodly man, of simple, childlike mind

And checked the word "Impertinence!" and answered him in kind:

"Sylvanus Moore, do thee go home and wait until I

see

The fact that I must be thy wife revealed unto me." And thus she left him there alone, at will to ruminateSore puzzled at the mysteries of love, free-will and fate. -Richard A. Jackson.

L

ET Taylor preach, upon a morning breezy,
How well to rise while nights and larks are flying-
For my part, getting up seems not so easy
By half as lying.

What if the lark does carol in the sky,
Soaring beyond the sight to find him out-
Wherefore am I to rise at such a fly?
I'm not a trout.

Talk not to me of bees and such like hums,
The smell uf sweet herbs at the morning prime,
Only lie long enough, and bed becomes.
A bed of time.

To me Dan Phoebus and his car are naught, His steeds that paw impatiently about,

Let them enjoy, say I, as horses ought,
The first turn-out!

Right beautiful the dewy meads appear
Besprinkled by the rosy-fingered girl;
What then-if I prefer my pillow-beer
To early pearl?.

My stomach is not ruled by other men's,
And grumbling for a reason, quaintly begs
Wherefore should master rise before the hens
Have laid their eggs?

Why from a comfortable pillow start
To see faint flushes in the east awaken?
A fig, say I, for any streaky part,
Excepting bacon.

An early riser Mr. Gray has drawn,
Who used to haste the dewy grass among,
"To meet the sun upon the upland lawn,"
Well-he died young.

With charwomen such early hours agree,
And sweeps that earn betimes their bit and sup;

But I'm no climbing boy, and need not be All up-all up!

So here I lie, my morning calls deferring, Till something nearer to the stroke of noon; A man that's fond precociously of stirring Must be a spoon.

-Thomas Hood.

SALLY

ALLY SALTER, she was a young teacher who taught,

And her friend, Charley Church, was a preacher who praught, [scraught.

Though his enemies called him a screecher who

His heart, when he saw her, kept sinking and sunk,
And his eye, meeting hers, began winking and wunk;
While she, in her turn, kept thinking and thunk.

He hastened to woo her, and sweetly he wooed,
For his love grew until to a mountain it grewed,
And what he was longing to do then he doed.

In secret he wanted to speak, and he spoke,
To seek with his lips what his heart long had soke;
So he managed to let the truth leak, and it loke.

He asked her to ride to the church, and they rode; They so sweetly did glide that they both thought they glode,

And they came to the place to be tied, and were tode.

Then homeward, he said, let us drive, and they drove,

And as soon as they wished to arrive, they arrove,
For whatever he couldn't contrive she controve.
The kiss he was dying to steal, then he stole;
At the feet where he wanted to kneel then he knole;
And he said, "I feel better than ever I fole."
And they to each other kept clinging and clung,
While Time his swift circuit was winging, and wung;
And this was the thing he was bringing and brung:

The man Sally wanted to catch, and had caught;
What she wanted from others to snatch, and had
snaught;
[scraught.
Was the one she now liked to scratch, and she

And Charley's warm love began freezing and froze, While he took to teasing, and cruelly toze The girl he had wished to be squeezing and squoze. "Wretch!" he cried, when she threatened to leave him, and left,

"How could you deceive me, as you have deceft?" And she answered, "I promised to cleave, and I've cleft." -Phabe Cary.

A

FRENCHMAN once, who was a merry wight, Passing to town from Dover, in the night, Near the roadside an alehouse chanced to spy, And being rather tired as well as dry, Resolved to enter; but first he took a peep, In hopes a supper he might get, and cheap. He enters: "Hallo! Garcon, if you please, Bring me a leetle bit of bread and cheese, And hallo! Garcon, a pot of porter, too!" he said,

"Vich I shall take, and den myself to bed."
His supper done, some scraps of cheese were left,
Which our poor Frenchman, thinking it no theft,
Into his pocket put; then slowly crept
To wished-for bed; but not a wink he slept-
For on the floor some sacks of flour were laid,
To which the rats a nightly visit paid.
Our hero, now undressed, popped out the light,
Put on his cap and bade the world good-night;
But first his breeches, which contained the fare,

Under his pillow he had placed with care.
Sans ceremonie soon the rats all ran,
And on the flour-sacks greedily began;

At which they gorged themselves; then smelling round,

Under the pillow soon the cheese they found,
And while at this they all regaling sat,

Their happy jaws disturbed the Frenchman's nap;
Who, half awake, cries out, "Hallo! hallo!
Vat is dat nibble at my pillow so?
Ah! 'tis one big-one very big, huge rat!
Vat is it that he nibble, nibble at?"

In vain our little hero sought repose;
Sometimes the vermin galloped o'er his nose;
And such the pranks they kept up all the night,
Then he, on end-antipodes upright
Brawling aloud, called stoutly for a light.
"Hallo! Maison! Garcon, I say!

Bring me the bill for what I have to pay!"
The bill was brought, and to his great surprise,
Ten shillings was the charge: he scarce believed

his eyes.

With eager haste, he quickly runs it o'er,

Vill you dis charge forego, vat I am at,

If from your house I drive away de rat?"
"With all my heart," the jolly host replies.
"Ecoutez, donc ami," the Frenchman cries.
"First den-Regardez, if you please,
Bring to dis spot a leetle bread and cheese:
Eh bien! a pot of porter, too;

And den invite de rats to sup vid you:
And after dat-no matter dey be villing-
For vat dey eat, you charge dem just ten shelang
And I am sure, ven dey behold de score,
Dey'll quit your house, and never come no more."
-Anonymous.

'HERE went three kings into the East,

Three Kings both great and high,

And they hae sworn a solemn oath

John Barleycorn should die.

They took a plow and plowed him down,
Put clods upon his head,

And they hae sworn a solemn oath,
John Barleycorn was dead.

But the cheerful spring came kindly on,
And showers began to fall;

John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surprised them all.

The sultry suns of summer came,

And he grew thick and strong,

His head well armed wi' pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.

The sober autumn entered mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Showed he began to fail.

His color sickened more and more,

He faded into age;

And then his enemies began

To show their deadly rage.

They've ta'en a weapon long and sharp, And cut him by the knee;

And tied him fast upon the cart,

Like a rogue for forgerie.

They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgeled him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
And turned him o'er and o'er.
They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim,
Then heaved in John Barleycorn,
To let him sink or swim.

They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him further woe,
And still, as signs of life appeared,
They tossed him to and fro.