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Without acquaintance with each other's nature;

For many a mild and quiet creature

Of charming disposition, Alas! by thoughtless marriage has destroyed it.

So take advice; let girls dress e'er so tastily,

Don't enter into wedlock hastily
Unless you can't avoid it.

Week followed week, and it must be confest,

The bridegroom and the bride had both been blest; Month after month had languidly

transpired,

Both parties became tired:
Year after year dragged on;
Their happiness was gone.

Ah! foolish pair!
"Bear and forbear"

Should be the rule for married folks to take.

But blind mankind (poor discontented elves)!

Too often make
The misery of themselves.

At length the husband said, "This will not do!

Mary, I never will be ruled by you;

So, wife, d' ye see?

To live together as we can't agree,
Suppose we part!"
With woman's pride,
Mary replied,

"With all my heart!"

John Dobbins then to Mary's father

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As it has been

My lot to see, I think you'll own your wife

As good or better than the generality.

An interest in your case I really take,

And therefore gladly this agreement

make:

An hundred eggs within the basket lie,

With which your luck, to-morrow, you shall try; Also my five best horses, with my cart;

And from the farm at dawn you shall depart.

All round the country go, And be particular, I beg; Where husbands rule, a horse bestow,

But where the wives, an egg. And if the horses go before the eggs,

I'll ease you of your wife, — I will. — I' fegs!"

Away the married man departed
Brisk and light-hearted:
Not doubting that, of course,
The first five houses each would take
a horse.

At the first house he knocked,
He felt a little shocked

To hear a female voice, with angry

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Who governs in this house,― your spouse or you ?"

"Sir," said the lady, with a doubting nod,

"Your question's very odd; But as I think none ought to be Ashamed to do their duty, do you see?

On that account I scruple not to say

It always is my pleasure to obey. But here's my husband (always sad without me);

Take not my word, but ask him, if you doubt me.'

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"Well, if it must be so, — good sir, The gray mare we prefer; So we accept your gift." John made a leg:

"Allow me to present you with an egg; 'Tis my last egg remaining, The cause of my regaining,

I trust the fond affection of my wife, "Sir," said the husband, "'t is most Whom I will love the better all my

true;

life.

"Home to content has her kind "Why, doctor! of all things, when I

father brought me;

I thank him for the lesson he has taught me."

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am so weak

That scarce from my bed can I

stir,

Of color and exercise thus will you speak?

Of what are you thinking, dear sir?"

"That a fright is the cure, my good lady, for you,"

He said to himself and the wall, And to frighten her, what did the doctor do,

But jump into bed, boots and all!

And as in jumped he, why then out jumped she,

Like a hare, except for the pother, And shockingly shocked, pray who wouldn't be?

Ran, red as a rose, to her mother.

Doctor Drollhead, meanwhile, is happily sure,

Debby owes a long life just to him;

And vows he's discovered a capital

cure

For the bedrid when tied by a whim.

At any rate, long, long ago this occurred,

And Debby is not with the dead; But in pretty good health, 't may be gently inferred,

Since she makes all the family bread.

SUPPLEMENT.

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O ye uncrowned but kingly kings!
To whose ecstatic gaze alone
The beautiful by Heaven is shown,
And who have made it all your own;
Your lavish hand around us flings
Earth's richest wreaths, O noble
kings!

O ye uncrowned but kingly kings! The heart leaps wildly at your thought;

And the brain fires as if it caught Shreds of your mantle; ye have fought

Not vainly, if your glory brings
A lingering light to earth, O kings!

O ye uncrowned but kingly kings!
Whose souls on Marah's fruit did sup,
And went in fiery chariots up
When each had drained his hemlock
cup,

Ye priests of God, but tyrants' stings, Uncrowned but still the kingliest kings!

ANNIE R. ANNAN.

RECOMPENSE.

THE summer coaxed me to be glad, Entreating with the primrose hue Of sunset skies, with downward calls From viewless larks, with winds

that blew

The red-tipped clover's breast abroad, And told the mirth of waterfalls; In vain! my heart would not be wooed

From the December of its mood.

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