"It's just as I told you, the price is all right, And the man is to pay me next Saturday night; But instead of the dollar's in X's and V's,
He gives me four puppies at ten do lars apiece."
A DISTRICT School, not far away,
'Mid Berkshire hills, one winter's day.
Was humming with its wonted noise
Of three-score mingled girls and boys;
Some few upon their tasks intent,
But more on furtive mischief bent.
The while the master's downward look
Was fastened on a copy-book;
When suddenly, behind his back,
Rose sharp and clear a rousing smack!
As 'twere a battery of bliss
Let off in one tremendous kiss!
"What's that?" the startled master cries;
"That, thir," a little imp replies,
"Wath William Willith, if you pleathe-
I thaw him kith Thuthanna Peathe!"
With frown to make a statue thrill,
The master thundered, " Hither, Will!"
Like wretch o'ertaken in his track,
With stolen chattels on his back,
Will hung his head in fear and shame,
And to the awful presence came-
A great, green, bashful simpleton,
The butt of all good-natured fun.
With smile suppressed, and birch upraised,
The threatener faltered-"I'm amazed
That you, my biggest pupil, should
Be guilty of an act so rude!
Before the whole set school to boot
What evil genius put you to't?"
"'Twas she, herself, sir," sobbed the lad,
"I did not mean to be so bad;
But when Susannah shook her curls,
And whispered, I was 'fraid of girls,
And dursn't kiss a baby's doll,
I couldn't stand it, sir, at all,
But up and kissed her on the spot!
I know-boo-hoo-I ought to kot,
But, somehow, from her looks-boo-hoo-
I thought she kind o' wished me to!"
THE TINKER AND MILLER'S DAUGHTER.
THE meanest creature somewhat may contain,
As Providence ne'er makes a thing in vain.
Upon a day, a poor and trav'ling tinker,
In Fortune's various tricks a constant thinker,
Pass'd in some village near a miller's door,
Where lo! his eye did most astonish 'd catch
The miller's daughter peeping o'er the hatch,
Deform'd and monstrous ugly, to be sure.
Struck with the uncommon form, the tinker started,
Just like a frighten'd horse, or murd'rer carted,
Up gazing at the gibbet and the rope;
Turning his brain about, in a brown study
(For, as I've said, his brain was not so muddy),
"Zounds!" quoth the tinker, “I have now some hope.
Fortune, the jade, is not far off, perchance,"
And then began to rub his hands and dance.
Now, all so full of love, o'erjoyed he ran,
Embraced and squeezed Miss Grist, and thus began:
My dear, my soul, my angel, sweet Miss Grist,
Now may I never mend a kettle more,
If ever I saw one like you before ! ”
Then nothing loth, like Eve, the nymph he kiss'd.
Now, very sensibly, indeed, Miss Grist
Thought opportunity should not be miss'd;
Knowing that prudery oft let slip a joy;
Thus was Miss Grist too prudent to be coy.
For really 'tis with girls a dangerous farce
To flout a swain when offers are but scarce.
She did not scream, and cry, "I'll not be woo'd;
Keep off, you dingy fellow-don't be rude;
I'm fit for your superiors, tinker." No,
Indeed, she treated not the tinker so.
But lo! the damsel with her usual squint,
3uffered her tinker lover to imprint
Sweet kisses on her lips, and squeeze her hand,
Hug her, and say the softest things unto her,
And in love's plain and pretty language woo her,
Without a frown, or even a reprimand.
Soon won, the nymph agreed to be his wife,
And, when the tinker chose, to be tied for life.
Now, to the father the brisk lover hied,
Who at his noisy mill so busy plied,
Grinding, and taking handsome toll of corn,
Sometimes, indeed, too handsome to be borne.
"Ho! Master Miller," did the tinker say-
Forth from his cloud of flour the miller came;
"Nice weather, Master Miller-charming day-
Heaven's very kind." The miller said the same.
Now, miller, possibly you may not guess
At this same business I am come about:
'Tis this, then-know I love your daughter Bess;-
There Master Miller!-now the riddle's out.
I'm not for mincing matters, sir! d'ye see-
I like your daughter Bess, and she likes me."
'Poh!" quoth the miller, grinning at the tinker, "Thou dost not mean to marriage to persuade her; Ugly as is old Nick, I needs must think her,
Though, to be sure, she is as heav'n has made her. No, no, though she's my daughter, I'm not blind
But, tinker, what hath now possessed thy mind:
Thou'rt the first offer she has met, by dad-
But tell me, tinker, art thou drunk or mad?"
"No-I'm not drunk nor mad," the tinker cried,
"But Bet's the maid I wish to make my bride;
No girl in these two eyes doth Bet excel." "Why, fool!" the miller said, "Bet hath a hump! And then her nose !-the nose of my old pump."
"I know it," quoth the tinker, "know it well." "Her face," quoth Grist, "is freckled, wrinkled, flat; Her mouth as wide as that of my tom cat;
And then she squints a thousand ways at once-
Her waist a corkscrew; and her hair how red !
A downright bunch of carrots on her head-
Why, what the deuce is got into thy sconce?"
"No deuce is in my sconce," rejoined the tinker; "But, sir, what's that to you, if fine I think her?" Why, man," quoth Grist, "she's fit to make a show, And therefore sure I am that thou must banter." Miller," replied the tinker, "right, for know
'Tis for that very thing, a show, I want her."
IT must be so! stomach thou reasonest well,
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire
This longing after something good for dinner?
Or whence these secret pangs; these hollow murmurs,
That issue from my bowels? Why shrinks my soul
Back on herself, and startles at a famine?
'Tis hunger, powerful hunger, sti.s within me;
'Tis famine's self that points to one o'clock !
And shows the time of dinner is at hand.
Dinner! thou pleasing, thou delightful thought,
Thro' what a variety of knowing processes,
Each morsel, both of lean and fat. doth pass,
Ere dinner, in rich prospect, lies before me,
And I with ardent stomach fall upon it.
Here will I hold! If Molly's in the kitchen,
And that she is, and in a bustle too,
Both nose and ears confess-she must be cooking something!
And that which Molly cooks, it must be tasty;
But when or where this dinner will be ready,
I'm weary of conjectures. Oh, patience, end them.
Thus am I wholly arm'd from top to toe,
Patience and appetite both working within me,
That gently bids me wait till I am called.
But this supposes I shall never dine;
The soul secure in her existence, smiles
At the debates, and thinks my stomach mad;
The kitchen fire shall fade, cookery itself
Grow out of date with mayors, and sauces be no more;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth
Unhurt amid the war of pots and pans,
The wreck of gridirons and the crush of kitchens
THE PARSONS AND THE CORKSCREW.
TWELVE parsons once went to a squire's to dine,
Who was famous for giving good venison and wine,
All great friends to the cloth, with good living in view,
Quite grace full they sat down, as parsons should do.
A wicked young whipster, our worthy squire's cousin,
Whispered, Cousin, I boldly will lay rump and dozen,
Though here we've a dozen staunch priests, of the lot
Not one of the twelve here a prayer-book has got."
Agreed," cried the squire. Coz, we must not be loth
Such a wager to lay for the sake of the cloth.
The parsons, no doubt, to confute you are able,
So we'll bring, with the dinner, the bet on the table."
Dinner served; cried the squire, "A new grace I will say,
Has any one here got a prayer-book, I pray ? '
Quite glum looked the priests, coughed, and with one accord
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