And all that night I never slept, nor could I eat next day, for I loved that girl with a fervent love that nought I strove to win her back to me, but could drive away. it was all in vain; the city chap with the hairy lip married Jerusha Jane. And my poor heart was sick and sore until the thought struck me, that just as good fish still remained as ever was caught in the sea. So I went to the Methodist church one night, and saw a dark brown curl peeping from under a gipsy hat, and I married that very girl. And many years have passed and gone, and I think my loss my gain; and I often bless that hairy chap that stole Jerusha Jane. THE OLD OAK. Old Mr. Fuddle fell down in a puddle, just as a runaway horse and shay came dashing and splashing and tearing that way. In helpless plight he roared with fright; the horse came quick, all gallop and kick, when the old man raised his old oak stick; the horse then shied a little aside, for sticks were no friends to his wellfed hide. Within a foot of Fuddle's toes, within an inch of his ruby nose, the wheel comes whizzing, and on it goes. Up rises Fuddle from out the puddle, and stands on the road with a staggering stride, then wheeling away from the scene of the fray, he flourished his stick with a hero's pride. NORAH O'NEIL. You say you are lonely without me, that you sigh for one glance of my eye; you're blarneying always about me-Oh! why don't you to papa apply? You men are so very deceiving, I can't believe aught that you say; your love I will only believe in when my jointure is made out au fait. This trash about eyes, voice, and glances may do for a miss in her teens; but he who to me makes advances must talk of his bank-stock and means. You beg me to go galavanting, to meet you at the foot of the lane with a kiss, too! why, man, you're ranting! do you think that I'm wholly insane? When you meet a young lady of sense, sir, don't whine about sorrow and tears; it's a matter of shillings and pence, sir; no tale of romance interferes. Oh, poverty's not at all funny (my style I will never conceal); if I can't get a husband with money, then I'll live and die Norah O'Neil. A MOONLIGHt Walk. On a quiet day, in leafy June, when bees and birds were all in tune, two lovers walked beneath the moon. The night was fair-so was the maid; they walked and talked beneath the shade, with none to harm or make afraid. Her name was Sue, and his was Jim; and he was fat and she was slim; he took to her and she to him. Says Jim to Sue, "By all the snakes that squirm among the bush and brakes, I love you better than oatmeal cakes." Says Sue to Jim, "Since you've begun it, and been and come and gone and done it, I like you next to a new bonnet." Says Jim to Sue, "My heart you've busted; but I have always girls mistrusted." Says Sue to Jim, "I will be true; if you love me as I love you, no knife can cut our love in two." Says Jim to Sue, "Through thick and thin, for your true love count me in; I'll court no other girl ag'in." Jim leaned to Sue; Sue leaned to Jim; his nose just touched her straw hat brim four lips met-went ahem! ahem! And then and then-and then-then! Oh girls, beware of men in June, and underneath the silver moon, when frogs and crickets are in tune, lest you get your names in the papers soon. THE GINGHAM GOWN. I met her in the sunset bright, her gingham gown was blue; her eyes, that danced with pure delight, were of the same dear hue. And always, when the sun goes down, I think of the girl in the gingham gown. AN EDITORIAL. 'Tis sweet, on winter's night, at home to sit by fire and taper; but ah, it is a wiser thing, by far, to read our paper. Won't you take our paper? Can't you take our paper? The joys of earth are little worth unless you take our paper. Maidens waiting lovers true, you must take our paper. Swains, who would not idle woo, you must take our paper. Won't you take our paper? Can't you take our paper? Love's joys below you'll never know, unless you take our paper. "GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEART, GOOD-BYE!" 66 Farewell, farewell!" I cried. "When I return thou❜lt be my bride-till then be faithful-sweet, adieu-in silence oft I'll think of you." The glistening tears strained her bright eyes-her thickening breath is choked with sighs her tongue denies her bosom's sway-" Farewell!" -I tore myself away. "One moment stay," she stammered out; as quick as thought I wheeled about. "My angel, speak! can aught be done to comfort thee when I am gone? I'll send thee specimens of art from every European mart; I'll sketch for thee each Alpine scene, to let thee see where I have been. A stone from Simplon's dreadful height shall gratify thy curious sight I'll climb the fery Emma's side to bring home treasures for my bride; and ch! my life, each ship shall bear a double letter for my fair!" -Ah George!" the weeping angel said, and on my shoulder fell her head, "for constancy, my tears are hostage but when you write, please pay the postage!" SOMETHING LIKE POETRY. Tennyson claims to be a great poet, and yet he may fret and study and tear about for a week, and then can't yank an ode to a sawmill, while the sweet singer of Michigan only gave two minutes to whacking up one beginning: "All hail to thee, most terrible invention, Which chews up trees to any wished dimension, And when something distracts a man's attention, Will break him up so that a gov'ment pension Won't do him any good. Oh, fierce devourer thou of men and wood!" A PRINTER'S LITANY. From want of gold, from wives that scold, from maidens old, by sharpers "sold"—preserve us ! From foppish sneers, mock auctioneers, and woman's tears-deliver us ! From stinging flies, from coal-black eyes, and babies' cries-deliver us ! From seedy coats, protested notes, and leaky boatsprotect us! From creaking doors, a wife that snores, confounded bores, and dry-goods stores-protect us! Fom shabby hats, and torn cravats, and flying brickbats-save us! Authors' names, anagrams on, 199 Book-titles, alliterative, 33 echo Breitmann Ballads, the, 111 Britannia's Pastorals, 131 Burton, Dr. Hill, 229 Butler on echo verses, 122 CALL, the, 154 Camden, palindromic lines from, 221 Campkin, Mr. H., palindromes by, 223 Cannon, Rev. Edward, 164 Car, 205 Caxton, William, 62 Celtic verse, 19 Cento from popular poets, 191 Cento-Virgilianus, the, 176 Charles II., King, anagrams on, 200, 201 Charlotte, Princess, anagram on, 209 Chartier, Allain, verses by, 67 Cherry and the Slae, the, 31 Chinese versification, 261 Christian and his Echo, the, 137 Christianity, anagram on the word, 210 Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, the, 133 Christine of Pisa, Moral Proverbs of, 61 Autumn days, 171 BALES, Peter, 12 Beedell, Mr., 13 Benlowes, Edward, 259 Bible, a miniature, 12 Bible, errors in the, 242 Birthday of Shakespeare, on the, 178 Blanchard, Laman, 185 Bogart, an American poet, 84 Bolton, Cuthbert, 67 Bonaparte and the Echo, 130 Christ's Victory and Triumph, lines from, |