Part 8 (1/2)

Says he, ”Yes, as good as ever you see.”

”Well,” says I, ”what do you ax a gla.s.s for it?”

”Two cents,” says he.

”Well,” says I, ”seems to me I feel more dry than I do hungry now.

Ain't you a mind to take these ere biscuits again and give me a gla.s.s of cider?” and says he:

”I don't care if I do.”

So he took and laid 'em on the shelf again and poured out a gla.s.s of cider. I took the gla.s.s of cider and drinkt it down, and, to tell you the truth about it, it was capital good cider. Then says I:

”I guess it's about time for me to be a-going,” and so I stept along toward the door; but he ups and says, says he:

”Stop, mister, I believe you haven't paid me for the cider.”

”Not paid you for the cider!” says I; ”what do you mean by that?

Didn't the biscuits that I give you just come to the cider?”

”Oh, ah, right!” says he.

So I started to go again, but before I had reached the door he says, says he:

”But stop, mister, you didn't pay me for the biscuits.”

”What!” says I, ”do you mean to impose upon me? Do you think I am going to pay you for the biscuits, and let you keep them, too? Ain't they there now on your shelf? What more do you want? I guess, sir, you don't whittle me in that way.”

So I turned about and marched off and left the feller staring and scratching his head as tho' he was struck with a dunderment.

Howsomever, I didn't want to cheat him, only jest to show 'em it wasn't so easy a matter to pull my eye-teeth out; so I called in next day and paid him two cents.

William Cullen Bryant

THE MOSQUITO

Fair insect! that with threadlike legs spread out And blood-extracting bill and filmy wing, Dost murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about, In pitiless ears, full many a plaintive thing, And tell how little our large veins should bleed, Would we but yield them to thy bitter need?

Unwillingly I own, and, what is worse, Full angrily men hearken to thy plaint; Thou gettest many a brush and many a curse, For saying thou art gaunt and starved and faint.

Even the old beggar, while he asks for food, Would kill thee, hapless stranger, if he could.

I call thee stranger, for the town, I ween, Has not the honor of so proud a birth- Thou com'st from Jersey meadows, fresh and green, The offspring of the G.o.ds, though born on earth; For t.i.tan was thy sire, and fair was she, The ocean nymph that nursed thy infancy.

Beneath the rushes was thy cradle swung, And when at length thy gauzy wings grew strong, Abroad to gentle airs their folds were flung, Rose in the sky, and bore thee soft along; The south wind breathed to waft thee on thy way, And danced and shone beneath the billowy bay.

Calm rose afar the city spires, and thence Came the deep murmur of its throng of men, And as its grateful odors met thy sense, They seemed the perfumes of thy native fen.

Fair lay its crowded streets, and at the sight Thy tiny song grew shriller with delight.

At length thy pinion fluttered in Broadway-- Ah, there were fairy steps, and white necks kissed By wanton airs, and eyes whose killing ray Shone through the snowy veils like stars through mist; And fresh as morn, on many a cheek and chin, Bloomed the bright blood through the transparent skin.

Sure these were sights to tempt an anchorite!