Part 22 (1/2)

He simply wished to ax, he said, As pastor and as friend, If wid unruffled bosom I Approached my latter end.

Now how he knew dat story I Should mightily like to know.

I 'clar to goodness, Ma.s.sa Guy, If dat ain't really you!

You say dat in your wash I sent You only one white vest; And as you'se pa.s.sin' by you t'ought You'd call and get de rest.

Now, Ma.s.sa Guy, about your s.h.i.+rts, At least, it seems to me Dat you is more particular Dan what you used to be.

Your family pride is stiff as starch, Your blood is mighty blue-- I nebber spares de indigo To make your s.h.i.+rts so, too.

I uses candle ends, and wax, And satin-gloss and paints, Until your wristbands s.h.i.+ne like to De pathway ob de saints.

But when a gemman sends to me Eight white vests eberry week, A stain ob har-oil on each one, I tinks it's time to speak.

When snarled around a b.u.t.ton dar's A golden har or so, Dat young man's going to be wed, Or someting's wrong, I know.

You needn't laugh, and turn it off By axing 'bout my cap; You didn't use to know nice lace, And never cared a snap What 'twas a lady wore. But folks Wid teaching learn a lot, And dey do say Miss Bella buys De best dat's to be got.

But if you really want to know, I don't mind telling you Jus' how I come by dis yere lace-- It's cur'us, but it's true.

My mother washed for Was.h.i.+ngton When I warn't more'n dat tall; I cut one of his s.h.i.+rt-frills off To dress my corn-cob doll; And when de General saw de s.h.i.+rt, He jus' was mad enough To tink he got to hold review Widout his best Dutch ruff.

Ma'am said she 'lowed it was de calf Dat had done chawed it off; But when de General heard dat ar, He answered with a scoff; He said de marks warn't don' of teef, But plainly dose ob shears; An' den he showed her to de do'

And cuffed me on ye years.

And when my ma'am arribed at home She stretched me 'cross her lap, Den took de lace away from me An' sewed it on her cap.

And when I dies I hope dat dey Wid it my shroud will trim.

Den when we meets on Judgment Day, I'll gib it back to him.

So dat's my story, Ma.s.sa Guy, Maybe I's little wit; But I has larned to, when I'm wrong, Make a clean breast ob it.

Den keep a conscience smooth and white (You can't if much you flirt), And an unruffled bosom, like De General's Sunday s.h.i.+rt.

HAT, ULSTER AND ALL.

BY CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES.

_John Verity's Experience._

I saw the congregation rise, And in it, to my great surprise, A Kossuth-covered head.

I looked and looked, and looked again, To make quite sure my sight was plain, Then to myself I said:

That fellow surely is a Jew, To whom the Christian faith is new, Nor is it strange, indeed, If used to wear his hat in church, His manners leave him in the lurch Upon a change of creed.

Joining my friend on going out, Conjecture soon was put to rout By smothered laugh of his: Ha! ha! too good, too good, no Jew, Dear fellow, but Miss Moll Carew, Good Christian that she is!

Bad blunder all I have to say, It is a most unchristian way To rig Miss Moll Carew-- She has my hat, my cut of hair, Just such an ulster as I wear, And heaven knows what else, too.

AUCTION EXTRAORDINARY.

BY LUCRETIA DAVIDSON.

I dreamed a dream in the midst of my slumbers, And as fast as I dreamed it, it came into numbers; My thoughts ran along in such beautiful meter, I'm sure I ne'er saw any poetry sweeter: It seemed that a law had been recently made That a tax on old bachelors' pates should be laid; And in order to make them all willing to marry, The tax was as large as a man could well carry.

The bachelors grumbled and said 'twas no use-- 'Twas horrid injustice and horrid abuse, And declared that to save their own hearts' blood from spilling, Of such a vile tax they would not pay a s.h.i.+lling.

But the rulers determined them still to pursue, So they set all the old bachelors up at vendue: A crier was sent through the town to and fro, To rattle his bell and a trumpet to blow, And to call out to all he might meet in his way, ”Ho! forty old bachelors sold here to-day!”

And presently all the old maids in the town, Each in her very best bonnet and gown, From thirty to sixty, fair, plain, red and pale, Of every description, all flocked to the sale.