Part 21 (2/2)

All day she hurried to get through, The same as lots of wimmin do; Sometimes at night her husban' said, ”Ma, ain't you goin' to come to bed?”

And then she'd kinder give a hitch, And pause half way between a st.i.tch, And sorter sigh, and say that she Was ready as she'd ever be, She reckoned.

And so the years went one by one, An' somehow she was never done; An' when the angel said, as how ”Mis' Smith, it's time you rested now,”

She sorter raised her eyes to look A second, as a st.i.tch she took; ”All right, I'm comin' now,” says she, ”I'm ready as I'll ever be, I reckon.”

_Albert Bigelow Paine._

TRIOLET

”I love you, my lord!”

Was all that she said-- What a dissonant chord, ”I love you, my lord!”

Ah! how I abhorred That sarcastic maid!-- ”_I_ love you? My _Lord_!”

Was all that she said.

_Paul T. Gilbert._

BESSIE BROWN, M.D.

'Twas April when she came to town; The birds had come; the bees were swarming.

Her name, she said, was Doctor Brown; I saw at once that she was charming.

She took a cottage tinted green, Where dewy roses loved to mingle; And on the door, next day, was seen A dainty little s.h.i.+ngle.

Her hair was like an amber wreath; Her hat was darker, to enhance it.

The violet eyes that glowed beneath Were brighter than her keenest lancet, The beauties of her glove and gown The sweetest rhyme would fail to utter.

Ere she had been a day in town The town was in a flutter.

The gallants viewed her feet and hands, And swore they never saw such wee things; The gossips met in purring bands, And tore her piecemeal o'er the tea-things.

The former drank the Doctor's health With clinking cups, the gay carousers; The latter watched her door by stealth, Just like so many mousers.

But Doctor Bessie went her way, Unmindful of the spiteful cronies, And drove her buggy every day Behind a das.h.i.+ng pair of ponies.

Her flower-like face so bright she bore I hoped that time might never wilt her.

The way she tripped across the floor Was better than a philter.

Her patients thronged the village street; Her snowy slate was always quite full.

Some said her bitters tasted sweet, And some p.r.o.nounced her pills delightful.

'Twas strange--I knew not what it meant-- She seemed a nymph from Eldorado; Where'er she came, where'er she went, Grief lost its gloomy shadow.

Like all the rest I, too, grew ill; My aching heart there was no quelling.

I tremble at my doctor's bill-- And lo! the items still are swelling.

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