Part 12 (1/2)

W.--The only noise that could do that Is your continued rattle.

H.--As sounds a bee upon her back, So does this wasp I've got, And all because I ask'd if she Had fed the pigs or not.

W.--Your peevish growling, Mog, is worse, Yes, ten times worse and more, Still asking, ”How this churning gave Less than the one before?”

H.--You know the b.u.t.ter pays our rent, And many another matter.

W.--I know that if the cows are starved They won't get any fatter!

H.--I give the cows enough to eat.

W.--Well do, and hold your clatter.

H.--Stop Jane, stop Jane, confound your noise, 'Twould shame a barrel organ.

W.--If I were half as loud as you, I think it would, Old Morgan!

H.--Your temper, Jane, will drive me soon To share a soldier's lot, To march with gun and martial tune 'Midst powder, smoke, and shot.

W.--What! you a soldier? never, Mog!

Your heart is coward too, You'll fight with no one but with me, You've then enough to do!

H.--I'll go and fight the mighty Czar, To aid the Turkish nation.

W.--Then go, a greater Turk than you Breathes not within creation!

H.--For shame, to call your husband Turk.

W.--Such is my pledg'd relation.

H.--Stop Jane, stop Jane, let's now shake hands And we'll be henceforth friends.

W.--No, not till you have stopp'd will I, Be still, or make amends.

SONG OF THE FOSTER-SON, LOVE.

BY REV. DANIEL EVANS, B.D.

I got a foster-son, whose name was Love, From one endued with beauty from above.

To bring him up with fond and _tender_ care-- Was an obligation from my fair.--

And for the guileless, beaming star's sweet sake Him to my bosom did I kindly take, Him warmly cherished and with joy caress'd, Like Philomela in the parent breast!

Thus on my breast, and sipping from my cup, With food and nurture did I bring him up; He grew a winged stripling, plump and fair, And yet he filled and fills my soul with care!

Foster-son, indeed, a rebel has become, Morose, insubordinate and glum, A peevish, wayward, wanton, wicked swain: To strive against the darts of love is vain.