I'm gwine to stan' stiff-legged for de Lord dis blessed day; You screech, and howl, and swish de water, Satan! Let us

pray:

O hebbenly Mahs'r, what Thou willest dat mus' be jes' so,
And ef Thou hast bespoke de word, some nigger's boun' to go.
Den, Lord, please take ole Jim, and lef young Dinah hyar below!
Scuse Dinah, scuse her, Mahs'r; for she's sich a little child,
She hardly jes' begin to scramble up the home-yard stile;
But dis old traveller's feet been tired dis many a many mile.

I 'se wufless as de rotten pole o' las' year's fodder-stack ;
De rheumatiz done bit my bones: you hyar 'em crack and crack?
I can't sit down 'd out gruntin' like 't was breakin' o' my back.
What use de wheel when hub and spokes is warped and split
and rotten?

What use dis dried up cotton-stalk when Life done picked my

cotton?

I 'se like a word, dat somebody done said, and den forgotten.
But Dinah! Shuh! dat gal jes' like dis little hick'ry-tree,
De sap's jis risin' in her; she do grow owdaciouslee

Lord, ef you's clarin' de underbrush, don't cut her down cut me!

I would not proud presume but yet I'll boldly make reques', Sence Jacob had dat wastlin' match, I, too, gwine do my bes'; When Jacob got all underholt, de Lord He answered, Yes!

And what for waste de wittles now, and th'ow away de bread? Jes' for to strength dese idle hands to scratch dis ole bald head? Tink of de 'conomy, Mahs'r, ef dis ole Jim was dead!

Stop; ef I don't believe de Debble 's gone on up de stream! Jes' now he squealed down dar:-hush; dat 's a mighty weakly

scream!

Yes, sir, he 's gone, he 's gone ; - he snort way off, like in a dream!

O glory, hallelujah to de Lord dat reigns on high !

De Debble 's fa'rly skeered to def; he done gone flyin' by;
I know'd he could'n' stan' dat pra'r, I felt my Mahs'r nigh!

You, Dinah, ain't you 'shamed now dat you did n't trust to grace?

I heerd you thrashin' th'u' de bushes when he showed his face!
You fool, you t'ink de Debble couldn't beat you in a race ?

I tell you, Dinah, jes' as sure as you is standin' dar,
When folks start prayin', answer-angels drops down th'u' de a'r;
Yea, Dinah, whar 'ould you be now, exceptin' fur dat pra'r?

SIDNEY AND CLIFFORD LANIER.

TO A FISH

WHY flyest thou away with fear ?
Trust me, there 's naught of danger near;
I have no wicked hooke,

All covered with a snaring bait,
Alas! to tempt thee to thy fate,

And dragge thee from the brooke.

O harmless tenant of the flood!
I do not wish to spill thy blood,
For Nature unto thee

Perchance has given a tender wife,
And children dear, to charm thy life,
As she hath done for me.

Enjoy the stream, O harmless fish ;
And when an angler for his dish,
Through gluttony's vile sin,

Attempts, a wretch, to pull thee out,
God give thee strength, O gentle trout,
To pull the rascal in!

JOHN WOLCOT.

THE SOCIETY UPON THE STANISLAUS

I RESIDE at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James : I am not up to small deceit or any sinful games;

And I'll tell in simple language what I know about the row
That broke up our Society upon the Stanislow.

But first I would remark, that 'tis not a proper plan
For any scientific gent to whale his fellow-man;
And if a member don't agree with his peculiar whim,
To lay for that same member for to “put a head” on him.

Now, nothing could be finer, or more beautiful to see,
Than the first six months' proceedings of that same society;
Till Brown of Calaveras brought a lot of fossil bones
That he found within a tunnel near the tenement of Jones.

Then Brown he read a paper, and he reconstructed there,
From those same bones, an animal that was extremely rare;
And Jones then asked the Chair for a suspension of the rules,
Till he could prove that those same bones was one of his lost

mules.

Then Brown he smiled a bitter smile, and said he was at fault;
It seemed he had been trespassing on Jones's family vault;
He was a most sarcastic man, this quiet Mr. Brown,
And on several occasions he had cleaned out the town.

Now I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent

To say another is an ass

at least, to all intent; Nor should the individual who happens to be meant Reply by heaving rocks at him to any great extent.

Then Abner Dean of Angel's raised a point of order, when
A chunk of old red sandstone took him in the abdomen;
And he smiled a kind of sickly smile, and curled up on the floor,
And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more.

For in less time than I write it, every member did engage
In a warfare with the remnants of a paleozoic age;
And the way they heaved those fossils in their anger was a sin,
Till the skull of an old mammoth caved the head of Thompson in.

And this is all I have to say of these improper games,
For I live at Table Mountain and my name is Truthful James,
And I 've told in simple language what I know about the row
That broke up our Society upon the Stanislow.

BRET HARTE.

THE NORTHERN COBBLER

WAAIT till our Sally cooms in, fur thou mun a' sights to tell. Eh, but I be maäin glad to seeä tha sa 'arty an' well.

"Cast awaäy on a disolut land wi' a vartical soon!" Strange fur to goä fur to think what saäilors a' seëan an' a' doon; "Summat to drink sa' 'ot ?" I 'a nowt but Adam's wine: What's the eät o' this little 'ill-side to the 'eät o' the line?

"What's i' tha bottle a-stanning theer?" I'll tell tha. Gin.
But if thou wants thy grog, tha mun goä fur it down to the inn.
Naäy fur I be maäin-glad, but thaw tha was iver sa dry,
Thou gits naw gin fro' the bottle theer, an I'll tell tha why.

Meä an' thy sister was married, when wur it? back-end o' June,
Ten year sin', and wa 'greed as well as a fiddle i' tune;
I could fettle and clump owd booöts and shoes wi' the best on

'em all,

As fer as fro' Thursby thurn hup to Harmsby and Hutterby Hall. We was busy as beeäs i' the bloom an' as 'appy as 'art could

think,

An' then the babby wur burn, and then I taäkes to the drink.

An' I weänt gaänsaäy it, my lad, thaw I be hafe shaämed on it

now,

We could sing a good song at the Plow, we could sing a good song at the Plow;

Thaw once of a frosty night I slither'd an' hurted my huck, An' I coom'd neck-an-crop sometimes slaäpe down i' the squad an' the muck:

An' once I fowt wi' the Taäilor - not hafe ov a man, my lad Fur he scrawm'd an' scratted my faäce like a cat, an' it maäde er' sa mad

That Sally she turn'd a tongue-banger, an' raäted ma, "Sottin' thy braäins

Guzzlin' an' soäkin' an' smoäkin' an' hawmin' about i' the laänes

Soä sow-droonk that tha doesn not touch thy 'at to the Squire" An' I look'd cock-eyed at my noäse an' I seeäd 'im a-gittin'

o' fire;

But sin' I wur hallus i' liquor an' hallus as droonk as a king, Foäks' coostom flitted awaäy like a kite wi' a brokken string.

An' Sally she wesh'd foälks' cloäths to keep the wolf fro the door,

Eh, but the moor she riled me, she druv me to drink the moor, Fur I fun', when 'er back wur turn'd, wheer Sally's owd stockin'

wur 'id,

An' I grabb'd the munny she maäde, and I weär'd it o' liquor, I did.

An' one night I cooms 'oäm like a bull gotten loose at a faäir, An' she wur a-waäitin' fo' ma, an' cryin' an' teärin' 'er aäir, An' I tummled athurt the craädle an' sweär'd as I'd breäk ivry

stick

O' furnitur 'ere i' the 'ouse, an' I gied our Sally a kick,

An' I mash'd the taäbles an' chairs, an' she an' the babby

beäl'd,

Fur I knaw'd naw moor what I did nor a mortal beäst o' the feäld.

An' when I waäked i' the murnin' I seeäd that our Sally went laämed

Cos' o' the kick as I gied 'er, an' I wur dreädful ashaämed;
An' Sally were sloomy an' draggle-taäiled in an owd turn gown,
An' the babby's faäce wurn't wesh'd an' the 'ole 'ouse hupside
down.

An' then I minded our Sally sa pratty an' neät an' sweeät,
Straät as a pole an' cleän as a flower fro' 'eäd to feeät:
An' then I minded the fust kiss I gied 'er by Thursby thurn;
Theer wur a lark a-singin' 'is best of a Sunday at murn,
Couldn't see 'im, we 'eärd 'im a-mountin' oop 'igher an' 'igher,
An' then 'e turn'd to the sun, an' 'e shined like a sparkle o' fire.

"Doesn't tha see im," she axes, "fur I can see 'im ?" an' I Seeäd nobbut the smile o' the sun as danced in 'er pratty blue eye; An' I says "I mun gie tha a kiss," an' Sally says "Noä, thou "" moänt,

66

But I gied 'er a kiss, an' then anoother, an' Sally says doänt!"

An' when we coom'd into meeätin', at fust she wur all in a tew, But, arter, we sing'd the 'ymn togither like birds on a beugh; An' Muggins 'e preach'd o' hell-fire an' the loov o' God fur men,

An' then upo' coomin' awaäy Sally gied me a kiss ov 'ersen.

Heer wur a fall fro' a kiss to a kick like Saätan as fell

Down out o' heaven i' hell-fire thaw theer 's naw drinkin'i’

hell;

Meä fur to kick our Sally as kep' the wolf fro' the door,
All along o' the drink, fur I looved 'er as well as afoor.

Sa like a graät num-cumpus I blubber'd awaäy o' the bed "Weant niver do it naw moor "; an' Sally looökt up an' she said, "I'll upowd it tha weänt; thou 'rt like the rest o' the men, Thou 'll goä sniffin' about the tap till tha does it agëan. Theer 's thy hennemy, man, an' I knaws, as knaws tha sa well, That if tha seeäs 'im an' smells 'im tha 'll foller 'im slick into hell."

Naäy," says I, "fur I weänt goä sniffin' about the tap. " "Weänt tha?" she says, an' mysen I thowt i'mysen " mayhap," "Noa": an' I started awaäy like a shot, an' down to the hinn, An' I browt what tha seeäs stannin' theer, yon big black bottle o' gin.

says I,

"That caps owt," says Sally, an' saw she begins to cry, But I puts it inter 'er 'ands an' I says to 'er, "Sally," Stan 'im theer i' the naäme o' the Lord an' the power ov 'is graäce,

Stan' 'im theer, fur I'll looök my hennemy straït i' the faäce, Stan' 'im theer i' the winder, an' let ma looök at 'im then, 'E seeäms naw moor nor watter, an' 'e 's the Divil's oän sen.

An' I wur down i' tha mouth, couldn't do naw work an' all, Nasty an' snaggy an' shaäky, an poonch'd my 'and wi' the hawl,

But she wur a power o' coomfut, an' sattled 'ersen o' my knee,
An' coäxed an' coodled me oop till agëan I feel'd mysen free.

An' Sally she tell'd it about, an' foälk stood a-gawmin' in,
As thaw it wur summat bewitch'd istead of a quart o' gin;
An' some on 'em said it wur watter an' I wur chousin' the

wife,