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, I 'se wufless as de rotten pole o' las' year's fodder-stack ; 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. 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; 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! I tell you, Dinah, jes' as sure as you is standin' dar, SIDNEY AND CLIFFORD LANIER. TO A FISH WHY flyest thou away with fear ? All covered with a snaring bait, And dragge thee from the brooke. O harmless tenant of the flood! Perchance has given a tender wife, Enjoy the stream, O harmless fish ; Attempts, a wretch, to pull thee out, 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 But first I would remark, that 'tis not a proper plan Now, nothing could be finer, or more beautiful to see, Then Brown he read a paper, and he reconstructed there, mules. Then Brown he smiled a bitter smile, and said he was at fault; 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 For in less time than I write it, every member did engage And this is all I have to say of these improper games, 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. Meä an' thy sister was married, when wur it? back-end o' June, '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' then I minded our Sally sa pratty an' neät an' sweeät, "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, 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' Sally she tell'd it about, an' foälk stood a-gawmin' in, wife, |