It does not quite get through dis n.i.g.g.ar's har, How came dat fence so nice and handy dar?"

Like one who in the mud is tightly stuck, Or one nonplussed, astonished, thunderstruck, The preacher looked severely on the pews, And rubbed his hair to know what words to use: "Bredren," said he, "dis word I hab to say; De preacher can't be bothered in dis way; For, if he is, it's jest as like as not, Our whole theology will be upsot."

_Unknown._

TRUE TO POLL

I'll sing you a song, not very long, But the story somewhat new, Of William Kidd, who, whatever he did, To his Poll was always true.

He sailed away in a galliant ship From the port of old Bris_tol_, And the last words he uttered, As his hankercher he fluttered, Were, "My heart is true to Poll."

His heart was true to Poll, His heart was true to Poll, It's no matter what you do If your heart be only true: And his heart _was_ true to Poll.

'Twas a wreck. Willi_am_, on sh.o.r.e he swam, And looked about for an inn; When a n.o.ble savage lady, of a color rather shady, Came up with a kind of grin: "Oh, marry _me_, and a king you'll be, And in a palace loll; Or we'll eat you w.i.l.l.y-nilly."

So he gave his _hand_, did Billy, But his _heart_ was true to Poll.

Away a twelvemonth sped, and a happy life he led As the King of the Kikeryboos; His paint was red and yellar, and he used a big umbrella, And he wore a pair of over-_shoes_; He'd corals and knives, and twenty-six wives, Whose beauties I cannot here extol; One day they all revolted, So he back to Bristol bolted, For his _heart_ was true to Poll.

His heart was true to Poll, His heart was true to Poll, It's no matter what you do If your heart be only true: And his heart _was_ true to Poll.

_F. C. Burnand._

TRUST IN WOMEN

When these things following be done to our intent, Then put women in trust and confident.

When nettles in winter bring forth roses red, And all manner of thorn trees bear figs naturally, And geese bear pearls in every mead, And laurel bear cherries abundantly, And oaks bear dates very plenteously, And kisks give of honey superfluence, Then put women in trust and confidence.

When box bear paper in every land and town, And thistles bear berries in every place, And pikes have naturally feathers in their crown, And bulls of the sea sing a good ba.s.s, And men be the ships fishes trace, And in women be found no insipience, Then put them in trust and confidence.

When whitings do walk forests to chase harts, And herrings their horns in forests boldly blow, And marmsets mourn in moors and lakes, And gurnards shoot rooks out of a crossbow, And goslings hunt the wolf to overthrow, And sprats bear spears in armes of defence, Then put women in trust and confidence.

When swine be cunning in all points of music, And a.s.ses be doctors of every science, And cats do heal men by practising of physic, And buzzards to scripture give any credence, And merchants buy with horn, instead of groats and pence, And pyes be made poets for their eloquence, Then put women in trust and confidence.

When sparrows build churches on a height, And wrens carry sacks unto the mill, And curlews carry timber houses to dight, And fomalls bear b.u.t.ter to market to sell, And woodc.o.c.ks bear woodknives cranes to kill, And greenfinches to goslings do obedience, Then put women in trust and confidence.

When crows take salmon in woods and parks, And be take with swifts and snails, And camels in the air take swallows and larks, And mice move mountains by wagging of their tails, And shipmen take a ride instead of sails, And when wives to their husbands do no offence, Then put women in trust and confidence.

When antelopes surmount eagles in flight, And swans be swifter than hawks of the tower, And wrens set gos-hawks by force and might, And muskets make verjuice of crabbes sour, And ships sail on dry land, silt give flower, And apes in Westminster give judgment and sentence, Then put women in trust and confidence.

_Unknown._

THE LITERARY LADY

What motley cares Corilla's mind perplex, Whom maids and metaphors conspire to vex!

In studious dishabille behold her sit, A lettered gossip and a household wit; At once invoking, though for different views, Her G.o.ds, her cook, her milliner and muse.

Round her strewed room a frippery chaos lies, A checkered wreck of notable and wise, Bills, books, caps, couplets, combs, a varied ma.s.s, Oppress the toilet and obscure the gla.s.s; Unfinished here an epigram is laid, And there a mantua-maker's bill unpaid.

There new-born plays foretaste the town's applause, There dormant patterns pine for future gauze.

A moral essay now is all her care, A satire next, and then a bill of fare.

A scene she now projects, and now a dish; Here Act the First, and here, Remove with Fish.

Now, while this eye in a fine frenzy rolls, That soberly casts up a bill for coals; Black pins and daggers in one leaf she sticks, And tears, and threads, and bowls, and thimbles mix.

_Richard Brinsley Sheridan._

TWELVE ARTICLES

I

Lest it may more quarrels breed, I will never hear you read.

II

By disputing, I will never, To convince you once endeavor.

III

When a paradox you stick to, I will never contradict you.

IV

When I talk and you are heedless, I will show no anger needless.

V

When your speeches are absurd, I will ne'er object a word.

VI

When you furious argue wrong, I will grieve and hold my tongue.

VII

Not a jest or humorous story Will I ever tell before ye: To be chidden for explaining, When you quite mistake the meaning.

VIII