The monkey bit, the parrot screamed,
All day the sister strummed and sung,
The petted maid was such a scold!

My Susan learned to use her tongue;
Her mother had such wretched health,
She sate and croaked like any frog-
What d'ye think of that, my Cat?
What d'ye think of that, my Dog?

No longer Deary, Duck, and Love,
I soon came down to simple "M!”
The very servants crossed my wish,
My Susan let me down to them.
The poker hardly seemed my own,
I might as well have been a log—
What d'ye think of that, my Cat?
What d'ye think of that, my Dog?

My clothes they were the queerest shape!
Such coats and hats she never met!
My ways they were the oddest ways!
My friends were such a vulgar set!
Poor Tompkinson was snubbed and huffed,
She could not bear that Mister Blogg-

What d'ye think of that, my Cat?

What d'ye think of that, my Dog?

At times we had a spar, and then
Mamma must mingle in the song;

The sister took a sister's part,

The maid declared her master wrong,

The parrot learned to call me "Fool!"
My life was like a London fog-
What d'ye think of that, my Cat?
What d'ye think of that, my Dog?

My Susan's taste was superfine,

As proved by bills that had no endI never had a decent coat,

I never had a coin to spend! She forced me to resign my club,

Lay down my pipe, retrench my grog— What d'ye think of that, my Cat? What d'ye think of that, my Dog?

Each Sunday night we gave a rout
To fops and flirts, a pretty list;
And when I tried to steal away,

I found my study full of whist!
Then, first to come and last to go,
There always was a Captain Hogg-
What d'ye think of that, my Cat?
What d'ye think of that, my Dog?

Now was that not an awful dream
For one who single is and snug-
With Pussy in the elbow-chair

And Tray reposing on the rug?-
If I must totter down the hill,
"Tis safest done without a clog-
What d'ye think, my Cat?

What d'ye think, my Dog?

Hood.

HALF-WAY DOIN'S.

BELUBBED fellow-trabellers, in holdin' forth today,

I doesn't quote no special verse for what I has to

say;

De sermon will be berry short, an' dis here am de

tex':

Dat half-way doin's ain't no 'count in dis worl' nor de nex'.

Dis worl' dat we's a-libbin' in is like a cotton row, Where ebery cullud gentleman has got his line to

hoe;

An' ebery time a lazy nigger stops to take a nap, De grass keeps on a-growin' for to smudder up de crap.

When Moses led de Jews acrost de waters of de

sea,

Dey had to keep a-goin' jus' as fas' as fas' could

be;

Do you suppose dey could eber hab succeeded in dere wish,

And reached de promised land at last, if they had stopped to fish ?

My frien's, dere was a garden once, where Adam libbed wid Eve,

Wid no one roun' to bodder dem, no nabors for to thieve;

An ebery day was Christmas, an' dey had dere rations free,

An' eberyting belonged to dem except an appletree.

You all know 'bout de story,-how de snake come snookin' 'round,

A stump-tail, rusty moccasin, a-crawlin' on de ground,

How Eve an' Adam ate de fruit, an' went an' hid dere face,

Till de angel oberseer came an' drove dem off de

place.

Now, s'pose dis man an' 'ooman, too, hadn't 'tempted for to shirk,

But had gone about dere gardenin', an' 'tended to dere work,

Dey wouldn't have been loafin' where dey had no business to,

An' de debble nebber'd got a chance to tell 'em what to do.

No half-way doin's, bredren, 'twill nebber do, I say!

Go at your task, an' finish it, an' den's de time to

play;

For even if de crap is good, de rain will spoil de

bolls,

Unless you keeps a-pickin' in de garden ob your souls.

Keep a-ploughin', an' a-hoein', an' a-scrapin' up de rows;

An' when de ginnin's ober you can pay up what you owes;

But if you quits a-workin' ebery time de sun is

hot

De sheriff's gwine to leby upon eberyting you's

got.

Whateber you's a-dribin' at, be sure an' dribe it t'ro',

An' don't let nothin' stop you, but do what you's gwine to do;

For when you see a nigger foolin', den, sure as you are born,

You's gwine to see him comin' out de small end ob de horn.

I thanks you for de 'tention you hab gib dis after

noon;

Sister Williams will oblige us by a raisin' ob a

tune.

I see dat Brudder Johnson's gwine to pass around de hat;

Don't let's hab no half-way doin's when it comes to dat.

Irwin Russell.

THE RAILROAD CROSSING.

I CAN'T tell much about the thing, 'twas done so powerful quick,

But 'pears to me I got a most outlandish heavy

lick;

It broke my leg, and tore my skulp, and jerked my arm most out.

But take a seat: I'll try and tell jest how it kem about.

You see, I'd started down to town, with that 'ere team of mine,

A-haulin' down a load o' corn to Ebenezer Kline