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And, though she ne'er adorn'd his brows,
She had a vast contempt for spouse,
As being one who took no pride,
And was a deal too countrified.
Such were our couple, man and wife;
Such were their ways and means of life.
Once on a time, the season fair
For exercise and cheerful air,

It happen'd, in his morning roam,

He'd kill'd his birds, and brought them home.
"Here, Cicely, take away this gun;

How shall we have these starlings done?"
"Done what, my love?-your wits are wild;
"Starlings, my dear! they're thrushes, child."
"Nay, now, but look-consider, wife!
"They're starlings now, upon my life."
"Sure I can judge, as well as you;

"I know a thrush and starling too."
"Who was it shot them-you or I?

"They're starlings!""Thrushes." "Zounds, you lie." "Pray, Sir, take back your dirty word;

"I scorn your language as your bird.
"It ought to make a husband blush
"To treat a wife so 'bout a thrush.'
"Thrush, Cicely; it's a starling."—"No."
The lie again, and then the blow.

Blows carry strong and quick conviction,
And mar the power of contradiction.
Peace soon ensued, and all was well;
It were imprudence to rebel,
Or keep the ball up of debate,
Against such arguments of weight.
A year roll'd on in perfect ease;
"Twas "As you like," and What you please,"
Till, in its course and order due,
Came March the twentieth, forty-two.
Quoth Cicely, "Ah, this charming life!
"No tumults now, no noise or strife.
"What fools we were this day last year!

"Lord! how you beat me then, my dear,

"Sure it was idle and absurd
"To wrangle so about a bird!
"A bird not worth a single rush,
"A starling."

"-" No, my love, a thrush; "That I'll maintain. That I'll deny.

"You're wrong, good husband."—" Wife, you lie.
And now the self-same wrangle rose,
Again the lie, again the blows.

THE BUMPKIN AND THE STABLE-KEEPER.

A TALE.

Young Ned, a sort of clownish beau, one day,
Quick to a livery-stable hied away,

To look among the nags:

A journey in the country he was going,
And wanted to be mounted well, and knowing,
To make among his bumpkin kin his brags.
The rogue in horses show'd him many a hack,
And swore that better never could be mounted;
But still young Ned at hiring one was slack,

And more or less their make and shape he scouted. "A gentlemanly steed I want, to cut a shine, "So that I may be dashing call'd, and fine, "And set relations, friends, acquaintance, staring"From London to look vulgar, there's no bearing." "True," quoth the jockey, with attentive bow, And look'd his customer quite through and through; "I see the case indeed, exactly, now,

"And have a horse that to a T will do."
He found the cash was plenty, and all ready
And mounted to his utmost wishes Neddy;
Sarcastically muttering, as he rode off,
"At thee the natives cannot fail to scoff:
"So far, most proper 'tis indeed,

"That thou should'st have a handsome steed;
"For where two animals a travelling hie,
"One should be gentlemanly, by the bye."

THE RISING SUN.

On a rocky cliff I stood,

And the ocean washed its base; A prospect broad and good

The grateful eye could trace: Not a cloud obscured the sky: The dawn was bright and fair, Nature slumbering seemed to lie Unruffled by the air.

In the east the shining sun
Display'd his golden crest;
His daily race he had begun
Towards the glowing west;
O'er the waters of the deep
His glittering rays he shed
While the sparkling billows leap
From out their liquid bed.

See where bright Aurora twines
Her tresses round her brow,
As the rugged lofty pines
With admiration bow.
Dewy mists, in sportive play,
Their glittering veils unfold;
Like happy spirits flee away
In tints of molten gold.

Gentle zephyrs float around,
And murmuring surges meet,
Blending softest notes of sound,
In music wild and sweet.
How the grateful bosom burns
With wonder and with love;
As the soul in rapture turns
To brighter scenes above!

THE BARBER'S GHOST.

The light was fading rapidly,
And night came gathering in;
When, mounted on his palfrey grey,
A weary horseman urged his way
Up to the village inn.

Dark was his brow, his forehead high,
And lordly was his air;
But yet, beneath his flashing eye
And up-curl'd lip, you might descry
A fiend-like spirit there.

It was the village wake, a day

Of feasting and of glee;

The streets were crowded-young and gay,
And old and grave, kept holiday;

While from the inn there brake away

Loud sounds of revelry.

Out came the host obsequiously,
And, bowing lowly, said-
"I'm loth to tell you, Sir, that we
"Are now so full of company,

"You cannot have a bed."

"I'll ride no more to night, at least!"
In haste the traveller cried;
"Stable and corn for this poor beast
"Is all I ask,-for I can rest

"Full easy by his side."

Mine host look'd wise, and scratched his head,

As if to speak he wanted;

"There is a room-,

," at last he said,

"A vacant room, Sir, with a bed;

"But then-the room is haunted!"

"Haunted!” cried he, and gave a grin That made the landlord stare:

"Good Boniface, why, what d'ye mean ?" Laugh not," he answered, "for I've seen

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"The lion that, ere morn, has been
"As frighten'd as a hare.

" "Tis just a dozen years this day,
"The time I well did note,
"Since a rich barber, who, they say,
"Had lost a heavy purse by play,
"Slunk to that fearful room away,
"And there he cut his throat.

"And, ever since, his ghost unblest
"The razor there has waved;
"Nor will he suffer you to rest,
"But, soon as midnight strikes, the pest
"Glides to the bedside of the guest,
"And cries- Will you be shaved ?""

""Tis well!" the stranger cried-" this night
"Within that room I'll harbour:
"Air well the bed, and place a light;
""Twill give my very heart delight
"To have a confab with the sprite,
"This gratis-shaving barber !"

"O, Sir," the landlord cried, "beware!". But suddenly he ceased,

Awed by the traveller's scornful glare;

And instantly, with bustling care,
Began refreshments to prepare,

And lodging for his guest.

The guest was hungry, but soon made
His appetite abate:

The guest was weary, and to bed
Was, by the honest landlord, led:
Who, with a boding shake of head,
Resign'd him to his fate.

He look'd around, pried every post
Where flesh and blood might creep;
Then laid him down. Awhile there cross'd
His brain odd thoughts about the ghost,

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