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He sent her to a stylish school
'Twas in her thirteenth June; And with her, as the rules required,
6 Two towels and a spoon.” They braced my aunt against a board,
To make her straight and tall; They laced her up, they starved her down,
To make her light and small;
They screwed it up with pins ;-
penance for her sins !
My grandsire brought her back; (By daylight, lest some rabid youth
Might follow on the track.)
Some powder in his pan,
Against a desperate man ?"
Nor bandit cavalcade,
His all-accomplished maid.
And heaven had spared to me To see one sad, ungathered rose
On my ancestral tree.
In Brentford town, of old renown,
There lived a Mister Bray, Who fell in love with Lucy Bell, And so did Mister Clay.
To see her ride from Hammersmith,
By all it was allowed,
An angel on a cloud.
6 You choose to rival me
No thoroughfare shall be.
You may repent your love;-
Can shoot a turtle-dove.
before you woo her more,
I'll pop it into you.”
6. Your threat I do explode ;-
Knows how to prime and load.
May chance to hit a sheep's."
And that for copper red;
Each other change for lead
This pleasant thought to give-
Two seconds yet to live. * In England, women frequently ride on the outside of stage-coaches
To measure out the ground, not long
The seconds next forbore ;
They took a dozen more.
Against the deadly strife;
Against the prime of life.
But when they took their stands, Fear made them tremble so, they found
They both were shaking hands.
Said Mr. C. to Mr. B.,
“ Here one of us may fall, And, like St. Paul's Cathedral now,
Be doomed to have a ball.
I do confess I did attach
Misconduct to your name !
Your ranrod do the same ?"
Said Mr. B., “I do agree ;
But think of Honor's courts, If we be off without a shot,
There will be strange reports. But look! the morning now is bright,
Though cloudy it begun ; Why can't we aim above, as if
We had called out the sun ?"
So up into the harmless air
Their bullets they did send , And may
all other duels have That upshot in the end.
As for Ears,—and, speaking, Nose scornfully curled,
“ Their murmurs were equally trifling and teasing, And not all the Ears, Eyes, or Lips in the world,
Should keep him unblown, or prevent him from sneezing."
"To the Cheeks," he contended," he acted as screen,
And guarded them oft from the wind and the weather; And but that he stood like a landmark between,
The face had been nothing but cheek altogether!"
With logical clearness defining the case;
That an argument's plain" as the nose on your face !"
MONEY MAKES THE MARE GO.-BERQUIN.
DERBY AND SCRAPEWELL.
Derby. Good-morning, neighbor Scrapewell. I have half a dozen miles to ride to-day, and should be extremely obliged to you
would lend me your gray mare. Scrapewell. I should be happy, friend Derby, to oblige you; but I'm under the necessity of going immediately to the mill with three bags of corn. My wife wants the meal this very morning
Der. Then she must want it still, for I can assure you mill does not go to-day. I heard the miller tell Will Davis that the water was too low.
Scrape. You don't say so? That is bad indeed; for in that case I shall be obliged to gallop off to town for the meal. My wife would comb
head for if I should neglect it. Der. I can save you this journey, for I have plenty of meal at home, and will lend your wife as much as she wants.
Scrape. Ah! neighbor Derby, I am sure your meal will never suit
wife. You can't conceive how whimsical she is. Der. If she were ten times more whimsical than she is, I am certain she would like it; for you sold it to me yourself, and you assured me that it was the best you ever had.
Scrape. Yes, yes, that 's true, indeed ; I always have the best of everything. You know, neighbor Derby, that no one is more ready to oblige a friend than I am; but I must tell you, the mare this morning refused to eat hay; and truly, I am afraid she will not carry you.
Der. Oh, never fear, I will feed her well with oats on the road.
Scrrpe. Oats ! neighbor; oats are very dear.
Der. Never mind that. When I have a good job in view, I never stand for trifles.
Scrape. But it is very slippery; and I am really afraid she will fall and break
neck. Der. Give yourself no uneasiness about that. The mare is certainly sure-footed ; and, besides, you were just now talking of galloping her to town.
Scrape. Well, then, to tell you the plain truth, though I wish to oblige you with all my heart, my saddle is torn quite in pieces, and I have just sent my bridle to be mended.
Der. Luckily, I have both a bridle and a saddle hanging
up at home.
Scrape. Ah! that may be; but I am sure your saddle will never fit my mare.
Der. Why, then I'll borrow neighbor Clodpole’s.
Der. At the worst, then, I will go to my friend 'Squire Jones. He has half a score of them; and I am sure he will lend me one that will fit her.
Scrape. You know, friend Derby, that no one is more willing to oblige his neighbors than I am. I do assure you, the beast should be at your service, with all my heart; but she has not been curried, I believe for three weeks past. Her foretop and mane want combing and cutting very much. If any one should see her in her present plight, it would ruin the sale of her.
Der. O! a horse is soon curried, and my son Sam shall dispatch her at once.