Now he snores amain,

Like the seven sleepers:

At his feet a volume

Gives the explanation, How the man grew stupid From "association !"

Ancient maiden lady
Anxiously remarks,
That there must be peril
'Mong so many sparks:
Roguish-looking fellow,
Turning to the stranger,
Says it's his opinion,
She is out of danger!

Woman with her baby,
Sitting vis-à-vis ;
Baby keeps a-squalling,
Woman looks at me;
Asks about the distance;
Says it's tiresome talking,
Noises of the cars

Are so very shocking!

Market woman, careful

Of the precious casket, Knowing eggs are eggs, Tightly holds her basket; Feeling that a smash,

If it came, would surely Send her eggs to pot, Rather prematurely.

Singing through the forests,

Rattling over ridges,

Shooting under arches,

Rumbling over bridges,

Whizzing through the mountains,
Buzzing o'er the vale,-
Bless me! this is pleasant,
Riding on the rail!

THE GHOST.-ANON.

'Tis about twenty years since Abel Law,

A short, round-favored, merry

Old soldier of the Revolutionary

War,

Was wedded to

A most abominable shrew.

Her eyes were like a weasel's; she had a harsh

Face, like a cranberry marsh,

All spread

With spots of white and red;

Hair of the color of a wisp of straw,

And a disposition like a cross-cut saw.
The appellation of this lovely dame
Was Ann or Nancy: don't forget the name.
Her brother David was a tall,

Good-looking chap, and that was all;

One of your great, big nothings, as we say
Here in Rhode Island, picking up old jokes,
And cracking them on other folks.
Well, David undertook one night to play
The Ghost, and frighten Abel, who

He knew,

Would be returning from a journey through
A grove of forest wood

That stood

Below

The house some distance,-half a mile or so.

With a long taper

Cap of white paper,
He took

His station near

A huge oak-tree,

Whence he could overlook

The road, and see

Whatever might appear.

It happened that about an hour before, friend Abel Had left the table

Of an inn, where he had made a halt,

With horse and wagon,

To taste a flagon

Of malt

Liquor, and so forth; which being done,

He went on,

Caring no more for twenty ghosts,

Than if they were so many posts.
David was nearly tired of waiting;
His patience was abating;

At length, he heard the careless tones
Of his kinsman's voice,

And then the noise

Of wagon-wheels among the stones.

Abel was quite elated, and was roaring

With all his might, and pouring

Out, in great confusion,

Scraps of old songs made in "the Revolution."

His head was full of Bunker Hill and Trenton;

And jovially he went on,

Scaring the whip-po-wills among the trees

With rhymes like these :-(Sings.)

"See the Yankees

Leave the hill

With baggernetts declining,

With lopped-down hats

And rusty guns,

And leather aprons shining.

"See the Yankees-Whoa! Why, what is that?"

Said Abel, staring like a cat,

As, slowly, on the fearful figure strode

Into the middle of the road.

"My conscience! what a suit of clothes

Some crazy fellow, I suppose.

Hallo! friend, what's your name! by the powers of gin,

That's a strange dress to travel in."

"Be silent, Abel; for I now have come

To read your doom;

Then hearken, while your fate I now declare.
I am a spirit-" "I suppose you are;

But you'll not hurt me, and I'll tell you why:
Here is a fact which you can not deny ;—
All spirits must be either good

Or bad, that's understood,

And be you good or evil, I am sure

That I'm secure.

If a good spirit, I am safe. If evil,

And I don't know but you may be the Devil,-
If that's the case, you'll recollect, I fancy,
That I am married to your sister Nancy!"

THE MAN AND HIS TWO WIVES.-LE FEVRE

It happened once a certain man
Adopted the illegal plan,

Which still 'mongst heathen men survives,
Of having ('stead of one) two wives;
But not with wisdom, you will say.

Two wives he took;-the one was young,
And grace and beauty round her hung;
The other was an ancient bride,

And walking on life's down-hill side:
They lived together, in one house,

And tried their best to please their spouse.

་

h.

Each treated him with tender care,
Prepar'd his food and comb'd his hair.
These offices they shar'd, no doubt,
In equal turns, week in, week out.
The young wife blush'd to have it said
That she had married a gray head;
So, when the combing was her share,
She slily pluck'd out each white hair.

The elder dame was pleased to see
Her husband look as old as she;
So sought, when dressing up his pate,
The black ones to eradicate,—

For much she fear'd each gossip scold
Would call him young, and call her old.

The worthy man was sadly plac'd—
His youth despis'd, his age disgraced;
He found (such things the best befall)
He'd better have no wife at all;
For while each stood up for her right,
He lost his hair, both black and white;
And ere an old man he had grown,
IIe'd lost the honors of his crown.

MORAL.

Those who would a new wife wed,
Should wait until the other 's dead.

KING-MILLER-COURTIER.-ANON.

King. (Enters alone, wrapped in a cloak.) No, no, this can be no public road-that's certain. I have lost my way undoubtedly. Of what advantage is it now to be a king? Night shows me no respect; I cannot see better, nor walk so well as another man. When a king is lost in a wood, what is he more than other men? His wisdom knows not which is north, and which is south; his power a beggar's dog would bark at, and