The very maids about the house, Once only, when the flue took fire, I am not old, I am not plain, I am not crooked like the bride, That went from Number Eight. I'm sure white satin made her look As brown as any bun: But even beauty has no chance, At Number Six, they say Miss Rose Quite prodigal of darts. The imp that slew, with bended bow, I wish he had a gun; But if he had he'd never deign To shoot at Number One. It's very hard, and so it is, THE FRENCHMAN AND THE RATS.-ANON. A FRENCHMAN once who was a merry wight, And hallo! Garçon, a pot of portar too !" he said, His supper done, some scraps of cheese were left, To wished-for bed; but not a wink he slept- Our hero now undressed, popped out the light, Sans cérémonie soon the rats all ran, And on the flour-sacks greedily began; At which they gorged themselves; then smelling round Under the pillow soon the cheese they found; And while at this they regaling sat, Their happy jaws disturbed the Frenchman's nap; Who, half awake, cries out, "Hallo! hallo! Vat is dat nibbel at my pillow so? Ah! 'tis one big huge rat! Vat de diable is it he nibbel, nibbel at ?" Bawling aloud, called stoutly for a light. Bring me the bill for vat I have to pay !" The bill was brought, and to his great surprise, Ten shillings was the charge, he scarce believes his eyes; With eager haste he runs it o'er, And every time he viewed it thought it more. "Vy zounds, and zounds!" he cries, "I sall no pay; Vare all de rats do run about my head?" Plague on those rats !" the landlord muttered out; "I wish upon my word, that I could make 'em scout: I'll pay him well that can." "Vat's dat you say?" "I'll pay him well that can." "Attend to me, I pray : Vill you dis charge forego, vat I am at, And den invite de rats to sup vid you. And after dat-no matter dey be villing- For vat dey eat, you charge dem just ten shelang. And I am sure, ven dey behold de score, Dey I quit your house, and never come no more." CONNUBIAL CONFAB.-ANON. MR. AND MRS. TINDER. He. I say I will be heard, madam. She. All over the parish. Can't you speak in the house? He. I'm not allowed to speak in the house; especially when you turn the house out o'windows! I declare I never see an hour's comfort at home for you. She. Because, sir, you're never at home an hour to see it. Do I ever receive you coldly? He. No, madam, you make the house too hot to hold me. You begin it always-morning, noon, and night. She. Me! 'tis you. If you didn't begin it, I never should. He I say you do! She. I say I do not. He. I say you are a l -,a story teller! She. Pardon me, I never told a falsehood in my life. He. You have, and sworn to it. She. When was that? He. When you swore to "love, honor, and obey." She. Aye, then I grant you; but after all that was merely a joke, for neither parson or witnesses believed me. He. A joke, indeed, for She. A single life has trouble, He. But marriage makes it double, She. You're my pain, He. You're my bane. Now, I say, madam, a woman ought to give in to her husband. Nature ordained it so; she being the weaker vessel, therefore, ought to be broke. She. Not in all cases, for it often happens that a woman possesses the most animal strength. Then, how is nature at fault? For my part, I prefer The good old plan, Master let them be who can." He. Don't irritate me! She. And don't irritate me! He. Recollect, a lamb may be provoked to impatience, a saint to anger, a worm to turn again. Perpetual dropping of water will excavate marble in time; but, I'm an exception to all these, yet my sweetness of temper may be sour'd. Don't provoke me. I'm cool-I'm a cucumber! She. An onion ! He. Wormwood! She. Horse radish! He. Honey! She. Mustard ! He. Lead! She. Quicksilver ! He. Hang it, madam, I can't get a word in edgeways. She. Yes, you can, sir, when you speak daggers. He. Oh, dear-will your tongue never be worn out? can remember, and it 's as good as ever it was yet. He. I see it is. You ill use it at all times and all ways, and I mean to say you're no man— She. So do I, sir. He. No, no; I mean She. A single life has trouble, He. But marriage makes it double. She. Alas! Tom Tinder, did not you Swear to love me ever true? He. Here, my little angel, you see what a good humor I'm in again, and all in a moment, too, I'm the best-tempered man in existence, if you only know how to humor me. I'm something like a gun-I require to go through the whole process of priming and loading before I make any report. She. Then 'tis a minute gun-always going off. He. Don't be ill-natured in your remarks, I beg. You know I love you to distraction, that's the reason— She. You're always raving out at me so. Besides, you are often jealous of me-for if a gentleman only looks at me you blame me for it. |