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and abowin' there, and ashakin' hands all round. Nothin' improves a man's manners like an election., " The dancin' master's abroad then ;" nothin' gives the paces equal to that; it makes them as squirmy as an eel; the cross hands and back agin, set to their partners, and right and left in great style, and slick it off at the end with a real complete bow, and a smile for all the world as sweet as a cat makes at a pan of new milk. Then they get as full of compliments as a dog is full of fleas-inquirin' how the old lady is to home; and the little boy that made such a wonderful smart answer, they never can forget it till next time; apraisin’a man's farms to the nines, and atellin' of him how scandalous the road that leads to his location has been neglected, and how much he wants to find a real complete hand that can build a bridge over his brook, and axin' him if he ever built one. When he gets the hook baited with the right fiy, and the simple critter begins to jump out of water arter it, all mouth and gills, he winds up the reel, and takes leave, athinkin' to himself, “ Now you see what's to the end of my line, I guess I'll know where to find you when I want

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There's no sort of fishin' requires so much practice as this. When bait is scarce, one worm must answer for several fish. A handful of oats in a pan, arter it brings one horse up in a pastur for the bridle, serves for another; a shakin' of it is better than a givin' of it; it saves the grain for another time. It's a poor business, arter all, is electioneering; and when

the dancin' master is abroad," he 's as apt to teach a man to cut capers and get larfed at as anything else. one that's soople enough to dance real complete. Politics takes a great deal of time, and grinds away a man's honesty near about as fast as cleaning a knife with brick dust; “it takes its steel out.” What does a critter get, arter all, for it in this country? Why, nothin' but expense and disappointment. As King Solomon says, (and that are man was up to a thing or two, you may depend, tho' our professor did say he warn't so knowin' as Uncle Sam,) it's all vanity and vexation of spirit.


Oft has it been my lot to mark
A proud, conceited, talking spark,
Returning from his finished tour,
Grown ten times perter than before :
Whatever word you chance to drop,
The travelled fool


mouth will stop ;“Sir, if my judgment you 'll allow

I've seen—and sure, I ought to know;"
So begs you'd pay a due submission,
And acquiesce in his decision.

Two travellers of such a cast,
As o'er Arabia's wilds they passed,
And on their way, in friendly chat,
Now talked of this, and then of that,
Discoursed awhile, 'mongst other matter,
Of the chameleon's form and nature.
"A stranger animal," cries one,
“ Sure never lived beneath the sun :
A lizard's body, lean and long,
A fish's head, a serpent's tongue,
Its tooth with triple claw disjoined;
And what a length of tail behind !
How slow its pace! and then its hue-
Who ever saw so fine a blue ?"

“ Hold there!" the other quick replies Tis

green; I saw it with these eyes,
As late with open mouth it lay,
And warmed it in the sunny ray:
Stretched at its ease, the beast I viewed,
And saw it eat the air for food.”

“ I've seen it, sir, as well as you,
And must again affirm it blue:
At leisure I the beast surveyed,
Extended in the cooling shade."

“ 'Tis green ! 'tis green, sir, I assure ye !"
“ Green ?” cries the other, in a fury;
“ Why, sir, d’ye think I've lost my eyes ?"
“ 'Twere no great loss,” the friend replies ;
- For if they always use you thus,
You 'll find them but of little use."

So high, at last, the contest rose,
From words they almost came to blows;
When luckily came by a third :
To him the question they referred,
And begged he'd tell them, if he knew,
Whether the thing was green or blue.

Sirs," said the umpire, cease your pother-
The creature's neither one nor t'other.
I caught the animal last night,
And view'd it o'er by candle-light;
I marked it well—'twas black as jet-
You stare—but, sirs, I've got it yet,
And can produce it.”—“ Pray, sir, do;

I'll lay my life the thing is blue." “ And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen

The reptile, you 'll pronounce him green." “ Well, then, at once to end the doubt,"

Replies the man, "I'll turn him out;
And when before your eyes I've set him,
If you doc't find him black, I 'll eat him,"
He said—then full before their sight
Produced the beast; and, lo! 'twas white!

Both stared; the man looked wondrous wise. “My children,” the chameleon cries,

Then first the creature found a tongue,– “ You all are right, and all are wrong.

When next you talk of what you view,
Think others see as well as you,
Nor wonder if


find that none Prefers your eyesight to his own."



Doctor Wisepate. Plague on her ladyship's ugly cur it has broken three bottles of bark that I had prepared myself for Lord Spleen. I wonder Lady Apes troubled me with it. But I understand it threw down her flower pots and destroyed all her myrtles. I'd send it home this minute, but I'm unwilling to offend its mistress; for, as she has a deal of money, and no relation, she may

think proper to remember me in her will. (Noise within.) Eh! what noise is that in the hall ?

(Enter Thady O'Keen, dirty and wet, followed by Robert.) T. O'Keen. But I must and will, do you see. Very pretty, indeed, keeping people standing in the hall, shivering and shaking with the wet and cold !

Robert. The mischief's in you, I believe ; you order me about as if you were my master.

Dr. W. Why, what's all this? who is this unmannerly fellow?

T. OʻK. There ! your master says you are an unmannerly fellow.

Rob. Sir, it's Lady Apes' servant: he has a letter, and says he won't deliver it into any one's hands but your honor's Now, I warrant my master will teach you better behavior. (Exit.

T. OʻK. Oh, are you sure you are Doctor Wisepate ?
Dr. W. Sure! to be sure I am.

T. OK. Och! plague on my hat, how wet it is! (Shakes his hat about the room, f-c.)

Dr. W. (lays his spectacles down and rises from the table.) Bless me! fellow, don't wet my room in that manner !

T. OʻK. Eh! Well—Oh, I beg pardon—there's the letter: and since I must not dry my hat in your room, why, as you desire it, I will go down to the kitchen, and dry it and myself before the fire. (Goes out.)

Dr. W. Here, you, sir, come back. I must teach him bet

What's your

ter manners. (Re-enter Thady O'Keen.) Hark you, fellow--whom do you live with ?

T. OʻK. Whom do I live with? why, with my mistress, to be sure, Lady Apes.

Dr. W. And pray, sir, how long have you lived with her ladyship?

T. O’K. How long ? Ever since the first day she hired me. Dr. W. And has her ladyship taught you no better manners ? T. OʻK. Manners? she never taught me any, good or bad.

Dr. W. Then, sir, I will; I'll show you how you should address a gentleman when you enter a room. name?

T. O’K. Name ?—why, it's Thady O'Keen, my jewel. What in wonder is he going to do with my name! (Aside.)

Dr. W. Then, sir, you shall be Dr. Wisepate for a while, and I'll be Thady O'Keen, just to show you how you should enter a room and deliver a letter.

T. OʻK. Eh! what? make a swap of ourselves! With all my heart. Here's my wet hat for you.

Dr. W. There, sit down in my chair. (Going.)

T. O’K. Stop, stop, honey—by my shoul you can never be Thady O'Keen without you have this little shillelagh in your fist. There.

Dr. W. Very well. Sit you down. (Takes Thady's hat, fc., and goes out.)

T. O’K. (solus.) Let me see; I never can be a doctor either, without some sort of a wig. Oh, here is one—and here is my spectacles, faith. On my conscience, I'm the thing ! (Puts on the wig awkardly, and the spectacles; then sits in the doctor's chair. Dr. Wisepate knocks.) Walk in, honey. (Helps himself to chocolate and bread and butter.)

(Re-enter Dr. Wisepate, bowing.) Dr. W. Please your honor—(Aside.) What assurance the fellow has !

T. OʻK. Speak out, young man, and don't be bashful. (Eat. ing, fc.)

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