We know what risks all landsmen run, That you and I are sailors!" CHARLES DIBDIN. THE LOVERS SALLY SALTER, she was a young teacher who taught, His heart, when he saw her, kept sinking and sunk, In secret he wanted to speak, and he spoke, He asked her to ride to the church, and they rode; The kiss he was dying to steal, then he stole ; At the feet where he wanted to kneel, then he knole; So they to each other kept clinging, and clung, The girl he had wished to be squeezing and squoze. "Wretch!" he cried, when she threatened to leave him, and left, "How could you deceive me, as you have deceft ?" And she answered, "I promised to cleave, and I've cleft." PHOEBE CARY. THE NANTUCKET SKIPPER MANY a long, long year ago, Nantucket skippers had a plan of finding out, though "lying low," How near New York their schooners ran. They greased the lead before it fell, And then by sounding, through the night, A skipper gray, whose eyes were dim, This ancient skipper might be found; The watch on deck would now and then One night 't was Jotham Marden's watch, And so he mused (the wanton wretch!) "We're all a set of stupid fools, To think the skipper knows, by tasting, And so he took the well-greased lead, "Where are we now, sir? Please to taste. The skipper yawned, put out his tongue, Opened his eyes in wondrous haste, And then upon the floor he sprung! The skipper stormed, and tore his hair, "Nantucket 's sunk, and here we are Right over old Marm Hackett's garden!" JAMES THOMAS FIELDS. JOHN DAVIDSON JOHN DAVIDSON and Tib his wife "Guidwife!" quo'John, "did ye see that mouse? Whar sorra was the cat ?” "A mouse ?" "Ay, a mouse. It wasna a mouse, 't was a rat.' "Na, na, Guidman, "Oh, oh! Guidwife, to think ye 've been Sae lang about the house An' no to ken a mouse frae a rat! Yon wasna a rat, but a mouse !” "I've seen mair mice than you, Guidman, Sae haud your tongue an' say nae mair "Me haud my tongue for you, Guidwife! I saw it as plain as een could see, An' I ken best what 's i' the house "Weel, weel, Guidwife, gae mak the brose, Sae up she gat an' made the brose, While John sat toastin' his taes. They suppit, an' suppit, an' suppit the brose, They suppit, an' suppit, an' suppit the brose "Sic fules we were to fa' out, Guidwife, It's a lee you tell, an' I say again It was na a mouse, 't was a rat." "Wad ye ca' me a leear to my very face? My faith, but ye craw crouse! I tell ye, Tib, I never will bear 't, -- 'T was a mouse. ""T was a rat. """Twas a mouse." Wi' that she struck him o'er the pow: "Ye dour auld doit, tak' that! Gae to your bed, ye cankered sumph! "T was a rat."""T was a mouse!"""T was a rat!" She sent the brose-cup at his heels As he hirpled ben the house; But he shoved out his head as he steekit the door, An' cried, ""T was a mouse, 't was a mouse!" Yet when the auld carle fell asleep, She paid him back for that, An' roared into his sleepin' lug, "'T was a rat, 't was a rat, 't was a rat!" The deil be wi' me, if I think It was a beast at all; Next mornin' when she swept the floor, She found wee Johnnie's ball. ANONYMOUS. AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG GOOD people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; In Islington there was a man Of whom the world might say, A kind and gentle heart he had, And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree. This dog and man at first were friends; But when a pique began, The dog, to gain his private ends, Went mad and bit the man. Around from all the neighboring streets The wondering neighbors ran, And swore the dog had lost his wits, To bite so good a man. The wound it seemed both sore and sad Το every Christian eye; And while they swore the dog was mad, But soon a wonder came to light, The man recovered of the bite; The dog it was that died. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. THE POWER OF PRAYER [THE FIRST STEAMBOAT UP THE ALABAMA.] You, Dinah! Come and set me whar de ribber-roads does meet. De Lord, He made dese black-jack roots to twis' into a seat. Umph, dar! De Lord have mussy on dis blin' ole nigger's feet. It pear to me dis mornin' I kin smell de fust o' June, I 'clar, I b'lieve dat mockin'-bird could play de fiddle soon! I know my front ones is stopped up, and things is sort o' dim; And as for Hebben - bless de Lord, and praise His holy name! Who call me? Listen down the ribber, Dinah! Don't you hyar Somebody holl'in' "Hoo, Jim, hoo?" My Sarah died las' y'ar; Is dat black angel done come back to call ole Jim from hyar? De Debble's comin' round dat bend — he 's comin', shuh enuff, A-splashin' up de water wid his tail and wid his hoof! I 'se pow'ful skeered; but neversomeless I ain't gwine run away; |