MORAL. So, oft in theologic wars The disputants, I ween, Rail on in utter ignorance Of what each other mean, And prate about an elephant Not one of them has seen! -John Godfrey Saxe. COM The Butterfly's Ball. OME take up your hats, and away let us haste The trumpeter, Gad-fly, has summoned the crew, So said little Robert, and pacing along, Saw the children of earth, and the tenants of air, And there was the Gnat, and the Dragon-fly too, Who with him the Wasp, his companion did bring, But they promised that evening to lay by their sting. And the sly little Dormouse crept out of his hole, And brought to the feast his blind brother, the Mole. And the Snail, with his horns peeping out of his shell, The viands were varions, to each of their taste, Then close on his haunches, so solemn and wise, From one branch to another, his cobwebs he slung, Hung suspended in air, at the end of a thread. He took but three leaps, and was soon out of sight, But they all laughed so hard that he pulled in his Then home let us hasten, while yet we can see, -Mrs. Henry Roscoe. HUMOROUS. The Bachelors. The old ones have wigs, and the young ones have hair, And they scent it, and curl it, and friz it with care, And turn it to dark should it chance to be fair. They are ramblers and wanderers, never at home, Making sure of a welcome wherever they roam; And every one knows that the Bachelor's den Is a room set apart for these singular menA nook in the clouds, perhaps five by four, With skylight, or no light, ghosts, goblins, and gloom, And every where known as the Bachelor's Room. These creatures, tis said, are not valued at all, And they smile for awhile, their guests to beguile, And they whirl and they twirl-they whisk and are brisk, And they whiz and they quiz, and they spy with their eye, And they sigh as they fly, For they meet to be sweet, and are fleet on their feet, [ing And bumping and jumping, and stumping, and thump- They like dashing and flashing, lashing and splashing, They are flittering and glittering, gallant and gay, At their clubs in the dubs, or with beaux in the rows, Reaching home in the morning-fie! fie, sirs, for shame— At an hour, for their sakes, I won't venture to name. But when the bachelor-boy grows old, And these butterfly days are past— When he, at length, is an odd old man, Falling, and bawling, and crawling, and sprawling, Withering, and dithering, and quivering, and shivering; Waking, and aching, and quaking and shaking, For whether a fool, or whether he's wise, B Bachelor's Hall. ACHELOR'S Hall, what a quare-lookin' place it is! Pots, dishes, pans, an' such grasy commodities, Soon it tips over-Saint Patrick! he's mad enough, He looks for the platter-Grimalkin is scourin' it! Sure, at a baste like that, swearin''s no sin; His dishcloth is missing; the pigs are devourin' it— When his male's over, the table's left sittin' so; Och, let him alone for a baste of a man! Now, like a pig in a mortar-bed wallowin', Late in the night, when he goes to bed shiverin', He crapes like a terrapin under the kiverin';- H E sat at the dinner table Grumbling Fim. With a discontented frown;"The potatoes and steak were underdone, The bread was baked too brown. The pie too sour, the pudding too sweet, "I wish you could eat the bread and pies I've seen my mother make; They are something like, and 'twould do you good Just to look at a loaf of her cake." Said the smiling wife, "I'll improve with age, But your mother has come to visit, The Song of the Housekeeper. ING a song of cleaning house, SING Pocket full of nails, Four and twenty dustpans, Scrubbing-brooms and pails, When the door is opened, Wife begins to sing : 'Just help me move this bureau here, And hang this picture; won't you dear? And tack that carpet by the door, And stretch this one a little more, And drive this nail, and screw this screw, And here's a job I have for you— I think you'll have to fix the latch ; And hang this curtain, when you're done. And won't you mend that broken chair? I'd like a hook put up right there; The bureau drawer must have a knob- I really hate to ask you, dear- And on it goes, when these are through, All in a merry jingle; And isn't it enough to make A man wish he was single? (Almost.) Putting Up o' the Stove; or, the Rime of the Economical Round 1.-They faced each other; Brown, to get an opening, sparred Adroitly. His antagonist was cautious-on its guard. Brown led off with his left to where a length of stovepipe stood And nearly cut his fingers off. (The stove allowed First Blood.) Round 2.-Brown came up swearing, in Græco-Roman style Closed with the stove, and tugged and strove at it a weary while; At last the leg he held gave way; flat on his back fell Brown, And the stove fell on top of him and claimed the First Knock-down. The fight is done, and Brown has won; his hands are rasped and sore, And perspiration and black lead stream from every pore; Sternly triumphant, as he gives his prisoner a shove, blessed stove?" And calmly Mrs. Brown to him she indicates the spot, And bids him keep his temper and remarks that he looks hot, And now comes in the sweet o' the day; the Brown holds in his gripe And strives to fit a six-inch joint into a five-inch pipe; He hammers, dinges, bends and shakes, while his wife scornfully Tells him how she would manage if only she were he. At last the joints are joined they rear a pyramid in air, Like the lion and the unicorn, a fighting for the crown; While Mistress Brown she cheerily says to him, "I expec' 'Twould be just like your clumsiness to fall and break your neck." Scarce were the piteous accents said before she was aware Of what might be called "a miscellaneous music in the air," And in wild crash and confusion upon the floor rained down Chairs, tables, tubs and stovepipes, anathemas andBrown. There was a moment's silence-Brown had fallen on the cat; She was too thick for a bookmark, but too thin for a mat, And he was all wounds and bruises, from his head to his foot, And seven breadths of Brussels were ruined with the soot. "O wedded love how beautiful, how sweet a thing thou art!" Up from her chair did Mistress Brown, as she saw him falling, start, And shricked aloud as a sickening fear did her inmost heart-strings gripe, "Josiah Winterbotham Brown, have you gone and smashed that pipe?" Then fiercely starts that Mister Brown, as one that has been wode And big his bosom swelled with wrath, and red his visage glowed; Wild rolled his eye as he made reply (and his voice was sharp and shrill), "I have not madam, but by-by-by the nine gods, I will." He swung the pipe above his head, he dashed it on the floor, And that stove pipe, as a stove-pipe, it did exist no more; Then he strode up to his shrinking wife, and his face was stern and wan, As in a hoarse, changed voice he hissed: "Send for that tinsmith's man." |