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It use' to soun' like de mornin' breeze,
When it wakes an' rustles de gret-house trees;
'N' de marster's face de marster's face,
When eber de marster got right pleased,
Use' to shine wid 'e heavenly grace,
Same 's he count'nance had been greased.
De cellar, too, had de best ob wine
'N' brandy an' spirits dat yo' could fin',
'N' ev'rything in dyar wuz stor'd-
'Skusin' de glory ob-a de Lord.
“Warn't dyar a son ?'' Yes, sah, you knows
He's de young marster now;
But we hyar dat dey tooken he very clo's
To pay what ole marster owe:
He's done been gone ten year I s'pose,
But he's comin' back some day ob coʻse.
An' my ole ooman-she's aluz pyaird,
An' meckin' de blue-room bed,
An' every day dem sheets is yaird,
An' will be till-a she's dead;
An' de styairs she'll scour an' de room she'll ten',
Ev'y bressed day dat de Lord do sen'.

What say, marster? Yo' say you knows 8-
He's young, an' slender-like an' fyair;
Better lookin' 'n you, ob co’se.
Hi! You's he?”—Fo’ Gord, 'tis him !
'Tis de berry voice, an' eyes, an' hyar,
An' mouf, an' smile (on'y yo' aint so slim).
Bress de Lord ! I wonder whar-
Whar's d' ole ooman! Now let-a my soul
Depart in peace, fur I behol
Dy glory, Lord! I knowed yơ, chile,
I knowed yo' soon's I see yo’ face ;
Whar hez yo' been dis bressed while ?
“Done come back an' buy de place ?”
Oh! bress de Lord for all his grace !
De ravins shell hunger an' shell not lack-
D' marster, d' young marster's done come back !

PELEG ARKWRIGHT,

A BUMMER'S PHILOSOPHY. Livin' ain't by no means larky,

'Taint the thing it ought to be; Suthin’s everlastino Crooked-.

Gettin' crookeder, 'pears to me; Seems like it would be refreshin'

To be lyin' in the morgue;
Be a man! No, sir ! I'd rather

Be a small boy's yaller dorg.
Look at dorgs and cats and chickens,

Mules and other animiles ;
They don't never have no chilblains,

They don't have no corns nor biles;
They ain't bothered 'bout providin'

Hats and boots and clo's complete, They don't throw away no breeches

'Cos they're tored across the seat. They all gets a livin' somehow

'Thout the cops a askin' why, They don't go to Blackwell's Island

If they takes it on the sly;
They can have their small amusements

Can a feller? No, indeed!
If a feller takes to funnin',

See how quick he goes to seed.
Seems like there is nothin' humorous

But what goes agin' the law;
Th' aint no fun that's worth the hevin’

But it's got some kind o' flaw.
Men can't do the way they want to,

Pleasure mostly smells o' sin, Nothin' turns out up to sample

Thank you, friend, I'll take some gin, If a feller likes his bev'ridge

How d’you make him out to blame? Men don't make theirselves, that's certain

Thank you !--James, I'll take the same.

Wot's the use to blackguard liquor

It's the natural human drink,
'R' else a feller wouldn't want it-

That there settles it, I think.
Same as previous !—My er-pinion-

People – Thank you !-James, the same-
Got no right to blame a feller

'Cos he's sort o' woss iss name;
This world orter be made over,

Changed mos' every way, says I-
Mankind orter be-ic-altered !

Them's my sen’imen's. Off? Goo’-by!

DADDY HAGUE AND AUNTY PIGGIN.

DR. VALENTINE.

To render this monologue thoroughly effective, it requires a good mimio, who is able to impersonate the two characters.

This was a conversation that passed between an oldfashioned couple, and which I happened to be witness to. It was amusing to me, and probably may be so to others. Aunty Piggin was peeling potatoes at the door, when Daddy Hague happened to come along.

DADDY—" Well, aunty, bard at it, I see."
AUNTY_“Yes, daddy; how de due ? Sit down."
DADDY—“So, aunty, you keep things moving, eh "
AUNTY_" Lor', souls, yes, daddy.

When I was a gal, the young women-for we didn't have ladies in them days —they was all women, and we larned how to do women's work when we was young, and I can't leave it off now. But the gals, in these days--ah, dear!"

DADDY—“Aye, aye. The gals in these days ain't what they used to was, when you and I was young."

AUNTY—“Ah, daddy! we shan't never see any more sich days—when there was dancin' and fiddlin' on Saturday nights, and there were two fellers to every gal.”

DADDY_" Aye, aunty, and sich gals as they was, tue ! There was Hepsy Fling, that lived down to Pleasant Valley, with her uncle ; fine fat gal; weigbed four hundred and fifty, and big round as a hogshead. I recollect how all the fellers used to be arter her.

AUNTY_“I s'pose, daddy, you han't forgot there was other gals in them times, tue."

DADDY_"He, he. No; I han't forgot, aunty. There was one that ain't far off me now-he, he, he! I think I ought to remember her, for you gin the heartache to Squire Billin's son."

AUNTY—“Now, daddy, how you talk; you ought to be ashamed, you old rogue. Katy, Katy. Bring daddy a mug of cider.”

DADDY_" Yes, and I 'member how Joe Docks was lovesick arter you, tue.”

AUNTY_"Oh, go along daddy, due hold your tongue ! Katy, bring daddy some pie with his cider.”

DADDY_" Yes, and they say the passon cast an eye on

you, tue.”

AUNTY—“Now, daddy, due hush. Katy, bring one of the new chairs out of the best room for daddy to set on while he eats his pie."

DADDY—“This is better livin', aunty, than we had in the old Revolutionary War.”

AUNTY.—“Ave, daddy, I 'member the time when Gineral Washington took Bergine.”

DADDY_“Ho, aunty, you are a leetle out there."

AUNTY—“No, I'm sure I ain't; for Bergine was took and all his army; and I 'member what great rejoicin' there was."

DADDY—“Yes, aunty, but I 'members it, tue, and I know it was in the fall of the year; and I wan't fur off at the time. Now, aunty, you can't tell me nothin' abo* that, 'case it was Gineral Gates that took Bergine.”

AUNTY_“I tell you, daddy, it wan't no such thing

was Washington that took Bergine; and didn't it end the war when Bergine was took? No, no, Daddy, you are obscrupulous wild when you talk so."

DADDY—“Why, aunty, I hope you don't take me for a fool, do you ?"

AUNTY_“Daddy Hague, you needn't git into a passion about it. Lor', souls! you are as short as pie-crust !”

DADDY_"Nobody's in a passion only yourself, Aunty Piggin, and you are old enough to know better than to talk so.

AUNTY « And is it you to tell me of my age! I'm not so old but that there's others that's older. If the hen's gray, the rooster's bald; and it's not for Ralph Hague to tell me about the war. And maybe you hain't forgot the haystack, and somebody that run under it and hid himself when the reg'lars was in sight. So you got sich a good memory, maybe you can 'member that."

DADDY—“Why, aunty, I didn't spose you 'membered so much about the war, because, when I'm talkin' to you, I forgets you was alive in them days. Now, if you was like old Misses Marvin, with her gray head and rheumatiz, I shouldn't forgit how long you lived. But you look young enough to be her darghter."

AUNTY_“Katy, bring daddy another mug of cider.”

DADDY_" You han't altered a bit since you was a gal; that city gentleman that seed you at church axed what young widder that was.”

AUNTY_" Katy, bring daddy another piece of pie. Daddy, why don't you set up for a revolutionary hero, and get the pension ?"

DADDY_" Abem! very true, aunty, you are right; our company never looked after their pensions."

AUNTY “What was your company, daddy ?"
DADDY_" They called 'em Skipners."
AUNTY .6Where did they use to fight ?”
DADDY—“Why, we had a sort of roving commission.

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