For well he knew his vessel

With that vain wind could wrestle;
And when a wreck we thought her,
And doomed ourselves to slaughter,
How gayly he fought her,

And through the hubbub brought her,
And as the tempest caught her,
Cried, "George, some brandy and water."

And when, its force expended,
The harmless storm was ended,
And as the sunrise splendid

Came blushing o'er the sea,-
I thought, as day was breaking,
My little girls were waking,
And smiling, and making
A prayer at home for me.

- William Makepeace Thackeray.

LARRIE O'DEE

Now the widow McGee,

And Larrie O'Dee,

Had two little cottages out on the green,

With just room enough for two pig-pens between.
The widow was young and the widow was fair,
With the brightest of eyes and the brownest of hair;
And it frequently chanced, when she came in the morn
With the swill for her pig, Larrie came with the corn.
And some of the ears that he tossed from his hand,
In the pen of the widow were certain to land.

One morning said he:

"Och! Misthress McGee,

It's a waste of good lumber, this runnin' two rigs,
Wid a fancy petition betwane our two pigs!"
"Indade sur, it is!" answered Widow McGee,
With the sweetest of smiles upon Larrie O'Dee.

"And thin, it looks kind o' hard-hearted and mane,
Kapin' two friendly pigs so exsaidenly near
That whiniver one grunts the other can hear,
And yit kape a cruel petition betwane."

"If

ye

"Shwate Widow McGee,"

Answered Larrie O'Dee,

fale in your heart we are mane to the pigs,

Ain't we mane to ourselves to be runnin' two rigs?

Och! it made me heart ache whin I paped through the cracks
Of me shanty, lasht March, at yez shwingin' yer axe;
An' a bobbin' yer head an' a shtompin' yer fate,
Wid yer purty white hands jisht as red as a bate,
A-sphlittin' yer kindlin'-wood out in the shtorm,
When one little shtove it would kape us both warm!"

"Now, piggy," said she;

"Larrie's courtin' o' me,

Wid his dilicate tinder allusions to you;

So now yez must tell me jisht what I must do:
For, if I'm to say yes, shtir the swill wid yer snout;
But if I'm to say no, ye must kape yer nose out.
Now Larrie, for shame! to be bribin' a pig
By a-tossin' a handful of corn in its shwig!"
"Me darlint, the piggy says yes," answered he.
And that was the courtship of Larrie O'Dee.

-W. W. Fink.

THE RATIONALISTIC CHICKEN

Most strange!

Most queer- although most excellent a change!
Shades of the prison-house, ye disappear!
My fettered thoughts have won a wider range,
And, like my legs, are free;

No longer huddled up so pitiably;

Free now to pry and probe, and peep and peer,
And make these mysteries out.

Shall a free-thinking chicken live in doubt?

For now in doubt undoubtedly I am;

This problem's very heavy on my mind;
And I'm not one to either shirk or sham;

I won't be blinded, and I won't be blind!
Now, let me see:

First, I would know how did I get in there?
Then, where was I of yore?

Besides, why did n't I get out before?
Dear me!

Here are three puzzles (out of plenty more),
Enough to give me pip upon the brain!
But let me think again!

How do I know I ever was inside?
Now I reflect, it is, I do maintain,

Less than my reason, and beneath my pride,
To think that I could dwell

In such a paltry, miserable cell

As that old shell.

Of course I could n't! How could I have lain
Body and beak and feathers, legs and wings,
And my deep heart's sublime imaginings

In there?

I meet the notion with profound disdain;
It's quite incredible; since I declare

(And I'm a chicken that you can't deceive),
What I can't understand I won't believe!

Where did I come from, then? Ah, where indeed? This is a riddle monstrous hard to read.

I have it! Why, of course,

All things are moulded by some plastic force
Out of some atoms somewhere up in space,
Fortuitously concurrent anyhow.

There now!

That's plain as is the beak upon my face.
What's that I hear?

My mother cackling at me- just her way,

So prejudiced and ignorant, I say,

So far behind the wisdom of the day.

What's old I can't revere.

Hark at her. "You're a silly chick, my dear,
That's quite as plain, alack!

As is the piece of shell upon your back!"
How bigoted! Upon my back, indeed!
I don't believe it's there;

For I can't see it; and I do declare,
For all her fond deceivin',

What I can't see I never will believe in!

Anonymous.

THE FOXES' TAILS

(SCOTCH DIALECT)

Minister. Weel, Sandy, man; and how did ye like the sermon

the day?

Precentor. Eh?

Minister. I say, how did ye like the sermon?
Precentor. Oh, the sermon — weel

'oda - I maist forget how I likit it.

a

a

the sermon

Minister. D'ye no mind the sermon, Sandy?

Precentor. Weel — I — wadna jeest like to say that I didna

mind it, but

Minister. D'ye no mind the text, then?

Precentor. Ou, ay- I mind the text weel aneuch

mind the text.

Minister. Well, d'ye no mind the sermon?

Precentor. Bide a meenit, bide a meenit - I'm thinkin'

ay, I mind it fine.

Hoots, ay! I mind the sermon noo
Minister. What d'ye mind about it?

Precentor. Weel-weel - ye said the world was lyin' in wickedness.

Minister. Toots, man! any fule kens that. What did ye

think o' the discourse as a whole?

Precentor. I thocht it was owre lang.

Minister. Tut-tut-tut! Weel, what did ye think o't in the abstract?

Precentor. The abstract-weel, I thocht the abstract was rather drumlie noo and then, as a whole, like.

Minister. Man, d'ye understand your ain language? I ask

you, what was your opeenion o' the nature the gist, the pith, the marrow o' the discourse?

Precentor. Ay, jeest that

weel, it was it was evangelical. Minister. Evangelical! of course it was evangelical-was't no more than that?

Precentor. Ou, ay, it was gey an' conneckit.

Minister. You thickhead! Was the sermon good, bad, or indifferent there, can ye fathom that?

Precentor. Oh! that's what ye 've been speirin' aboot a' the time, is't? What for did ye no speak plain afore? Weel, it was a gude sermon -'deed it was the best I ever heard ye preach. Minister. Hoot toot! Sandy, now you're gaun owre far. Precentor. Aweel, aweel, I never saw sae few folk sleepin'

afore.

Minister. Oh! and are you in the habit, Sir, o' fallin' asleep during my pulpit ministrations?

Precentor. I wadna say but what I tak a blink noo and then. Minister. Oh! but still ye thought it was a good sermon? Precentor. Ay, it was a hantle better than the lave.

Minister. I'm much obleeged to you, Sandy, for your gude opinion.

Precentor. You're perfectly welcome. But, at the same time, if ye 'll excuse me, I would jeest like to make one observation aboot the discoorse the day- and in fac' aboot a' yer discoorses.

Minister. Ay, what's that?

Precentor. Weel, it's raither a venturesome pint tae handle; but, if ye 'll forgie the freedom, I was jeest gaun to say that in your discoorse the day - we'll no gang ony farther than the one when ye was on the tap o' an illystration it struck me that every noo and then - but ye'll no feel offended at what I'm gaun to say?

the day in the midst o't, like

--

Minister. Say awa, man, and I'll tell ye after.

Precentor. Ay, weel, in your discoorse the day every noo

and again
kittle pint out o' the Scriptures
argyment, or that

in the midst o't, like when ye was expleenin' some

ye 'll no be offended?

or when ye was in the heat o' an or else when ye-a-but noo, ye're sure

Minister. Ye donnart idiot! wull ye either say what ye've gotten to say, or else lit it alane?

Precentor. I'm coming to the pint directly. All I was gaun