But soon a wonder came to light,
That showed the rogues they lied;
The man recover'd of the bite,

The dog it was that died.

BETSY AND I ARE OUT.

WILL CARLETON.

DRAW up the papers, lawyer, and make 'em good and stout,
For things at home are cross-ways, and Betsy and I are out, -
We who have work'd together so long as man and wife
Must pull in single harness the rest of our natʼral life.

“ What is the matter," says you? I swan! it's hard to tell!
Most of the years behind us we've pass'd by very well:
I have no other woman, she has no other man;
Only we've lived together as long as ever we can.

So I have talk'd with Betsy, and Betsy has talk'd with me;
And we've agreed together that we can never agree;
Not that we've catch'd each other in any terrible crime;
We've been a gatherin' this for years, a little at a time.

There was a stock of temper we both had, for a start;
Although we ne'er suspected 'twould take us two apart:
I had my various failings, bred in the flesh and bone,
And Betsy, like all good women, had a temper of her own.

The first thing, I remember, whereon we disagreed,

Was somethin' concerning Heaven, a difference in our creed; We arg❜ed the thing at breakfast, we arg’ed the thing at tea, And the more we arg'ed the question, the more we couldn't agree.

And the next that I remember was when we lost a cow;

--

She had kick'd the bucket, for certain, the question was only -

How?

I held my opinion, and Betsy another had;

And when we were done a-talkin', we both of us was mad.

And the next that I remember, it started in a joke;
But for full a week it lasted, and neither of us spoke:
And the next was when I fretted because she broke a bowl;
And she said I was mean and stingy, and hadn't any soul.

And so the thing kept workin', and all the self-same way;
Always somethin' to arʼge, and something sharp to say,
And down on us came the neighbours, a couple o' dozen strong,
And lent their kindest sarvice to help the thing along.

And there have been days together and many a weary week When both of us were cross and spunky, and both too proud to speak;

And I have been thinkin' and thinkin', the whole of the Summer

and Fall,

If I can't live kind with a woman, why, then I won't at all.

And so I've talk'd with Betsy, and Betsy has talk'd with me;
And we have agreed together that we can never agree;

And what is hers shall be hers, and what is mine shall be mine;
And I'll put it in the agreement and take it to her to sign.

Write on the paper, lawyer, — the very first paragraph, –
Of all the farm and live stock, she shall have her half;
For she has help'd to earn it, through many a weary day,
And it's nothin' more than justice that Betsy has her pay.

Give her the house and homestead; a man can thrive and roam,
But women are wretched critters, unless they have a home.
And I have always determined, and never fail'd to say,
That Betsy should never want a home, if I was taken away.

There's a little hard money besides, that's drawin' tol'rable pay,
A couple of hundred dollars laid by for a rainy day, —
Safe in the hands of good men, and easy to get at;
Put in another clause there, and give her all of that.

I see that you are smiling, sir, at my givin' her so much;
Yes, divorce is cheap, sir, but I take no stock in such :
True and fair I married her, when she was blithe and young,
And Betsy was always good to me, exceptin' with her tongue.

When I was young as you, sir, and not so smart, perhaps,
For me she mitten'd a lawyer, and several other chaps;
And all of 'em was fluster'd, and fairly taken down,
And for a time I was counted the luckiest man in town.

Once, when I had a fever, I won't forget it soon,

I was hot as a basted turkey and crazy as a loon,

Never an hour went by me when she was out of sight;

She nursed me true and tender, and stuck to me day and night.

And if ever a house was tidy, and ever a kitchen clean,
Her house and kitchen was tidy as any I ever seen;
And I don't complain of Betsy or any of her acts,
Exceptin' when we've quarrell'd, and told each other facts.

So draw up the paper, lawyer; and I'll go home to-night,
And read the agreement to her, and see if it's all right;
And then in the mornin' I'll sell to a tradin' man I know;
And kiss the child that was left to us, and out in the world I'll go.

And one thing put in the paper, that first to me didn't occur;
That when I am dead at last she will bring me back to her,
And lay me under the maple we planted years ago,
When she and I was happy, before we quarrell'd so.

And, when she dies, I wish that she would be laid by me;
And, lyin' together in silence, perhaps we'll then agree;
And, if ever we meet in Heaven, I wouldn't think it queer
If we loved each other the better because we've quarrell'd here.

HOW BETSY AND I MADE UP.

WILL CARLETON.

GIVE me your hand, Mr. Lawyer; how do you do to-day?
You drew up that agreement, — I s'pose you want your pay:
Don't cut down your figures; make it an X. or a V.;

For that 'ere written agreement was just the makin' of me.

Goin' home that evenin', I tell you I was blue,

Thinkin' of all my troubles, and what I was goin' to do;

And, if my hosses hadn't been the steadiest team alive,

They'd 've tipp'd me over, certain, for I couldn't see where to drive.

No, for I was laborin' under a heavy load;

No, for I was travelin' an entirely different road;

For I was a-tracin' over the path of our lives ag’in,

And seein' where we miss'd the way, and where we might have

been.

And many a corner we'd turn'd that just to a quarrel led,
When I ought to've held my temper, and driven straight ahead;
And the more I thought it over the more these memories came,
And the more I struck the opinion that I was the most to blame.

And things I had long forgotten kept risin' in my mind,

Of little matters betwixt us, where Betsy was good and kind; And these things they flash'd all through me, as you know things sometimes will,

When a feller's alone in the darkness, and every thing is still.

"But," says I, "we're too far along to take another track,
And when I put my hand to the plough I do not oft turn back;
And 'taint an uncommon thing now for couples to smash in two,”
And so I set my teeth together, and vow'd I'd see it through.

When I came in sight o' the house 'twas someʼat in the night,
And just as I turn'd a hill-top I see the kitchen light;
Which often a han'some pictur' to a hungry person makes,
But it don't interest a feller much that's goin' to pull up stakes.

And when I went in the house the table was set for me,-
As good a supper's I ever saw, or ever want to see;
And I cramm'd the agreement down in my pocket as well as I

could,

And fell to eatin' my victuals, which somehow didn't taste good.

And Betsy she pretended to look about the house,

But she watch'd my side coat pocket like a cat would watch a

mouse;

And then she went to foolin' a little with her cup,

And intently readin' a newspaper, a-holdin' it wrong side up.

And when I'd done my supper I draw'd the agreement out,
An give it to her without a word, for she know'd what 'twas about,
And then I humm'd a little tune, but now and then a note
Was bu'sted by some animal that hopp'd up in my throat.

Then Betsy she got her specks from off the mantle-shelf,
And read the article over quite softly to herself;
Read it by little and little, for her eyes is gettin' old,

And lawyers' writin' ain't no print, especially when it's cold.

And after she'd read a little she give my arm a touch,

And kindly said she was afraid I was 'lowin' her too much;

But when she was through she went for me, her face a-streamin'

with tears,

And kiss'd me for the first time in over twenty years.

I don't know what you'll think, Sir, I didn't come to inquire, —
But I pick'd up that agreement and stuff'd it in the fire;
And I told her we'd bury the hatchet alongside of the cow;
And we struck an agreement never to have another row.

And I told her in the future I would'nt speak cross or rash,
If half the crockery in the house was broken all to smash;
And she said in regard to Heaven, we'd try and learn its worth
By startin' a branch establishment and runnin' it here on Earth.

And so we sat a-talkin' three-quarters of the night,

And open'd our hearts to each other until they both grew light; And the days when I was winnin' her away from so many men Was nothin' to that evenin' I courted her over again.

Next mornin' an ancient virgin took pains to call on us,
Her lamp all trimm'd and a-burnin' to kindle another fuss;
But, when she went to pryin' and openin' of old sores,
My Betsy rose politely, and show'd her out-of-doors.

Since then I don't deny but there's been a word or two;
But we've got our eyes wide open, and know just what to do:
When one speaks cross the other just meets it with a laugh,
And the first one's ready to give up considerable more than half.

Maybe you'll think me soft, Sir, a-talkin' in this style,

But somehow it does me lots of good to tell it once in a while;
And I do it for a compliment, 'tis so that you can see

That that there written agreement of yours was just the makin' of

me.

So make out your bill, Mr. Lawyer; don't stop short of an X.;
Make it more if you want to, for I have got the checks:
I'm richer than a National Bank, with all its treasures told,
For I've got a wife at home now that's worth her weight in gold.