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HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL.

THE COURTIN'.

GOD makes sech nights, all white an' still
Fur'z you can look or listen,
Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill,
All silence an' all glisten.

Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown,
An' peek'd in thru the winder,
An' there sot Huldy all alone,

'Ith no one nigh to hender.

A fireplace fill'd the room's one side,
With half a cord o' wood in--
There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died)
To bake ye to a puddin'.

The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out
Towards the pootiest, bless her!
An' leetle flames danced all about

The chiny on the dresser.

Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung,
An' in amongst 'em rusted

The ole queen's-arm thet gran'ther Young
Fetch'd back from Concord busted.

The very room, coz she was in,
Seem'd warm from floor to ceilin',
An' she look'd full ez rosy agin

Ez the apples she was peelin'.
"Twas kin' o' kingdom-come to look
On sech a blessed cretur,
A dogrose blushin' to a brook
Ain't modester nor sweeter.
He was six foot o' man, A, 1,

Clean grit an' human natur';
None couldn't quicker pitch a ton,
Nor dror a furrer straighter.

He'd spark'd it with full twenty gals,
Hed squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em,
Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells--
All is, he couldn't love 'em.

But long o' her his veins 'ould run
All crinkly like curl'd maple,
The side she bresh'd felt full o' sun
Ez a south slope in Ap'il.

She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing
Ez hisn in the choir;

My! when he made Ole Hunderd ring,
She know'd the Lord was nigher.

An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer,
When her new meetin'-bunnet
Felt somehow thru its crown a pair
O' blue eyes sot upon it.

Thet night, I tell ye, she look'd some!

She seemed to've gut a new soul,
For she felt sartin-sure he'd come,
Down to her very shoe-sole.

She heered a foot, an' know'd it tu,
A-raspin' on the scraper,-
All ways to once her feelin's flew
Like sparks in burnt-up paper,
He kin' o' l'iter'd on the mat,

Some doubtfle o' the sekle,
His heart kep' goin' pity-pat,

But hern went pity Zekle.

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The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued Amazed was the Laird when the lady said

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Love, at whose shrine both popes and monarchs fall,

And e'en self-interest, that controls them all

Possess a petty power, when all combined, Compared with fashion's influence on mankind:

For love itself will oft to fashion bow:
The following story will convince you how:

A petit maître woo'd a fair,
Of virtue, wealth, and graces rare;
But vainly had preferr'd his claim,
The maiden own'd no answering flame;
At length by doubt and anguish torn,
Suspense too painful to be borne,
Low at her feet he humbly kneel'd,
And thus his ardent flame reveal'd:

"Pity my grief, angelic fair,

Behold my anguish and despair;
For you this heart must ever burn-
Oh bless me with a kind return;
My love no language can express,
Reward it, then, with happiness;
Nothing on earth but you I prize,
All else is trifling in my eyes;
And cheerfully would I resign
The wealth of worlds to call you mine.
But, if another gain your hand,
Far distant from my native land,
Far hence from you and hope I'll fly,
And in some foreign region die."

The virgin heard, and thus replied: "If my consent to be your bride

Will make you happy, then be blest;
But grant me, first, one small request;
A sacrifice I must demand,
And in return will give my hand.”

"A sacrifice! Oh speak its name,
For you I'd forfeit wealth and fame;
Take my whole fortune-every cent―"
"'Twas something more than wealth I
meant."

"Must I the realms of Neptune trace?
Oh speak the word-where'er the place,
For you, the idol of my soul,
I'd e'en explore the frozen pole;
Arabia's sandy deserts tread,
Or trace the Tigris to its head."

"Oh no, dear sir, I do not ask
So long a voyage, so hard a task;
You must but ah! the boon I want,
I have no hope that you will grant."
"Shall I, like Bonaparte, aspire
To be the world's imperial sire?
Express the wish, and here I vow,
To place a crown upon your brow."

"Sir, these are trifles," she replied-
"But, if you wish me for your bride,
You must but still I fear to speak-
You'll never grant the boon I seek."

"O say," he cried-" dear angel, say— What must I do, and I obey;

No longer rack me with suspense, Speak your commands, and send me hence."

"Well, then, dear generous youth!" she cries,

"If thus my heart you really prize,

And wish to link your fate with mine,
On one condition I am thine;
"Twill then become my pleasing duty
To contemplate a husband's beauty;
And, gazing on your manly face,
His feelings and his wishes trace;
To banish thence each mark of care,
And light a smile of pleasure there.
Oh let me, then, 'tis all I ask,
Commence at once the pleasing task;
Oh let me, as becomes my place,
Cut those huge whiskers from your
face."

She said-but oh what strange surprise
Was pictured in her lover's eyes!
Like lightning from the ground he

sprung,

While wild amazement tied his tongue :
A statue, motionless, he gazed,
Astonished, horror-struck, amazed.
So look'd the gallant Perseus, when
Medusa's visage met his ken;
So look'd Macbeth, whose guilty eye
Discern'd an air-drawn dagger" nigh;
And so the Prince of Denmark stared,
When first his father's ghost appear'd.

At length our hero silence broke, And thus in wildest accents spoke:

"Cut off my whiskers! O ye gods!

I'd sooner lose my ears by odds;
Madam, I'd not be so disgraced,
So lost to fashion and to taste,
To win an empress to my arms,
Though blest with more than mortal
charms.

My whiskers! zounds!" He said no more,

But quick retreated through the door,
And sought a less obdurate fair

To take the beau with all his hair.
SAMUEL WOODWORTH.

THE BUMBOAT WOMAN'S STORY.

With the laudable view of enhancing his country's naval pride,

When people inquired her size, Lieutenant Belaye replied,

"Oh, my ship? my ship is the first of the Hundred and seventy-ones!"

Which meant her tonnage, but people imagined it meant her guns.

Whenever I went on board he would beckon me down below: "Come down, Little Buttercup, come!" (for he loved to call me so).

And he'd tell of the fights at sea in which he'd taken a part,

And so Lieutenant Belaye won poor Poll Pineapple's heart!

I'm old, my dears, and shrivell'd, with age, But at length his orders came, and he said

and work, and grief,

My eyes are gone, and my teeth have been drawn by Time, the thief!

For terrible sights I've seen, and dangers

great I've run

one day, said he,

"I'm order'd to sail with the Hot Cross

Bun to the German Sea."

And the Portsmouth maidens wept when they learnt the evil day,

I'm nearly seventy now, and my work is For every Portsmouth maid loved good

almost done!

Lieutenant Belaye.

Ah! I've been young in my time, and I've And I went to a back, back street, with play'd the deuce with men—

I'm speaking of ten years past-I was

barely sixty then:

plenty of cheap, cheap shops, And I bought an oilskin hat, and a secondhand suit of slops,

My cheeks were mellow and soft, and my And I went to Lieutenant Belaye (and he

eyes were large and sweet,

Poll Pineapple's eyes were the standing toast of the Royal Fleet.

never suspected me),

And I enter'd myself as a chap as wanted

to go to sea.

A bumboat woman was I, and I faithfully We sail'd that afternoon at the mystic

hour of one,

served the ships With apples and cakes, and fowls and beer, Remarkably nice young men were the crew of the Hot Cross Bun,

and halfpenny dips,

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And beef for the generous mess, where the I'm sorry to say that I've heard that sailors officers dine at nights, sometimes swear,

And fine fresh peppermint drops for the But I never yet heard a Bun say anything rollicking midshipmites.

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Of all the kind commanders who anchor'd When Jack Tars meet, they meet with a
in Portsmouth Bay,
Messmate, ho! what cheer?"
By far the sweetest of all was kind Lieu- But here, on the Hot Cross Bun; it was

tenant Belaye.

Lieutenant Belaye commanded the gun

boat Hot Cross Bun,

"How do you do, my dear?"

When Jack Tars growl, I believe they growl with a big big D—

She was seven-and-thirty feet in length, But the strongest oath of the Hot Cross

and she carried a gun.

Buns was a mild "Dear me!"

Yet, though they were all well-bred, you | He up and he says, says he, “O crew of could hardly call them slick: the Hot Cross Bun, Whenever a sea was on, they were all Here is the wife of my heart, for the extremely sick; church has made us one." And whenever the weather was calm, and And as he utter'd the word, the crew went the wind was light and fair, out of their wits,

They spent more time than a sailor should

on his back, back hair.

And all fell down in so many separate fainting fits.

They certainly shiver'd and shook when And then their hair came down, or off, as

order'd aloft to run,

And they scream'd when Lieutenant-Belaye discharged his only gun.

And as he was proud of his gun-such

pride is hardly wrong—

the case might be,

And lo! the rest of the crew were simple girls, like me,

Who all had fled from their homes in a sailor's blue array,

The lieutenant was blazing away at inter- To follow the shifting fate of kind Lieutenvals all day long.

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ant Belaye.

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So he sigh'd and pined and ogled,
And his passion boil'd and bubbled,

After a fortnight's cruise, we put into port Till he blew his silly brains out,

one day,

And off on leave for a week went kind

Lieutenant Belaye,

And after a long, long week had pass'd (and it seem'd like a life) Lieutenant Belaye return'd to his ship with a fair young wife!

And no more was by it troubled.

Charlotte, having seen his body

Borne before her on a shutter,
Like a well-conducted person,
Went on cutting bread and butter.

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.

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