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You, Nebuchadnezzah, whoa, sah!
Whar is you tryin' to go, sah?
I'd hab you fur to know, sah,
I's a-holdin' ob de lines.
You better stop dat prancin',
You's paw'ful fond ob dancin',
But I'll bet my yeah's advancin'
Dat I'll cure you ob yo' shines.
Look heah, mule! Better min' out;
Fus' t'ing you know you'll fin' out
How quick I'll wear dis line out
On your ugly, stubbo'n back.
You needn't try to steal up;
An' lif' dat precious heel up;
You's got to plough dis fiel' up,
You has, sah, fur a fac'.

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Dar, dat's de way to do it!
He's comin' right down to it;
Jes watch him ploughin' troo it!
Dis nigger ain't no fool.

Some folks dey would 'a' beat him;
Now, dat would only heat him--
I know jes how to treat him:
You mus' reason wid a mule.

He minds me like a nigger.
If he wuz only bigger
He'd fotch a mighty figger,
He would, I tell you! Yes, sah!
See how he keeps a-clickin'!
He's as gentle as a chicken,
And nebber thinks o' kickin'-
Whoa dar! Nebuchadnezzah!

Is this heah me, or not me?
Or is de debbil got me?
Wuz dat a cannon shot me?
Hab I laid heah more'n a week?
Dat mule do kick amazin'!
De beast was sp'iled in raisin';
But now I spect he's grazin'
On de oder side de creek.

IRWIN RUSSELL.

O the women fo'k! O the women fo'k'

But they hae been the wreck o' me; O weary fa' the women fo'k,

For they winna let a body be!

I hae thought an' thought, but darena tell,
I've studied them wi' a' my skill,
I've lo'd them better than mysell,

I've tried again to like them ill.
Wha sairest strives, will sairest rue,
To comprehend what nae man can ;
When he has done what man can do,
He'll end at last where he began.

O the women fo'k, etc.

That they hae gentle forms an' meet,
A man wi' half a look may see;
An gracefu' airs, an' faces sweet,
An' waving curls aboon the bree;
An' smiles as soft as the young rosebud,
And een sae pawky, bright, an' rare,
Wad lure the laverock frae the cludd, -
But, laddie, seek to ken nae mair!
O the women fo'k, etc.

Even but this night nae farther gane,
The date is neither lost nor lang,

I tak ye witness ilka ane,

How fell they fought, and fairly dang.
Their point they've carried right or wrang,
Without a reason, rhyme, or law,
An' forced a man to sing a sang,
That ne'er could sing a verse ava.

O the women fo'k! O the women fo'k!
But they hae been the wreck o' me;
O weary fa' the women fo'k,

For they winna let a body be!

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Where still, as opening sense her dictates wrote,
Fair virtue put a seal, or vice a blot.

The thought was happy, pertinent, and true';
Methinks a genius might the plan pursue.
I (can you pardon my presumption ?) — I,
No wit, no genius, yet for once will try.

Various the paper various wants produce, -
The wants of fashion, elegance, and use.
Men are as various; and, if right I scan,
Each sort of paper represents some man.

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Pray note the fop, half powder and half lace; Nice, as a bandbox were his dwelling-place; He's the gilt-paper, which apart you store, And lock from vulgar hands in the 'scrutoire.

Mechanics, servants, farmers, and so forth,
Are copy-paper, of inferior worth ;
Less prized, more useful, for your desk decreed;
Free to all pens, and prompt at every need.

The wretch whom avarice bids to pinch and spare,
Starve, cheat, and pilfer, to enrich an heir,
Is course brown paper, such as pedlers choose
To wrap up wares, which better men will use.

Take next the miser's contrast, who destroys Health, fame, and fortune in a round of joys; Will any paper match him? Yes, throughout; He's a true sinking-paper, past all doubt.

The retail politician's anxious thought
Deems this side always right, and that stark
naught;

He foams with censure; with applause he raves;
A dupe to rumors, and a tool of knaves;
He'll want no type, his weakness to proclaim,
While such a thing as foolscap has a name.

The hasty gentleman, whose blood runs high,
Who picks a quarrel, if you step awry,
Who can't a jest, a hint, or look endure,
What is he? what? Touch-paper, to be sure.

What are our poets, take them as they fall,
Good, bad, rich, poor, much read, not read at all?
They and their works in the same class you'll
find;

They are the mere waste-paper of mankind.

Observe the maiden, innocently sweet!
She's fair, white paper, an unsullied sheet;
On which the happy man whom fate ordains
May write his name, and take her for his pains.

One instance more, and only one I'll bring;
'Tis the great man who scorns a little thing;

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He lived at peace with all mankind,
In friendship he was true;
His coat had pocket-holes behind,
His pantaloons were blue.

Unharmed, the sin which earth pollutes
He passed securely o'er,

And never wore a pair of boots
For thirty years or more.

But good Old Grimes is now at rest,
Nor fears misfortune's frown;
He wore a double-breasted vest,
The stripes ran up and down.

He modest merit sought to find,
And pay it its desert;
He had no malice in his mind,
No ruffles on his shirt.

His neighbors he did not abuse, Was sociable and gay;

He wore large buckles on his shoes, And changed them every day.

His knowledge, hid from public gaze, He did not bring to view,

Nor make a noise, town-meeting days, As many people do.

---

ALBERT G. GREENE.

THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS.

I WROTE Some lines once on a time
In wondrous merry mood,
And thought, as usual, men would say
They were exceeding good.

They were so queer, so very queer,
I laughed as I would die;
Albeit, in the general way,
A sober man am I.

I called my servant, and he came ;
How kind it was of him,

To mind a slender man like me,
He of the mighty limb!

"These to the printer," I exclaimed, And, in my humorous way,

I added (as a trifling jest),
"There'll be the devil to pay."

He took the paper, and I watched,
And saw him peep within;
At the first line he read, his face
Was all upon the grin.

He read the next; the grin grew broad, And shot from ear to ear;

He read the third; a chuckling noise I now began to hear.

The fourth; he broke into a roar;

The fifth his waistband split ; The sixth; he burst five buttons off, And tumbled in a fit.

Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye,
I watched that wretched man,
And since, I never dare to write
As funny as I can.

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

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