. Farm legends. d Bessie, an loved no one buttiier. Now Joe lay full length on the scantling overhead, And tried to make out What it all was listning to all that was done and M^as said;But somehow his balance became uncontrolled,And he on the plastering heavily yielded instanter, came down with a crash,And fell on the heads of the folks with a there his plump limbs througii the orifice swung- 62 Farm Legends. And he caught by the arms and disgracefully hung,His ponderous body, so clumsy and thick,Wedged into that posture as tight as a Liakirn Smith, by am
. Farm legends. d Bessie, an loved no one buttiier. Now Joe lay full length on the scantling overhead, And tried to make out What it all was listning to all that was done and M^as said;But somehow his balance became uncontrolled,And he on the plastering heavily yielded instanter, came down with a crash,And fell on the heads of the folks with a there his plump limbs througii the orifice swung- 62 Farm Legends. And he caught by the arms and disgracefully hung,His ponderous body, so clumsy and thick,Wedged into that posture as tight as a Liakirn Smith, by amazement made dumb those legs in the air Hanging motionless there,Concluded that this time the devil had come;And seizing a chair, he belabored them well,While the head pronounced words that no printer would spell And there let us leave them, mid outcry and come to their wits, and then settle the matter;And take for the moral this inference fair:If youre courting a girl, court her honest and squara. The Song of Home. 63 THE SONG OF HOME. Sing me a song, my Alice, and let it be your choice, So as you pipe out plainly, and give me the sweet o your voice; An it be not new-fashioned: the new-made tunes be cold, An never awake my fancy like them thats good an old. Fie on your high-toned gimcracks, with rests an beats an points, Shaking with trills an quavers—creakin in twenty joints! Sing me the good old tunes, girl, that roll right off the tongue, Such as your mother gave me when she an I was young. So said the Farmer Thompson, smoking his pipe of clay, Close by his glowing fire-place, at close of a winter day. He was a lusty fellow, with grizzled beard unshorn, Hair half combed and flowing, clothing overworn ; Boots of mammoth pattern, with many a patch and rent; Hands as hard as leather, body with labor bent; Face of resolution, and lines of pain and care, Such as the slow worlds vanguards are ever doomed to bear; While from his eyes the yearnings of unemployed de
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