Ti came as quarrels sometimes do,
When warried folks vet clashing ;
There was a heavy sigh or two,
Before the fire was Hashing, —
A little stir among the clouds,
Before they rent asunder, —
A little rocking of the trees,
And then came on the thunder.
Lord ! how the ponds aud rivers boiled !
They seemed like bursting craters !
And oaks lxy scattered on the ground
As if they were p'taters ;
And all above was in a howl,
And all below a clatter, —
The earth was like a frying-pan,
Or some such hissing maiter.
It chanced to be our washing-day,
And all our things were drying ;
The storm came rearing through the
lines,
And set them all a flying ;
T saw the shirts and petticoats
Ge riding off like witches ;
T lost, ah! bitterly I wept, —
T lost my Sunday breeches!
I saw them straddling through the air,
Alas ! too late te win them ;
I saw them chase the clouds, as if
The deyil had becu in them ;
They were my darlings and my pride,
My boyhood’s ouly riches, —
“Farewell, farewell,” I faintly cried, —
“My breeches ! O ny breeches!”
That night I saw them in my dreams,
How vhanged from what I koew
them !
Tho dows had steeped their faded threads,
‘The winds had whistled through them !
I saw the wide and ghastly rents
Where demon claws had tern them ;
A hole was in their amplest part,
Ag if an ip had worn them.
IT have had many happy years,
And tailors kind and elever,
Bnt those young pantaloons have gone
Vorever and forever !
And not till fato has ent the last
OF all wy earthly stitches,
This aching heart shall cease to mourn
My loved, my long-lost breeches !
THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS
I wrote some lines once on a time
In wondrous merry mood,
And though, 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 print," 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.
THE LAST READER
I sometimes sit beneath a tree
And read my own sweet songs;
Though naught they may to others be,
Each humble line prolongs
A tone that might have passed away,
But for that scarce remembered lay.
I keep them like a lock or leaf
That some dear girl has given;
Frail record of an hour, as brief
As sunset clouds in heaven,
