Then to his last informant he referred,

And begged to know if true what he had heard. "Did you, sir, throw up a black crow?".

"Bless me! how people propagate a lie!

"Not I!"

Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one,

And here I find at last all comes to none !

Did you say nothing of a crow at all?"

"Crow

crow perhaps I might, now I recall

The matter over.". "And pray, sir, what was 't?"
"Why, I was horrid sick, and, at the last,
I did throw up, and told my neighbor so,
Something that was as black, sir, as a crow."

CCCXXVIII.

HELPS TO READ.

Byrom.

A

CERTAIN artist

I've forgot his name

Had got, for making spectacles, a fame,

Or, "helps to read," as, when they first were sold,
Was writ upon his glaring sign in gold;

And, for all uses to be had from glass,
His were allowed by readers to surpass.
There came a man into his shop one day
"Are you the spectacle contriver, pray?"
"Yes sir," said he, "I can in that affair
Contrive to please you, if you want a pair."
"Can you? pray do, then." So at first he chose
To place a youngish pair upon
his nose;

And, book produced, to see how they would fit,
Asked how he liked them. "Like 'em!

"Then, sir, I fancy, if you please to try,
These in my hand will better suit your eye?

66

not a bit."

"No, but they don't.” - Well, come, sir, if you please, Here is another sort; we 'll e'en try these;

Still somewhat more they magnify the letter,
Now, sir?

"Why, now, I'm not a bit the better.". "No! here, take these which magnify still more, How do they fit "?" Like all the rest before! "

In short, they tried a whole assortment through,
But all in vain, for none of them would do.
The operator, much surprised to find

So odd a case, thought, sure the man is blind!
"What sort of eyes can you have got?" said he.
"Why very good ones, friend, as you may see."
"Yes,
perceive the clearness of the ball.
Pray let me ask you Can you read at all?"
"No! you great blockhead!

Of paying you for any

If I could, what need

-'helps to read?"

And so he left the maker in a heat,

Resolved to post him for an arrant cheat.

Byrom.

I

CCCXXIX.

THE THROES OF SCIENCE.

RESIDE at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful
James;

I am not up to small deceit, or any sinful games;

And I'll tell in simple language what I know about the row That broke up our society upon the Stanislaus.

But first I would remark that it's not a proper plan
For any scientific gent to whale his fellow-man;

And if a member don't agree with his peculiar whim,
To lay for that same member for to "put a head

on him.

Nothing could be finer, or more beautiful for to see,
Than the first six months' proceedings of that same society;

Till Brown of Calaveras brought a lot of fossil bones
That he found within the tunnel, near the tenement of Jones.

Then Brown, he read a paper, and he reconstructed there,
From these same bones, an animal that was extremely rare.

And Jones then asked the chair for a suspension of the rules, Till he could prove that those same bones were one of his lost mules.

Then Brown, he smiled a bitter smile, and said his greatest fault Was that he had been trespassing on Jones's family vault.

He was the most sarcastic man, this quiet Mr. Brown,
And on several occasions he had cleaned out the town.

Now, I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent
To say another is an ass, at least, to all intent;

Nor should the individual who happens to be meant
Reply by heaving rocks at him to any great extent.

Then Abner Dean, of Angel's, raised a point of order, when A chunk of old red sandstone took him in the abdomen;

And he smiled a sort of sickly smile, and curled up on the floor, And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more.

Then, in less time than I speak it, every member did engage In a warfare, with the remnants of a paleozoic age;

And the way they heaved those fossils, in their anger, was a sin, And the skull of an old mammoth caved the head of Thompson in.

And this is all I have to say of these improper games,
For I live at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James;

And I've told in simple language what I know about the row That broke up our society upon the Stanislaus.

F. Bret Harte.

A

CCCXXX.

THE SMACK IN SCHOOL.

DISTRICT school not far away,

'Mid Berkshire hills, one winter's day,

Was humming with its wonted noise

Of threescore mingled girls and boys;
Some few upon their tasks intent,
But more on furtive mischief bent,
The while the master's downward look
Was fastened on a copy-book:

When suddenly, behind his back,

Rose, sharp and clear, a rousing smack!
As 't were a battery of bliss

Let off in one tremendous kiss!
"What's that!" the startled master cries;
"That, thir,” a little imp replies,
"Wath William Willith, if you pleathe:

I saw him kith Thuthanna Peathe!"
With frown to make a statue thrill,
The master thundered, " Hither, Will!"
Like wretch o'ertaken in his track,
With stolen chattels on his back,

Will hung his head in fear and shame,
And to the awful presence came

A great, green, bashful simpleton,

The butt of all good-natured fun.

With smile suppressed, and birch upraised,
The threatener faltered, “I'm amazed
That you, my biggest pupil, should

Be guilty of an act so rude!

Before the whole set school, to boot;
What evil genius put you to 't?"

"'T was she, herself, sir," sobbed the lad;
"I did not mean to be so bad;

But when Susannah shook her curls,
And whispered I was 'fraid of girls,
And dursn't kiss a baby's doll,

I could n't stand it, sir, at all,

But up and kissed her on the spot!
I know boo-hoo I ought to not,

--

BOOK FOURTH.

STANDARD SELECTIONS

OF

DIALOGUES.