My Cara Sposa went astray;

By night eloping in a sleigh,

With one whose naine begins with J,
Resolved with me she would not stay,
And be subjected to my sway;
Because I wish'd her to obey,
Without reluctance or delay,
And never interpose her nay,
Nor any secrets e'er betray.

But wives will sometimes have their way,
And cause, if possible, a fray;
Then who so obstinate as they?

She therefore left my house for aye,
Before my hairs had turn'd to gray,
Or I'd sustain❜d the least decay,
Which caused at first some slight dismay :
For I consider'd it foul play.

Now where she's gone I cannot say,
For I've not seen her since the day
When Johnston took her in his sleigh,
To his seductive arts a prey,
And posted off to Canada.
Now when her conduct I survey,
And in the scale of justice weigh,
Who blames me, if I do inveigh
Against her to my dying day?
But live as long as live I may,
I've always purposed not to pay
(Contract whatever debts she may)
A shilling for her; but I pray

That when her body turns to clay,
If mourning friends should her convey
To yonder grave-yard, they'll not lay
Her body near to Nahum Fay.'

THE DONKEY AND HIS PANNIERS.

THOMAS MOORE.

By Thomas Moore, Ireland's national poet-'The poet of all circles, and the idol of his own,' as Byron emphatically called him.

A DONKEY Whose talent for burden was wond'rous,
So much that you'd swear he rejoiced in a load,
One day had to jog under panniers so pond'rous,
That-down the poor donkey fell, smack on the road.

His owners and drivers stood round in a maze--
What! Neddy, the patient, the prosperous Neddy,
So easy to drive through the dirtiest ways,

For every description of job-work so ready!

One driver (whom Ned might have 'hail'd' as a 'brother') Had just been proclaiming his donkey's renown,

For vigour, for spirit, for one thing or other—

When, lo! 'mid his praises, the donkey came down.

But, how to upraise him?—one shouts, t'other whistles, While Jenky, the conjurer, wisest of all,

Declared that an 'over-production' of thistles—

(Here Ned gave a stare)—was the cause of his fall.

Another wise Solomon cries, as he passes

'There, let him alone, and the fit will soon cease; The beast has been fighting with other jack-asses, And this is his mode of transition to peace.

Some look'd at his hoofs, and, with learn'd grimaces, Pronounced that too long without shoes he had gone-'Let the blacksmith provide him a sound metal basis (The wiseacres said), and he's sure to jog on.'

But others who gabbled a jargon half Gaelic,

Exclaim'd, Hoot awa, mon, you're a' gane astray'And declared that 'whoe'er might prefer the metallic, They'd shoe their own donkeys with papier maché.'

Meanwhile the poor Neddy, in torture and fear,
Lay under his panniers, scarce able to groan,
And, what was still dolefuler-lending an ear

To advisers whose ears were a match for his own.

At length, a plain rustic, whose wit went so far
As to see others' folly, roar'd out as he pass'd-
'Quick-off with the panniers, all dolts as ye are,
Or your prosperous Neddy will soon kick his last.'

THE AMERICAN TRAVELLER.

This jeu d'esprit, in which many of the absurd and unpronounceable names of American towns and villages are happily hit off, is from the Orpheus C. Kerr (Office-seeker) Papers, by Robert H.

Newell, one of those semi-political, occasionally mischievous, and generally ill-timed humorous effusions, which were so common in the United States during the rebellion.

To Lake Aghmoogenegamook,
All in the State of Maine,

A man from Wittequergaugaum came

One evening in the rain.

'I am a traveller,' said he,
'Just started on a tour,
And go to Nomjamskillicook
To-morrow morn at four,'

He took a tavern-bed that night,
And with the morrow's sun,
By way of Sekledobskus went,
With carpet-bag and gun.

A week pass'd on; and next we find
Our native tourist come

To that sequester'd village called
Genasagarnagum.

From thence he went to Absequoit,

And there quite tired of Maine-
He sought the mountains of Vermont,
Upon a railroad train.

Dog Hollow, in the Green Mount State,
Was his first stopping-place,

And then Skunk's Misery display'd

Its sweetness and its grace.

By easy stages then he went

To visit Devil's Den ;

And Scrabble Hollow, by the way
Did come within his ken.

Then via Nine Holes and Goose Green,

He travell'd through the State,

And to Virginia, finally,

Was guided by his fate.

Within the Old Dominion's bounds,
He wander'd up and down,
To-day, at Buzzard Roost ensconced,
To-morrow, at Hell Town.

At Pole Cat, too, he spent a week,
Till friends from Bull Ring came,
And made him spend a day with them
In hunting forest game.

Then, with his carpet-bag in hand,

To Dog Town next he went; Though stopping at Free Negro Town, Where half a day he spent.

From thence, into Negationburg
His route of travel lay,

Which having gain'd, he left the State
And took a southward way.

North Carolina's friendly soil
He trod at fall of night,