But John P. Robinson he Sez it ain't no sech thing; an' of course so must we Parson Wilbur sez he never heerd in his life Thet th' Apostles rigged out in their swaller-tail coats An' marched round in front of a drum an' a fife, To git some on 'em office, an' some on 'em votes ; But John P. Robinson he Sez they didn't know everythin' down in Judee. Wal, it's a marcy we 've gut folks to tell us The rights an' the wrongs o' these matters, I vow, Sez the world 'll go right, ef he hollers out Gee! THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN. It was a tall young oysterman lived by the river-side; His shop was just upon the bank, his boat was on the tide; The daughter of a fisherman, that was so straight and slim, Lived over on the other bank, right opposite to him. t was the pensive oysterman that saw a lovely maid Upon a moonlight evening, a sitting in the shade; He saw her wave her handkerchief, as much as if to say, “I'm wide awake, young oysterman, and all the folks away." Then up arose the oysterman, and to himself said he, "I guess I'll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks should see; I read it in the story-book, that, for to kiss his dear, Leander swam the Hellespont, - and I will swim this here." And he has leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining stream, And he has clambered up the bank all in the moonlight gleam; O there were kisses sweet as dew, and words as soft as But they have heard the father's step, and in he leaps again! Out spoke the ancient fisherman, my daughter?" "O what was that, "'T was nothing but a pebble, sir, I threw into the water." "And what is that, pray tell me, love, that paddles off so fast?" "It's nothing but a porpoise, sir, that's been a swimming past." Out spoke the ancient fisherman, "Now bring me my harpoon! I'll get into my fishing-boat, and fix the fellow soon.' Down fell that pretty innocent, as falls a snow-white lamb, Her hair drooped round her pallid cheeks, like seaweed on a clam. Alas for those two loving ones! she waked not from her swound, And he was taken with the cramp, and in the waves was drowned; But Fate has metamorphosed them, in pity of their woe, And now they keep an oyster-shop for mermaids dowr below. OLIVER WEndell HolMES. THE SPECTRE PIG. A BALLAD. It was the stalwart butcher man, Aud O! it was the gentle Pig They took him then, those wicked men, And through his heels a thong; And round and round an oaken beam And, like a mighty pendulum, All solemnly he swung. Now say thy prayers, thou sinful man, For if his sprite should walk by night, It better were for thee, That thou wert mouldering in the ground, Or bleaching in the sea. It was the savage butcher then, It was the butcher's youngest son, All young and ignorant was he, And in his soft simplicity Out spoke the tender child: "O father, father, list to me; The Pig is deadly sick, And men have hung him by his heels, It was the bloody butcher then, That laughed as he would die, 20 "O Nathan, Nathan, what's a Pig, That thou shouldst weep and wail! Come, bear thee like a butcher's child, And thou shalt have his tail!" It was the butcher's daughter then, That sobbed as if her heart would break, And thus she spoke in thrilling tone, Fast fell the tear-drops big, "Ah! woe is me! Alas! Alas! - The Pig! The Pig! The Pig!" Then did her wicked father's lips Ye need not weep, ye gentle ones, The bright sun folded on his breast And softly over all the west The shades of evening came. He slept, and troops of murdered Pigs Loud rang their wild, unearthly shrieks, |