You'd never suspect he sold bacon And yet, just this moment, when sitting The "finest soirée of the year,”- - - And the hum of the smallest of talk,— Somehow, Joe, I thought of the "Ferry," And the dance that we had on "The Fork;" Of Harrison's barn, with its muster Of flags festooned over the wall; Of the candles that shed their soft lustre Of the moon that was quietly sleeping On the hill, when the time came to go, Of the few baby peaks that were peeping From under their bedclothes of snow; Of that ride, that to me was the rarest ; Of the something you said at the gate : Ah, Joe! then I wasn't an heiress To "the best-paying lead in the State." Well, well, it's all past; yet it's funny That I should be thinking, right there, But goodness! what nonsense I'm writing! I'm spooning on Joseph,-heigh-ho! Good-night, here's the end of my paper; But know, if you haven't got riches, HIS ANSWER TO "HER LETTER." REPORTED BY TRUTHFUL JAMES. BEING asked by an intimate party,— Which the same I would term as a friend,— Which his health it were vain to call hearty, Since the mind to deceit it might lend; For his arm it was broken quite recent, And has something gone wrong with his lung,Which it is why it is proper and decent I should write what he runs off his tongue : First, he says, Miss, he's read through your letter That with you, Miss, he challenges Fate (Which the language that invalid uses At times it were vain to relate). And he says that the mountains are fairer, (Which are words he would put in these pages, Which the same not, at date, paying wages, He remembers the ball at the Ferry, And the ride, and the gate, and the vow, (Which his blanket he's kicked on his trunk, Miss, He hopes you are wearing no willows, But are happy and gay all the while; And the same you will pardon),-he knows, Miss, And you'll still think of him in your pleasures, (Which the truth not to wickedly stifle Was his last week's "clean up,"—and his all) He's asleep, which the same might seem strange, Miss, Were it not that I scorn to deny That I raised his last dose, for a change, Miss, In view that his fever was high ; But he lies there quite peaceful and pensive. You would please to procure for me, game; Which they say York is famed for the breed, P.S.-Which this same interfering Yet if it so be I was hearing That it's just empty pockets as lies Betwixt you and Joseph, it follers, That, having no family claims, Here's my pile; which it's six hundred dollars, As is yours, with respects, TRUTHFUL JAMES. A HUMBUG iz like a bladder, good for nothing till it is blowed up, and then ain't good for nothing after it iz pricked. A bigg noze iz sed tew be a sighn ov genius-if a man's genius lays in hiz noze, i should say the sign waz a good one. Vanity iz seldom malishous. A woman (like an echo), will hav the last word. When a man is squandering hiz estate, even those who are getting it call him a phool. Men mourn for what they hav lost-wimmin for what they hain't got. JOSH BILLINGS. 1 |