Had made it so like in every part That there was n't a chance for one to start. First of November, 'Fifty-five! This morning the parson takes a drive. "Huddup!" said the parson. Off went they. The parson was working his Sunday's text, - And the parson was sitting upon a rock, What do you think the parson found, End of the wonderful one-hoss shay. ESTIVATION. AN UNPUBLISHED POEM, BY MY LATE LATIN TUTOR. IN candent ire the solar splendor flames; How dulce to vive occult to mortal eyes, Dorm on the herb with none to supervise, Carp the suave berries from the crescent vine, And bibe the flow from longicaudate kine! To me, alas! no verdurous visions come, Me wretched! Let me curr to quercine shades! Effund your albid hausts, lactiferous maids! O, might I vole to some umbrageous clump,Depart, be off, — excede, — evade, erump! CONTENTMENT. "Man wants but little here below." LITTLE I ask; my wants are few; And close at hand is such a one, Plain food is quite enough for me; Thank Heaven for three. Amen! I care not much for gold or land; Give me a mortgage here and there, — Some good bank stock, some note of hand, Or trifling railroad share; I only ask that Fortune send A little more than I shall spend. Honors are silly toys, I know, And titles are but empty names; I would, perhaps, be Plenipo, But only near St. James; I'm very sure I should not care Jewels are bawbles; 't is a sin To care for such unfruitful things; One good-sized diamond in a pin,Some, not so large, in rings, A ruby, and a pearl, or so, -- My dame should dress in cheap attire ; (Good, heavy silks are never dear ;) — I own perhaps I might desire -Some shawls of true Cashmere,— |