"Shall I work," she said, with a wag of the head,
"To provide for the idle and lazy their bread?"

But the rich she regarded with envy and spite;
She said 'twas a shame,-'twasn't decent nor right,-
That the haughty old squire, with his bow-legged son,
Should ride with two horses, while she rode with one.

And the crabbed old fellow, to spite her, no doubt,-
Had built a new barn like a palace throughout,

With a cupola on it, as grand as you please,

And a rooster that whirled head and tail with the breeze.

"I wish, so I do," she said, cocking her eye,

"There'd come a great whirlwind, and blow it sky-high!"
And e'en as she spoke, a loud rushing was heard,
And the barn to its very foundations was stirred.
It stood the shock bravely, but-pitiful sight!-
The wind took the old woman up like a kite!
As she sailed up aloft over forest and hill,
Her tongue, so they say, it kept wagging or still.

And where she alighted, no mortal doth know,
Or whether she ever alighted below.

MORAL.

My moral, my dears, you will find if you try;
And if you don't find any, neither can I.

De 'Sperience of de Reb'rend Quacko Strong.

WING dat gate wide, 'Postle Peter,
Ring de big bell, beat the gong,

Saints and martyrs den will meet dar
Brudder, Reb'rend Quacko Strong.

Sound dat bugle, Angel Gabr'el!
Tell de elders loud an' long,

Cl'ar out dem high seats ob heaben,
Here comes Reb'rend Quacko Strong!

Turn the guard out, Gen'ral Michael,
Arms present, de line along,

Let the band play "Conk'rin Hero
For de Reb'rend Quacko Strong.

Den bid Moses bring de crown, an'
Palms, an' weddin' gown along!

Wid processions to de landin',

Here's de Reb'rend Quacko Strong.

Joseph, march down wid your bred'ren,
Tribes, an' banners musterin' strong;

Speech of welcome from ole Abram,
Answer, Reb'rend Quacko Strong.

Tune your harp-strings tight, King David
Sing your good Ole Hundred song,
Let de serophs dance wid cymbals
'Round de Reb'rend Quacko Strong.

Angels hear me yell Hosanner
Hear my dulcem speritool song;
Halleluyer! I'm a comin',

I'm de Reb'rend Quacko Strong.

Make that white robe radder spacious,
And the waist belt strordn'ry long,
'Cause 'twill take some room in glory
For de Reb'rend Quacko Strong.

What! No one at the landin'!

'Pears like suff'n' 'nudder's wrong;

Guess I'll gib dat sleepy Peter

Fits from Reb'rend Quacko Strong.

What a narrar little gateway!

My! dat gate am hard to move, 'Who am dat?" says 'Postle Peter From the parapet above.

Uncle Peter, don't you know me-
Me a shinin' light so long?

Why de berry niggers call me

Good ole Reb'rend Quacko Strong.

Dun'no me, why! I've convarted

Hundreds o' darkies in a song, Dun'no me! nor yet my massa!

I'm de Reb'rend Quacko Strong!

Ole Nick's comin'! I can feel it
Gettin' warmer all about.

DE 'SPERIENCE OF REB'REND QUACKO STRONG.

Oh, my good, kind Kernel Peter,

Let me in, I'm all too stout

To go 'long wid Major Satan

Into dat warm climate 'mong

Fire an' brimstone. Hear me knockin',
Ole church member, Quacko Strong.

Dat loud noise am comin' nearer,

Dreffle smell like powder smoke;
'Nudder screech! Good heaben help me —
Lord, forgib dis poor ole moke.

Allers was so berry holy,

Singin' and prayin' extra long;
Now the debble's gwine to catch me,
Poor ole nigger, Quacko Strong.
Hi! dat gate swings back a little,
Mighty squeezin' to get froo!
Ole Apollyon howlin' louder,

Everything around am blue.

Bang de gate goes! an' Beelzebub,

Bunch ob wool upon his prong,

Goes along widout the soul ob

241

16

Missabul sinner, name ob Strong.

In a Paris Restaurant.

GAZE, while thrills my heart with patriot pride,
Upon the exquisite skin, rose-flushed and creamy;

The perfect little head; on either side

Blonde waves. The dark eyes, vaguely soft. and dreamy,

Hold for a space my judgment in eclipse,

Until, with half a pout, supremely dainty,

"He's reel mean"-slip from out the strawberry lips"Oh, ain't he!"

This at her consort, -youthful, black-moustached,

And diamond-studded, this reproof, whereat he

Is not to any great extent abashed.

(That youth's from "Noo Orleens" or "Cincinnatty," I'm sure.) But she,-those dark eyes doubtful, strike Her sherbet ice. Won't touch it. . . Is induced to. Result: "I'd sooner eat Mince Pie, Jim, like

We used to."

While then my too soon smitten soul recants,

I hear her friend discoursing with much feeling
Of tailors, and a garment he calls "pants."
I note into her eyes a softness stealing-

A shade of thought upon her low, sweet brow —

She hears him not-I swear I could have cried here; The escort nudges her- she starts, and-"How?

The idear!"