Were silver-fringed; the driver's own was blue As the coarse frock that swung below his knee. Behind his load for shelter waded he; His mittened hands now on his chest he beat, Now stamped the stiffened cowhides of his feet, Hushed as a ghost's; his armpit scarce could hold The walnut whipstock slippery-bright with cold. What wonder if, the tavern as he past, He looked and longed, and stayed his beasts at last, Who patient stood and veiled themselves in steam While he explored the bar-room's ruddy gleam? "Before the fire, in want of thought profound, There sat a brother-townsman weatherbound. A sturdy churl, crisp-headed, bristlyeared, Red as a pepper; 'twixt coarse brows and beard His eyes lay ambushed, on the watch for fools, Clear, gray, and glittering like two bayedged pools; swear at.' "By this time Obed had his wits thawed out, And, looking at the other half in doubt, Took off his fox-skin cap to scratch his head, Donned it again, and drawled forth, 'Mean he's dead?' Jesso; he 's dead and t' other d that follers With folks that never love a thing but dollars. He pulled up stakes last evening, fair and square, And ever since there's been a row Down There. The minute the old chap arrived, you see, Comes the Boss-devil to him, and says he, "What are you good at? Little enough, I fear; We callilate to make folks useful here." Well," says old Bitters, "I expect I A shifty creature, with a turn for fun, Could swap a poor horse for a better" one, He'd a high-stepper always in his stall; Liked far and near, and dreaded therewithal. To him the in-comer, 'Perez, how d'ye do?' 'Jest as I'm mind to, Obed; how do you?' Then, his eyes twinkling such swift gleams as run Along the levelled barrel of a gun Brought to his shoulder by a man you know Will bring his game down, he continued, So, I s'pose you're haulin' wood? But you're too late ; The Deacon's off; Old Splitfoot could n't "Bitters he took the rod, and pretty | That in five minutes they had drawed crowd, And afore long the Boss, who heard the where you be; You can't go in athout a pass from me." "All right," says t' other, "only step round smart; I must be home by noon-time with the cart." Bitters goes round it sharp-eyed as a rat, Then with a scrap of paper on his hat Pretends to cipher. "By the public staff, That load scarce rises twelve foot and a half." "There's fourteen foot and over," says the driver, "Worth twenty dollars, ef it's worth a stiver; Good fourth-proof brimstone, that'll make 'em squirm, — I leave it to the Headman of the Firm; And gi'n fair satisfaction, thirty year." says he, fairer load was ever seen by me." Then, turnin' to the Deacon, “ You mean cus, None of your old Quompegan tricks with us! They won't do here: we're plain oldfashioned folks, And don't quite understand that kind o' jokes. I know this teamster, and his pa afore him, And the hard-working Mrs. D. that bore him; He would n't soil his conscience with a lie, Though he might get the custom-house thereby. Here, constable, take Bitters by the queue, And clap him into furnace ninety-two, And try this brimstone on him; if he's bright, He'll find the masure honest afore night. "This is my tale, heard twenty years With that they fell to quarrellin' so loud Men unsophisticate, rude-nerved as beats Ezra is gone and his large-hearted kind, The landlords of the hospitable mind; Good Warriner of Springfield was the last; An inn is now a vision of the past; One yet-surviving host my mind recalls, You'll find him if you go to Trenton Falls." THE ORIGIN OF DIDACTIC POETRY. WHEN wise Minerva still was young Or flirting, those twin curses, How nice they were! to rhyme with far As schoolboy's dot and carry ; The many-volumed thunder. Some augurs counted nine, some, ten; Some said 't was war, some, famine, And all. that other-minded men Would get a precious " Proud Pallas sighed, "It will not do; Against the Muse I've sinned, oh! And her torn rhymes sent flying through Olympus's back window. Then, packing up a peplus clean, She took the shortest path thence, The verses? Some in ocean swilled, And gave two strong narcotics birth, Years after, when a poet asked As one whose soul its wings had tasked 'Discriminate," she said, "betimes; You scan the addresses with dread, While he mutters his donners and wet ters, They're all from the dead to the dead! You seem taking time for reflection, CREDIDIMUS JOVEM REGNARE. But the heart fills your throat with a Insisted all the world should see jam, As you spell in each faded direction Am I tagging my rhymes to a legend? No, thank you! I've found out which wedge-end Is meant for the head of a block. Camels or whales where none there be ! Beset by doubts of every breed Once all-sufficient for men's needs, Are palimpsests that scarce disguise The tracings of still earlier lies, Themselves as surely written o'er An older fib erased before. So from these days I fly to those Where morning's eyes see nothing No crude perplexity of change, Then priests could pile the altar's sods, With whom gods spake as they with gods, And everywhere from haunted earth Then hills and groves and streams and seas Thrilled with immortal presences, Now Pan at last is surely dead, Fly thither? Why, the very air This world and that are growing dark; Still borne before him since the Fall, Try it with Zeus, 't is just the same; Give the right man a solar myth, They make things admirably plain, But one hard question will remain |