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,
God sends country lawyers, an' other wise fellers,
To start the world's team wen it gits in a slough ;
Fer John P.
Robinson he

Sez the world 'll go right, ef he hollers out Gee!
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

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,
That knit his swarthy brow,
And said the gentle rig must die,
And sealed it with a vow.

Aud O! it was the gentle Pig
Lay stretched upon the ground,
And ah! it was the cruel knife
His little heart that found.

They took him then, those wicked men,
They trailed him all along;
They put a stick between his lips,

And through his heels a thong;

And round and round an oaken beam
A hempen cord they flung,

And, like a mighty pendulum,

All solemnly he swung.

Now say thy prayers, thou sinful man,
And think what thou hast done,
And read thy catechism well,
Thou bloody-minded one;

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,
That made a mock of sin,
And swore a very wicked oath,
He did not care a pin.

It was the butcher's youngest son,
His voice was broke with sighs,
And with his pocket handkerchief
He wiped his little eyes;

All young and ignorant was he,
But innocent and mild,

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,
And fed him with a stick."

It was the bloody butcher then,

That laughed as he would die,
Yet did he soothe the sorrowing child,
And bid him not to crv:

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,
So slender and so fair,

That sobbed as if her heart would break,
And tore her yellow hair;

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
Make merry with her woe,
And call her many a naughty name,
Because she whimpered so.

Ye need not weep, ye gentle ones,
In vain your tears are shed,
Ye cannot wash his crimson hand,
Ye cannot soothe the dead.

The bright sun folded on his breast
His robes of rosy flame,

And softly over all the west

The shades of evening came.

He slept, and troops of murdered Pigs
Were busy with his dreams;

Loud rang their wild, unearthly shrieks,
Wide yawned their mortal seams.