"Ah! indeed! pray then, tell,

To make it look well,

What bird do you think it may lack?"

Says Pat, "Of the same

I've forgotten the name,

But the song that he sings is 'Quack! quack!'"

CHARLES F. ADAMS.

SOCRATES SNOOKS.

ISTER Socrates Snooks, a lord of creation, The second time entered the marriage relation:

Xantippe Caloric accepted his hand, And they thought him the happiest man in the land. But scarce had the honeymoon passed o'er nis head, When one morning to Xantippe, Socrates “I think, for a man of my standing in lik This house is too small, as I now have a wite: So, as early as possible, carpenter Carey Shall be sent for to widen my house and my dairy.' "Now, Socrates dearest," Xantippe replied, "I hate to hear everything vulgarly my'd; Now, whenever you speak of your chattels again, Say, our cow-house, our barn-yard, our pig-pen." "By your leave, Mrs. Snooks, I will say what I please Of my houses, my lands, my gardens, my trees." 'Say our," Xantippe exclaimed in a rage.

"I won't, Mrs. Snooks, though you ask it an age !
Ch, woman! though only a part of man's rib,
In the story in Genesis don't tell a fib,
Should your naughty companion e'er quarrel with you,
You are certain to prove the best manf the two.
In the following case this was certainly true;
For the lovely Xantippe just pulled off her shoe,
And laying about her, all sides at random,
The adage was verified—“Nil desperandum."
Mister Socrates Snocks, after trying in vain,

To ward off the blows which descended like rain-
Concluding that valor's best part was discretion-
Crept under the bed like a terrified Hessian;
But the dauntless Xantippe, not one whit afraid,
Converted the siege into a blockade.

At last, after reasoning the thing in his pate,
He concluded 'twas useless to strive against fate :
And so, like a tortoise protruding his head,
Said, "My dear, may we come out from under
bed?"

“Hah! hah!” she exclaimed, "Mr. Socrates Snooks,
i perceive you agree to my terms by your looks:
Now, Socrates-hear me- -from this happy hour,
If you'll only obey me, I'll never look sour."

" is said the next Sabbath, ere going to church, He chanced for a clean pair of trousers to search: Having found them, he asked, with a few nervous twitches,

*My dear, may we put on our new Sunday breeches?"

THE RETORT.

LD Birch, who taught the village school,
Wedded a maid of homespun habit,
He was as stubborn as a mule,
And she as playful as a rabbit.
Poor Kate had scarce become a wife

Before her husband sought to make her
The pink of country polished life,
And prim and formal as a Quaker.
One day the tutor went abroad,

And simple Katie sadly missed him ;
When he returned, behind her lord

She shyly stole, and fondly kissed him ; The husband's anger rose, and red

And white his face alternate grew: "Less freedom, ma'am!" Kate sighed and said "O, dear! I didn't know 'twas you!"

GEORGE PERKINS MORRIS

MRS. CAUDLE'S LECTURE ON SHIRT BUTTONS.

'HERE, Mr. Caudle, I hope you're in a little better temper than you were this morning. There, you needn't begin to whistle: people don't come to bed to whistle. But it's just like you; I can't speak, that you don't try to insult me. Once, I used to say you were the best creature living now, you get quite a fiend. Do let you rest? No, I won't let you rest. It's the only time I have to talk to you, and you shall hear me. I'm put upon all day long: it's very hard if I can't speak a word at night; and it isn't often I open my mouth, goodness knows!

Because once in your lifetime your shirt wanted a button, you must almost swear the roof off the house. You didn't swear? Ha, Mr. Caudle! you don't know what you do when you're in a passion. You were not in a passion, weren't you? Well, then I don't know what a passion is; and I think I ought to by this time. I've lived long enough with you, Mr. Caudle, to know that.

It's a pity you haven't something worse to complain of than a button off your shirt. If you'd some wives, you would, I know. I'm sure I'm never without ♣ needle-and-thread in my hand; what with you and the children, I'm made a perfect slave of. And what's my thanks? Why, if once in your life a button's off your shirt-what do you say “ah" at? I say once, Mr. Caudle: or twice, or three times, at most. I'm sure, Caudie, no man's buttons in the world are better looked after than yours. I only wish I'd kept the shirts you had when you were first married! I should like to know where were your buttons then?

Yes, it is worth talking of! But that's how you always try to put me down. You fly into a rage, and then, if I only try to speak, you won't hear me. That's

sure.

What would they do, Mr. Caudle?—Why, do much better without you, I'm certain.

And it's my belief, after all, that the button wasn't off the shirt; it's my belief that you pulled it off, that you might have something to talk about. Oh, you're aggravating enough, when you like, for anything! All I know is, it's very odd the button should be off the shirt; for I'm sure no woman's a greater slave to her husband's buttons than I am. I only say it's very odd.

However, there's one comfort; it can't last long. I'm worn to death with your temper, and shan't trouble you a great while. Ha, you may laugh! And I dare say you would laugh! I've no doubt of it! That's your love; that's your feeling! I know that I'm sinking every day, though I say nothing about it. And when I'm gone, we shall see how your second wife will look after your buttons! You'll find out the difference, then. Yes, Caudle, you'll think of me, then; for then, I hope, you'll never have a blessed button to your back.

DOUGLAS JERROLD.

AN AX TO GRIND.

HEN I was a little boy, I remember, one cold winter morning I was accosted by a smiling man with an ax on his shoulder. "My pretty boy," said he, "has your father a grindstone?" "Yes, sir." said I. “You are a fine little fellow," said he; will you let me grind my ax on it?" Pleased with the compliment of "fine little fellow," "Oh, yes, sir," I answered; "it is down in the shop."

"And will you, my man," said he, patting me on the head, "get me a little hot water ?" How could I refuse? I ran and soon brought a kettleful. “I am sure," continued he, “you are one of the finest lads that ever I have seen; will you just turn a few minutes for me?"

Pleased with the flattery, I went to work; and I toiled and tugged till I was almost tired to death. The school-bell rang, and I could not get away; my hands were blistered, and the ax was not half group 1.

At length, however, it was sharpened; and the ran

When I see a man, who is 'in private life a tyrant flattering the people, and making great professions of attachment to liberty, methinks, "Look out, good people! that fellow would set you turning grind stones !" BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

KRIS KRINGLE'S SURPRISE.

ITH heavy pack upon his back, And smiles upon his face,

W

Kris Kringle waded through the snow
And went at rapid pace.

His sack that made him sweat and tug
Was stuffed with pretty toys,
And up and down throughout the town
He sought the girls and boys.

Not long before, within one door,
One little Johnny Street,
By lucky chance got into pants,
And grew about two feet.

On Christmas eve he asked for leave
To hang upon a peg

The woolen stockings he had worn,
Each with its lengthy leg.

The cunning boy, on Christmas joy
With all his heart was bent,
And for old Kringle's packages
With all his might he went.
In big surprise Kris Kringle's eyes
Stuck out and stared around,
For two such stockings as those were
He ne'er before had found.

He thought he'd never get them full,
They were so strangely deep;
So, standing there upon a chair,
He took a hasty peep:
Young Johnny Street, the little cheat,
Had watched his lucky chance,
And to the stockings, at the top,
Had pinned his pair of pants.

HENRY DAVENPORT.