The Wit of Women Part 22

He simply wished to ax, he said, As pastor and as friend, If wid unruffled bosom I Approached my latter end.

Now how he knew dat story I Should mightily like to know.

I 'clar to goodness, Ma.s.sa Guy, If dat ain't really you!

You say dat in your wash I sent You only one white vest; And as you'se pa.s.sin' by you t'ought You'd call and get de rest.

Now, Ma.s.sa Guy, about your s.h.i.+rts, At least, it seems to me Dat you is more particular Dan what you used to be.

Your family pride is stiff as starch, Your blood is mighty blue-- I nebber spares de indigo To make your s.h.i.+rts so, too.

I uses candle ends, and wax, And satin-gloss and paints, Until your wristbands s.h.i.+ne like to De pathway ob de saints.

But when a gemman sends to me Eight white vests eberry week, A stain ob har-oil on each one, I tinks it's time to speak.

When snarled around a b.u.t.ton dar's A golden har or so, Dat young man's going to be wed, Or someting's wrong, I know.

You needn't laugh, and turn it off By axing 'bout my cap; You didn't use to know nice lace, And never cared a snap What 'twas a lady wore. But folks Wid teaching learn a lot, And dey do say Miss Bella buys De best dat's to be got.

But if you really want to know, I don't mind telling you Jus' how I come by dis yere lace-- It's cur'us, but it's true.

My mother washed for Was.h.i.+ngton When I warn't more'n dat tall; I cut one of his s.h.i.+rt-frills off To dress my corn-cob doll; And when de General saw de s.h.i.+rt, He jus' was mad enough To tink he got to hold review Widout his best Dutch ruff.

Ma'am said she 'lowed it was de calf Dat had done chawed it off; But when de General heard dat ar, He answered with a scoff; He said de marks warn't don' of teef, But plainly dose ob shears; An' den he showed her to de do'

And cuffed me on ye years.

And when my ma'am arribed at home She stretched me 'cross her lap, Den took de lace away from me An' sewed it on her cap.

And when I dies I hope dat dey Wid it my shroud will trim.

Den when we meets on Judgment Day, I'll gib it back to him.

So dat's my story, Ma.s.sa Guy, Maybe I's little wit; But I has larned to, when I'm wrong, Make a clean breast ob it.

Den keep a conscience smooth and white (You can't if much you flirt), And an unruffled bosom, like De General's Sunday s.h.i.+rt.

HAT, ULSTER AND ALL.

BY CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES.

_John Verity's Experience._

I saw the congregation rise, And in it, to my great surprise, A Kossuth-covered head.

I looked and looked, and looked again, To make quite sure my sight was plain, Then to myself I said:

That fellow surely is a Jew, To whom the Christian faith is new, Nor is it strange, indeed, If used to wear his hat in church, His manners leave him in the lurch Upon a change of creed.

Joining my friend on going out, Conjecture soon was put to rout By smothered laugh of his: Ha! ha! too good, too good, no Jew, Dear fellow, but Miss Moll Carew, Good Christian that she is!

Bad blunder all I have to say, It is a most unchristian way To rig Miss Moll Carew-- She has my hat, my cut of hair, Just such an ulster as I wear, And heaven knows what else, too.

AUCTION EXTRAORDINARY.

BY LUCRETIA DAVIDSON.

I dreamed a dream in the midst of my slumbers, And as fast as I dreamed it, it came into numbers; My thoughts ran along in such beautiful meter, I'm sure I ne'er saw any poetry sweeter: It seemed that a law had been recently made That a tax on old bachelors' pates should be laid; And in order to make them all willing to marry, The tax was as large as a man could well carry.

The bachelors grumbled and said 'twas no use-- 'Twas horrid injustice and horrid abuse, And declared that to save their own hearts' blood from spilling, Of such a vile tax they would not pay a s.h.i.+lling.

But the rulers determined them still to pursue, So they set all the old bachelors up at vendue: A crier was sent through the town to and fro, To rattle his bell and a trumpet to blow, And to call out to all he might meet in his way, "Ho! forty old bachelors sold here to-day!"

And presently all the old maids in the town, Each in her very best bonnet and gown, From thirty to sixty, fair, plain, red and pale, Of every description, all flocked to the sale.

The auctioneer then in his labor began, And called out aloud, as he held up a man, "How much for a bachelor? Who wants to buy?"

In a twink, every maiden responsed, "I--I!"

In short, at a highly extravagant price, The bachelors all were sold off in a trice: And forty old maidens, some younger, some older, Each lugged an old bachelor home on her shoulder.

A APELE FOR ARE TO THE s.e.xTANT.

BY ARABELLA WILSON.

O s.e.xtant of the meetinouse which sweeps And dusts, or is supposed to! and makes fiers, And lites the gas, and sumtimes leaves a screw loose, In which case it smells orful--wus than lampile; And wrings the Bel and toles it when men dies To the grief of survivin' pardners, and sweeps paths, And for these servaces gits $100 per annum; Wich them that thinks deer let 'em try it; Gittin up before starlite in all wethers, and Kindlin' fiers when the wether is as cold As zero, and like as not green wood for kindlins (I wouldn't be hierd to do it for no sum); But o s.e.xtant there are one kermodity Wuth more than gold which don't cost nuthin; Wuth more than anything except the Sole of man!

I mean pewer Are, s.e.xtant, I mean pewer Are!

O it is plenty out o' dores, so plenty it doant no What on airth to do with itself, but flize about Scatterin leaves and bloin off men's hats; In short its jest as free as Are out dores; But O s.e.xtant! in our church its scarce as piety, Scarce as bankbills when ajunts beg for mishuns, Which sum say is purty often, taint nuthin to me, What I give aint nuthing to n.o.body; but O s.e.xtant!

You shet 500 men women and children Spes.h.i.+ly the latter, up in a t.i.te place, Sum has bad breths, none of em aint too sweet, Sum is fevery, sum is scroflus, sum has bad teeth And sum haint none, and sum aint over clean; But evry one of em brethes in and out and in Say 50 times a minnet, or 1 million and a half breths an hour; Now how long will a church full of are last at that rate?

I ask you; say fifteen minnets, and then what's to be did?

Why then they must breth it all over agin, And then agin and so on, till each has took it down At least ten times and let it up agin, and what's more, The same individible doant have the privilege Of breathin his own are and no one else, Each one must take wotever comes to him, O s.e.xtant! doant you know our lungs is belluses To blo the fier of life and keep it from Going out: und how can bellusses blo without wind?

And aint wind are? I put it to your konshens, Are is the same to us as milk to babies, Or water is to fish, or pendlums to clox, Or roots and airbs unto an Injun doctor, Or little pills unto an omepath, Or Boze to girls. Are is for us to brethe.

What signifize who preaches ef I cant brethe?

What's Pol? What's Pollus to sinners who are ded?

Ded for want of breth! Why s.e.xtant when we dye Its only coz we cant brethe no more--that's all.

And now O s.e.xtant? let me beg of you To let a little are into our cherch (Pewer are is sertin proper for the pews); And dew it week days and on Sundays tew-- It aint much trobble--only make a hoal, And then the are will come in of itself (It love to come in where it can git warm).

And O how it will rouze the people up And sperrit up the preacher, and stop garps And yorns and fijits as effectool As wind on the dry boans the Profit tels of.

--_Christian Weekly._

CHAPTER IX.

GOOD-NATURED SATIRE.

Women show their sense of humor in ridiculing the foibles of their own s.e.x, as Miss Carlotta Perry seeing the danger of "higher education," and Helen Gray Cone laughing over the exaggerated ravings and moanings of a stage-struck girl, or the very one-sided sermon of a sentimental goose.

A MODERN MINERVA.

BY CARLOTTA PERRY.

'Twas the height of the gay season, and I cannot tell the reason, But at a dinner party given by Mrs. Major Thwing It became my pleasant duty to take out a famous beauty-- The prettiest woman present. I was happy as a king.

Her dress beyond a question was an artist's best creation; A miracle of loveliness was she from crown to toe.

Her smile was sweet as could be, her voice just as it should be-- Not high, and sharp, and wiry, but musical and low.

Her hair was soft and flossy, golden, plentiful and glossy; Her eyes, so blue and sunny, shone with every inward grace; I could see that every fellow in the room was really yellow With jealousy, and wished himself that moment in my place.

As the turtle soup we tasted, like a gallant man I hasted To pay some pretty tribute to this muslin, silk, and gauze; But she turned and softly asked me--and I own the question tasked me-- What were my fixed opinions on the present Suffrage laws.

I admired a lovely blossom resting on her gentle bosom; The remark I thought a safe one--I could hardly made a worse; With a smile like any Venus, she gave me its name and genus, And opened very calmly a botanical discourse.

But I speedily recovered. As her taper fingers hovered, Like a tender benediction, in a little bit of fish, Further to impair digestion, she brought up the Eastern Question.

By that time I fully echoed that other fellow's wish.