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OURS, NOT MINE.

THIS humorous poem is well calculated to awaken mirth, when judiciously represented. We give it for those interested in comedy.

SOCRATES SNOOKS, a lord of creation,

A second time entered the marriage relation;
Xantippe Caloric accepted his hand

They thought him the happiest man in the land.

Ere the first waning honeymoon passed o'er his head,
One morning, to Xantippe, Socrates said,

'I think, for a man of my standing in life,

This house is too small, as I now have a wife;
So, as early as possible, carpenter Carey

Shall widen my house, my barn, and my dairy."

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Oh, Socrates deary," Xantippe replied,

I hate to hear everything vulgarly my'ed!
Whenever a gentleman speaks to his bride,
He ought to say our, and no pronoun beside;
So, whenever you talk of your chattels again,
Say our dairy, our cow-yard, and our pig-pen."

"With your leave, Mrs. Snooks, I will talk as I please; I'll speak of my horses, my gardens, my trees."

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Say our," the lady cried out in a rage;

"I wont, Mrs. Snooks, though you ask me an age."

Oh, woman, though only a piece of man's rib
If the story in Genesis tells not a fib

If your naughty companion e'er quarrels with you,
You frequently prove the test man of the two!

In the following case this was certainly true
The lovely Xantippe just pulled off her shoe,
And, laying about her on all sides at random,
The adage was verified "nil desperandum."
For Socrates Snooks, after trying in vain,

To ward off the blows that came pattering like rain,
Believing 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 battle into a blockade,

And, when Socrates said, "It's so wearisome here,"
She sweetly replied, "Say our, my dear."

At length, when he 'd reasoned the thing in his pate,
He concluded 't was useless to strive against fate,

And then, like a tortoise, protruding his head,

Said, "May we come out, ma'am, from under our bed?"

"Aha!" said his wife," Mr. Socrates Snooks,
I see you accede to my terms, by your looks.
I'll let you come out, and from this happy hour,
If you'll only obey me, I'll never look sour."

"Tis said, the next Sunday, ere going to church,
He chanced for a pair of clean trowsers to search;
Having found them, he said, with a few nervous twitches,
"My dear, may we put on our new linen breeches ?"

YANKEE STORY.

THE former remarks given on examples of this class will apply to this humorous story.

I S'POSE ye know before I got my pedelry, I ust tu work out by the month; dad had so many boys and gals, he got along without my help. Twas just like my luck to hire myself tu John Smith, that lives down the lane, across the pond, over the hill, just this side of the school-house, opposite the meeting-house, little above Uncle Seth's.

One gal, by name of Sady Smith, lived at young John's tu. I never knew a better gal in all the airth. She happened tu be a brother's daughter's only child, by her fust husband. Them Smiths were clever folks, every one on 'em. The consequence is natral. Sade and I had lots o' fun. I ust tu play, on Sady, Yankee tricks, and Sady ust tu play her Yankee tricks on me, and sometimes we used to play our Yankee tricks together.

One kinder wet and lowry arternoon, says I tu Sade, I guess I'll go a fishing; and so I went started right off tu the pond, tu try Iny luck. I fished, and fished, and fished, and I hope tu be capsized under a load of nettles, if I had a single haul bigger than my little finger. Tu tell you the whole truth, I got tired on't, when, all at once, I had a monstrus bite. What do you think it was?

A great monstrus eel, I snore! Wall, it wa'n't any body else. I strung the critter up, and took a bee-line for home. Says I tu myself, I'll have a meal out of you, any how. I was just as hungry as dad's pigs, in the morning, when they had n't nothing tu eat all the arternoon, the day afore. I went right to Sade, and says I, Sady, I want you tu cook that fish; for I am just as empty as a cider-barrel arter a corn-husking." Says she, "Oh no!" says I, “Oh do?" Says she, "I sha'n't!" Says I, "Oh yes?" Says she, "I won't!" And I had to let the critter go; for there was just this about Sade: when she would 'n't, she would 'n't, any how.

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It was about the time tu go tu bed. Some how, Sady was so

good and kind, I thought 't was nothing only natur, and so I was good-natured tu. We did 'nt use tu light ourselves tu bed, down there. Mrs. Smith was saving of her lard. When reading and prayer was over, I moused tu bed. It makes me crawl all over tu think on 't now-tu think that tarnal tricker of a Sade had put that great ice-cold eel right in my bed; and there she lay in the jining room, tickling tu death, tu hear me roar and scute out of bed. Her 'tention wa n't on him that made her, that night, I snore! Made me mad's all blazes. I told her I would come up tu her. So I went and camped in Mrs. Smith's nice down bed-alive tu.

Time passed along, and Sade had forgot all about the eel. I'd my mind made up, and all 'twas wanting on my part, was just an opportunity. At last, there came a kind of wet and lowry arternoon. I just walked out, and got my doctor stuff, and put it just in the foot of Sade's bed. That night, I went tu bed in putty good season. At last I heard Sady come whistling up stairs. Says I tu myself, says I, "Your tune 'll change afore long, old gal," and I had tu hold in-tu keep from snorting. The next thing I heard of Sade, she jumped curchunk into bed, and roared out, "Oh, Jonathan, dont you think you can cure me with paper?" Says I, "I reckon you'll find out afore long" and she fell tu kicking. I reckon she waked that nest of hornets right up. The next I heard of Sade, 'she bellowed out like a yearling calf, and dashed through my room like a streak of lightning down a bass tree in June. I had tu catch my britchaloons and leave tu, tu get rid on 'em. Down stairs I traveled, and there I saw Sade jumping up and down, right and left, Jerusalem! like Uncle darby's old gray mare, at a gineral muster. At last, the hernets kinder gin out. Says Sade tu me, says she, "I did 'n't think that of you, Jonathan." Says I tu her, “Don't you know nothing about a certain eel?" Golly! gracious! she could 'nt say a single

word.

But after that, Sally and I

Was always friends together;
And when she made a punkin pie,

She made one for this feller.

I forgot tu tell ye, Sade got stung on her toes so, she cud n't wear her shoes for a fortnit.

NO SOUND CAN AWAKE HIM TO GLORY AGAIN.

ON that lone barren isle, where the loud-roaring billows
Assail the stern rocks, while the wild tempests rave,
The hero lies still, and the dew-dropping willows,

Like fond weeping mourners, bend over his grave.

The sea storm may rage, and the hoarse thunders rattle;
He heeds not, he hears not, he's free from all pain:

He sleeps his last sleep, he has fought his last battle;
No sound can awake him to glory again.

O! shade of the mighty, where now are the legions
That rushed, but to conquer, when thou led'st them on?
Alas! they have perished in far, chilly regions,

And all but the fame of their triumphs is gone.

The trumpet may sound, and the cannon-peal rattle;
They heed not, they hear not, they 're free from all pain :
They sleep their last sleep, they have fought their last battle;
No sound shall awake them to glory again.

Yet, spirit immortal, the tomb can not bind thee;

For, like thine own eagles, that soared to the sun,

Thou spring'st from thy bondage, and leavest behind thee
Such fame as no mortal before thee had won.

Though nations may combat where war-thunders rattle,
No more, on thy steed, shalt thou sweep o'er the plain :
Thou sleep'st thy last sleep, thou hast fought thy last battle;
No sound shall awake thee to glory again.

Justice. Hats off, gentlemen-hats off! Gentlemen may keep on their wigs; but take off your hats. Zeke Crabstick, pull off your jockey-cap. Now we are all met together, we 'll call up the case of Margaret Firebrand for lickin' her husband, John Firebrand. Place the prisoner at the bar. Mrs. Firebrand, be good enough to set down on that stove; there's no fire in it. Set down there in front of the bench.

First lawyer. May it please the court, the prisoner is my client, and there's only one witness present, and he ain't here. Justice. Well, why ain't he here?

First lawyer. I don't know, your honor. Jim Crookyarn, do you know where Ike Budd is?

Ike Budd. Well, the last I seed on him, he said he was goin' to get a new petticoat for his sister Suke. I vow, there he comes now, with the petticoat under his arm.

Justice. Take the stand, Mr. Budd. Now, Mr. Budd, what do you know about Firebrand's gettin' licked by his wife?

Budd. Well, it's jist as I telled Bill Williams t'other night; he knows all about it; so ax him.

Justice. Mr. Budd, you are in a court of justice, and must tell under oath, subject to the pains and penalties of parjury, all you know about the lickin', he got.

Budd Look here, Mr. Justice; must is for the king, not for me. But I ha' n't got objection to tell what I knows to any he on the face of this arth. So all that I know about it is, that I was goin' past the house with my team-almighty smart team that, Mr. Justice; I 'spect you've seen it; them horses are so dreadful smart, they have to hold back goin' up hill.

Justice. Look here, Mr. Budd, can't you manage to slip your upper lip over your teeth? The reflection from 'em affects my

sore eyes.

Budd. Mr. Justice, my teeth's been exposed to all sorts of company, and all sorts of weather, of the last forty years, and I sha' n't try to hide 'em now. So you may rest easy on that pint. Justice. Well, proceed with the case.

Budd. Well, as I was sayin', I seed a mus goin' on; Jim Firebran' run out of the house in his leather apron, an' his wife was latherin' him with a puddin'-stick, till they come to a place where they had dried apples out a dryin'; and when he got there he run foul of an old sow and her pigs, and tumbled down kersquash on his face.

Justice. Why, I thought Ike Budd was witness for the defendant. How's this?- there's some mistake.

First lawyer. So did I, your honor. Mrs. Firebrand, how is this?

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Mrs. Firebrand. Well, the Lord a massy only knows. thought he was my witness tue. Never mind, Ike Budd, jist wait till I ketch you alone, you confounded varmint you! It wa' n't no more a puddin'-stick than you be. It was a stick that I keep to drive the hogs out of the garden. Oh, jist let me ketch you alone, I'll lick you till you can 't quiver.

Second lawyer. Please your honor, I'm the counsel for the persecution, and I move that woman be bound over to keep the peace.

Mrs. Firebrand. Who do you call bound over, you pitiful piece of patchwork!

Justice. Mrs. Firebrand, if you don't stop that mill-clapper of yours, I'll have a corn-cob stuffed in your mouth directly.

First lawyer. Please your honor, my client has got the witnesses. Mrs. Mowry, come right up, and tell all you know about it.

Justice. "T ain't no use, Mr. Lawyer; I won't hear another word. I know by the looks of that woman's eye that she's guilty; and what's more she looks jist like my first wife. Every body knows she was a monster; and I'll fine this woman for lookin' like her. What's again that woman there.

Mrs. Mowry. The bar's again me sir.