south From Jethro, at Nagumscot river-mouth, A seaport town, and makes its title good With lumber and dried fish and eastern wood.

Here Deacon Bitters dwelt and kept the Store,

The richest man for many a mile of shore ;

In little less than everything dealt he,
From meeting-houses to a chest of tea;
So dextrous therewithal a flint to skin,
He could make profit on a single pin;
In business strict, to bring the balance

true

He had been known to bite a fig in two, And change a board-nail for a shinglenail.

All that he had he ready held for sale, His house, his tomb, whate'er the law allows,

And he had gladly parted with his spouse.
His one ambition still to get and get,
He would arrest your very ghost for debt.
His store looked righteous, should the
Parson come,

But in a dark back-room he peddled rum, And eased Ma'am Conscience, if she e'er would scold,

By christening it with water ere he sold. A small, dry man he was, who wore a

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;

A shifty creature, with a turn for fun,

gain

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 wait;

He made a bee-line las' night in the storm To where he won't need wood to keep

him warm.

can

Scale a fair load of wood with e'er a

man."

"Wood we don't deal in; but perhaps you'll suit,

Because we buy our brimstone by the foot:

Here, take this measurin' rod, as smooth as sin,

And keep a reckonin' of what loads comes in.

You'll not want business, for we need a lot

To keep the Yankees that you send us hot;

At firin' up they 're barely half as spry As Spaniards or Italians, though they 're dry;

At first we have to let the draught on

stronger.

But, heat 'em through, they seem to hold it longer."

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;
After we masure it, we always lay
Some on to allow for settlin' by the way.
Imp and full-grown, I've carted sulphur
here,

And gi'n fair satisfaction, thirty year."

crowd,

And afore long the Boss, who heard the

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
And just the least romantic,
Soon after from Jove's head she flung
That preternatural antic,
'Tis said, to keep from idleness

Or flirting, those twin curses,
She spent her leisure, more or less,
In writing po, no, verses.

How nice they were! to rhyme with far A kind star did not tarry;

The metre, too, was regular

As schoolboy's dot and carry;
And full they were of pious plums,
So extra-super-moral,
For sucking Virtue's tender gums
Most tooth-enticing coral.

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,
And opened, with a mind serene,
A Sunday-school in Athens.

The verses? Some in ocean swilled,
Killed every fish that bit to 'em ;
Some Galen caught, and, when distilled,
Found morphine the residuum;
But some that rotted on the earth
Sprang up again in copies,
And gave two strong narcotics birth,
Didactic verse and poppies.

Years after, when a poet asked

The Goddess's opinion,

As one whose soul its wings had tasked
In Art's clear-aired dominion,
"Discriminate," she said, "betimes;
The Muse is unforgiving;
Put all your beauty in your rhymes,
Your morals in your living."