But you, if I was dying to-day,

(I saw you now when you-kissed her;) I tell you, Pat, what you'd be at

You'd marry your widdy's sister!

You'd make art illigant corpse, indade,

Sleeping so sound and stiddy ;
If you could see yourself as you laid,

You'd want to come back to Biddy!
You would be dressed in your Sunday best,

As tidy as I could make you, With a sprig of something on your breast, · And the boys would come to wake you. But you, if I was dead in your stead,

(Do you think I never missed her?) I tell you, Pat, what you'd be at

You'd marry your widdy's sister!

The undertaker would drive the hearse

That has the big black feather, If there was no money left in your purse,

Your friends would club together. They'd look at your cold remains before

They followed you down to the ferry,
And the coaches standing at the door

Would go to the cemetery.
But you, if I was once in the box,

(I wonder her lips don't blister!) I tell you, Pat, what you'd be at

You'd marry your widdy's sister!

When you was under the sod I'd sigh,

And—if I could do without you Mebbe I've a strapping lad in my eye

Would come here and talk about you." A little courtin' would be divertin',

A kind voice whispering “Biddy !"

And a kiss on the sly–for what's the hurt in

A man consoling a widdy?
But you, before I was dead at all,

(Now don't deny that you kissed her!)
I tell you, Pat, what you'd be at--

You'd marry your widdy's sister.


JOSH BILLINGS. Some old bachelors git after a flirt, and don't travel as fast as she doz, and then concludes awl the female group are hard to ketch, and good for nothing when they are ketched.

A flirt is a rough thing to overhaul, unless the right dog gets after her, and then they make the very best of wives.

When a flirt really is in love, she is as powerless as a mown daisy.

Her impudence then changes into modesty, her cunning into fear, her spurs into a halter, and her pruning hook into a cradle.

The best way to ketch a flirt is tew travel ther way from which they are going, or sit down on the ground and whistle some lively tune till the flirt comes round.

Old bachelors make the flirts, and then the flirts get more than even by making the old bachelors.

A majority of flirts get married finally, for they hev a great quantity of the most dainty titbits of woman's nature, and alwus have shrewdness to back up their sweetness.

Flirts don't deal in po'try and water grewel; they hev got to hev brains, or else somebody would trade them out of their capital at the first sweep.

Disappointed luv must uv course be all on one side; this ain't any more excuse fur being an old bachelor than it iz sur a man to quit all kinds of manual labor jist out uv spite, and jine a poor-house bekase he kau't lift a tun at one pop.

An old bachelor will brag about his freedom to you, his relief from anxiety, hiz independence. This iz a dead beat, past resurrection, for everybody knows there ain't a more anxious dupe than he iz. All his dreams are charcoal sketches of boarding-school misses; he dresses, greases hiz hair, paints his grizzly mustache, cultivates bunyons and corns tew please hiz captains, the wimmen, and only gets laffed at fur his pains.

I tried being an old bachelor till I wuz about twenty years old, and came very near dying a dozen times. I had more sharp pain in one year than I hev had since, put it all in a heap. I was in a lively fever all the time.


JOSH BILLINGS. A big genius is generally a phool; he knows how to do one or two things so much that he ain't fit for nothin' else; he is like a grayhound, good for runnin' fast, that's all. Yu kan't lurn him enny more than yu can an eagle; he knows how to fli up and look at the sun without winkin', because he was born so; and when he gits up on a peak of the mountain, and gits well lit, you can't git tew him, nor he won't cum tew you, but there he sits till the dinner bell rings. After dinner he flize oph agin, and you won't see liim till supper time. They are like mummys, very curis criticrs, and keep a long time without spiling. If tha only had common sense, so that you could make taylors or shumakers ov them, thare would be sum sence of having the breed more plenty; but one or two is all that is profitable to have on hånd tew onst, and they ar enuf to kecp enny body un. easy abont what tha is goin' tew do next. Tha liv about 40 years ahed ov the times, and when the wurld ketches up with the last wun, another is born, who spends the most of his time in diggin' up the old bones that the last one berrid. About the only thing tha sho euny common sence in iz, that tha always die in debt to everybody. The most unfortunate thing about having a big genius on hand is that so menny try to imitate them, but they don't generally git enny futher up than thar vices, and thus one big genius suckles a thousand phools. They don't generally live happy because they ain't bilt right to fit things as they find them.

They ought tew have a grate place to stop in, whare thare ain't

nothin' but big generalities tew do, and whare they can play togs and ketch with the stars and krack butternut and mountain. They are curis critters.

They ain't afraid to straddle hurrykanes without enny bridle on, and stick in the spurs; but a mice nibbling in the wanescut will drive them bareheaded into the streets. They kan plant, but they kan't kultivate nor reap.

If I waz a woman, I would as soon marry a porcupine as a big genius; they are either az hot as the stove in a destrick school house, or as kold and unfeeling as the shoes on a dead omnibus hoss. A genius is like a big comet-they appear onge about so often, and make everibody so nervous, and then disappear, and though we may not at the time be able tew put our fingers on the individual good they hav dun us, still there visits is a big one, and the great reservoys are pumped up fuller, and we poor men, the rest of us, when we stick our little fountains, find the waters have been sweetened and freshened by sumbody.

ROMEO AND JULIET. It was in ancient Italy a deadly hatred grew Between old Caleb Capulet and Moses Mantague ; Now Moses had an only son, a little dapper bean, The pet of all the pretty girls, by name young Romeo. And Caleb owned a female girl, just home from boarding school, Miss Juliet was her Christian name—for short they called her Jule. To bring the lady out he gave a ball at his plantation, And thither went young Romeo, without an invitation. One Tybalt, kinsman to the host, began to growl and pout, And watched an opportunity to put the fellow out; But Caleb saw the game and said, “Now, cousin, don't be cross; Behave yourself or leave the room; are you or I the boss ?” When Juliet saw Romeo his beauty did enchant her; And Romeo he fell in love with Juliet instanter. Now, lest their dads should spoil the fun, but little time was tarried, Away to 'Squire Lawrence sped, and secretly were married.

Oh, cruel fatel that day the groom met Tybalt in the square,
And Tybalt being very drunk, at Romeo did swear.
Then Romeo his weapon drew (a knife of seven blades),
And made a gap in Tibby's ribs, that sent him to the shades.
The watchman came; he took to flight, down alley, street and square;
The Charlies ran, o'ertook their man, and took him 'fore the Mayor.
Then spoke the worthy magistrate and savagely did frown),
“Young man, you have to lose your head, or else vamose the town !"
He choose the last, and left his bride in solitude to pine;
“Ah me!” said he, " our honeymoon is nothing but moonshine;"
And then, to make the matter worse, her father did embarrass
By saying she must give her hand to noble County Paris.
“This suitor is a goodly youth; to-day he comes to woo;
If you refuse the gentleman I'll soundly wollop you."
She went to 'Squire Lawrence's cell to know what must be done;
The 'Squire bade her to go to bed and take some laudunum.
66 'Twill make you sleep and seem as dead; thus can'st thou dodge

this blow;
A humbugged man your pa will be—a blest one Romeo."
She drank, she slept, grew wan and cold; they buried her next day.
That she'd piped out her lord got word, far off in Mantua;
Quoth he, “Of life I've had enough; I'll hire Bluffkin's mule,
Lay in a pint of baldface rum and go to-night to Jule!"
Then rode him to the sepulchre, 'mong dead folks, bats and creepers,
And swallowed down the burning dose, when Juliet ope'd her

peepers. "Are you alive, or is't your ghost? Speak quick, before I go." “Alive!" she cried, "and kicking too; art thou my Romeo ?" "It is your Romeo, my faded little blossom ; Oh, Juliet ! is it possible that you were acting possum ?" "I was, indecd; now let's go home; pa's spite will have abated; What ails you, love, you stagger so; are you intoxicated ?” “No, no, my duck ; I took some stuff that caused a little fit;" He struggled hard to tell her all, but couldn't, so le quit. In shorter time than 't takes a lamb to wag his tail or jump, Poor Romco was stiff and pale as any whitewashed pump. Then Juliet seized that awful knife, and in her bosom stuck it, Let out a most terrific yell, fell down, and kicked the bucket!

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