« 上一页继续 »
Heigh-ho! says she,
What's that to me?
But they say, little maid, the lawyer said,
Says she, If we do,
What's that to you?
The Briefless Barrister
AN Attorney was taking a turn,
His breeches had suffered a breach,
And thus as he wandered along,
"Unfortunate man that I am!
I've never a client but grief:
The case is, I've no case at all,
And in brief, I've ne'er had a brief!
"I've waited and waited in vain,
""Tis not that I'm wanting in law,
While I have to plead for a case.
"Oh, how can a modest young man E'er hope for the smallest progressionThe profession's already so full
Of lawyers so full of profession!"
While thus he was strolling around,
On a very deep hole in the ground,
To curb his emotions, he sat
On the curbstone the space of a minute, Then cried, "Here's an opening at last!" And in less than a jiffy was in it!
Next morning twelve citizens came
('Twas the coroner bade them attend), To the end that it might be determined How the man had determined his end!
"The man was a lawyer, I hear,"
Quoth the foreman who sat on the corse. "A lawyer? Alas!" said another, "Undoubtedly died of remorse!"
A third said, "He knew the deceased,
'Twas no doubt for the want of a cause."
The jury decided at length,
After solemnly weighing the matter,
Frederick S. Cozzens
Living in the Country
IT is a good thing to live in the country. To escape from the prison-walls of the metropolis-the great brickery we call "the city"-and to live amid blossoms and leaves, in shadow and sunshine, in moonlight and starlight, in rain, mist, dew, hoarfrost, and drouth, out in the open champaign and under the blue dome that is bounded by the horizon only. It is a good thing to have a well with dripping buckets, a porch with honeybuds and sweet-bells, a hive embroidered with nimble bees, a sun-dial mossed over, ivy up to the eaves, curtains of dimity, a tumbler of fresh flowers in your bedroom, a rooster on the roof, and a dog under the piazza.
When Mrs. Sparrowgrass and I moved into the country, with our heads full of fresh butter, and cool, crisp radishes for tea; with ideas entirely lucid respecting milk, and a looseness of calculation as to the number in family it would take a good laying hen to supply with fresh eggs every morning; when Mrs. Sparrowgrass and I moved into the country, we found some preconceived notions had to be abandoned, and some departures made from the plans we had laid down in the little back parlor of Avenue G.
One of the first achievements in the country is early rising! with the lark-with the sun-while the dew is on the grass, "under the opening eyelids of the morn," and so forth. Early rising! What can be done with five or six o'clock in town? What may not be done at those hours in the country-with the hoe, the rake, the dibble, the spade, the watering-pot? To
plant, prune, drill, transplant, graft, train, and sprinkle! Mrs. S. and I agreed to rise early in the country.
Richard and Robin were two pretty men,
Early rising in the country is not an instinct; it is a sentiment, and must be cultivated.
A friend recommended me to send to the south side of Long Island for some very prolific potatoes-the real hippopotamus breed. Down went my man and, what with expenses of horsehire, tavern bills, toll-gates, and breaking a wagon, the hippopotami cost as much apiece as pineapples. They were fine potatoes, though, with comely features, and large, languishing eyes, that promised increase of family without delay. As I worked my own garden (for which I hired a landscape gardener at two dollars per day to give me instructions), I concluded that the object of my first experiment in early rising should be the planting of the hippopotamuses. I accordingly arose next morning at five, and it rained! I rose next day at five, and it rained! The next, and it rained! It rained for two weeks! We had splendid potatoes every day for dinner. "My dear," said I to Mrs. Sparrowgrass, "where did you get these fine potatoes?" "Why," said she, innocently, "out of that basket from Long Island!" The last of the hippopotamuses were before me, peeled, and boiled, and mashed, and baked, with a nice thin brown crust on the top.
I was more successful afterward. I did get some fine seedpotatoes in the ground. But something was the matter; at the end of the season I did not get as many out as I had put in. Mrs. Sparrowgrass, who is a notable housewife, said to me