HE.

  You should set a good example;
    But you seem to quite forget
  That you use a thirty-dollar
          Vinaigrette.

Life.

TO SEE HER PIPE AWRY.

  Betty bouncer kept a stall
    At the corner of a street,
  And she had a smile for all. 
    Many were the friends she’d greet
  With kindly nod on passing by,
  Who, smiling, saw her pipe awry.

  Poor old lass! she loved her pipe,
    A constant friend it seemed to be;
  As she sold her apples ripe,
    With an apple on each knee,
  How she’d make the smoke-wreaths fly,
  As I’ve watched her pipe awry!

  Seasons came and seasons went,
    Only changing Betty’s store;
  Youngsters with her always spent
    Their little all and wished they’d more: 
  Timidly with upturned eye
  Staring at her pipe awry.

  Bet was always at her post
    Early morn or even late;
  Ginger beer or chestnut roast,
    Served she as she sat in state,
  On two bushel-baskets high;
  You should have seen her pipe awry!

  Little care old Betty had,
    She quietly jogged on her way;
  Never did her face look sad. 
    Although she fumed the livelong day. 
  Guiltless seemed she of a sigh. 
  I never saw her pipe her eye!

C.F.

INGIN SUMMER.

  Jest about the time when Fall
    Gits to rattlin’ in the trees,
  An’ the man thet knows it all,
    ’Spicions frost in every breeze,
  When a person tells hisse’f
    Thet the leaves look mighty thin,
  Then thar blows a meller breaf! 
    Ingin summer’s hyere agin.

  Kind-uh smoky-lookin’ blues
    Spins acrost the mountain-side,
  An’ the heavy mornin’ dews
    Greens the grass up far an’ wide,
  Natur’ raly ’pears as ef
    She wuz layin’ off a day,—­
  Sort-uh drorin in her breaf
    ’Fore she freezes up to stay.

  Nary lick o’ work I strike,
    ’Long about this time of year! 
  I’m a sort-uh slowly like,
    Right when Ingin summer’s here. 
  Wife and boys kin do the work;
    But a man with natchel wit,
  Like I got, kin ’ford to shirk,
    Ef he has a turn for it.

  Time when grapes set in to ripe,
    All I ast off any man
  Is a common co’n-cob pipe
    With terbacker to my han’;
  Then jest loose me whar the air
    Simmers ‘crost me, wahm an’ free! 
  Promised lands ull find me thar;
    Wings ull fahly sprout on me!

  I’m a loungin’ ’round on thrones,
    Bossin’ worlds f’om shore to shore,
  When I stretch my marrer-bones
    Jest outside the cabin door! 
  An’ the sunshine peepin’ down
    On my old head, bald an’ gray,
  ’Pears right like the gilted crown,
    I expect to w’ar some day.