You're a broth of creature, In form and in feature,-- It's myself that now tells you that same, And sure, by my troth, I'll not be very wroth. If you'll plaze me by changing your name
What a swate little wife, As a partner for life, My darlint, 'tis you might be living; And I'm just the boy, To wish you much joy, When your heart it's to me you'll be giving.
I'm half dead--botheration! With sad consternation-- Of your flirting it is that I'm speaking; So plaze to be thinking, When you're winking and blinking. It's my own honest heart that you're braking.
The divil a haper, Will I stand of a caper,-- 'Twould kill me to find you deceiving; By my sowl and I'd die, And that same is no lie, Before I'd be kilt by me grieving.
Then spake but the word. My nate little bird, That you're niver a man's but mine; And straight to the praist, It's myself that'll haste, To make you my _swate waluntine_!
A youthful volunteer, the other day, out in Arkansas, was taunting a married gentleman, who had a wife and three small children depending upon him, for not rallying to the standard of his country, soon after the requisition upon that State arrived. 'Tom,' said our friend, 'you _boys_ can whip the Mexicans, but should old England take a hand in the pie, _I'll_ join, for it will require _men_ to whip the English.'
We recollect that a weekly paper was started, some years ago, in one of the Western States, the terms of which were $2,50 in advance, $3 at the end of the year--to which the editor jocosely added in a paragraph, 'and $5 if never paid.' We think that most of his subscribers took the paper upon the latter terms, since it has been non est. He played a joke upon himself.
A Frenchman, being about to remove his shop, his landlord inquired the reason, stating, at the time, that it was considered a very good stand for business. He replied, with a shrug of the shoulders, "Oh, yes, he's very good stand for de businis; by gar, me stan' all day, for nobody come to make me _move_!"
Represent me in my portrait, said a gentleman to his painter, with a book in my hand reading aloud. Paint my servant also in a corner where he cannot be seen, but in such a manner that he may hear me when I call him.