We found it at last, and a little shed
Where they shut up the lambs at night.
We looked in, and seen them huddled thar,
So warm and sleepy and white;

And THAR Sot Little Breeches and chirped,
As peart as ever you see,

"I want a chaw of terbacker,

And that's what's the matter of me."

How did he git thar? Angels.

He could never have walked in that storm.
They jest scooped down and toted him
To whar it was safe and warm.

And I think that saving a little child,
And bringing him to his own,
Is a derned sight better business

Than loafing around the Throne.

This little poem is an imitation of what was the rude dialect of some parts of Pike County, Indiana. One must not be too critical of the roughness and the apparent irreverence of some of the lines, for the sentiment is a pleasing one. An ignorant man who believes in "God and the angels" may be forgiven for the crudity of his ideas, and the mistakes he makes in bringing up his boy, especially as he "never ain't had no show."

THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL"

TW

By W. S. GILBERT

AS on the shores that round our coasts
From Deal to Ramsgate span,

That I found alone, on a piece of stone,
An elderly naval man.

His hair was weedy, his beard was long,
And weedy and long was he;

And I heard this wight on the shore recite,
In a singular minor key:-

"O, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig."

And he shook his fists and he tore his hair

Till I really felt afraid,

For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking,

And so I simply said:

"O elderly man, it's little I know

Of the duties of men of the sea,
And I'll eat my hand if I understand
How you can possibly be

"At once a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig!"

Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which
Is a trick all seamen larn,

And having got rid of a thumping quid
He spun this painful yarn:—

""Twas in the good ship Nancy Bell
That we sailed to the Indian sea,
And there on a reef we come to grief,
Which has often occurred to me.

"And pretty nigh all o' the crew was drowned (There was seventy-seven o' soul);

And only ten of the Nancy's men

Said 'Here' to the muster-roll.

"There was me, and the cook, and the captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig,

And a bo'sun tight and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig.

"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink,

Till a hungry we did feel,

So we drawed a lot, and, accordin', shot

The captain for our meal.

"The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate,
And a delicate dish he made;

Then our appetite with the midshipmite
We seven survivors stayed.

"And then we murdered the bo'sun tight,
And he much resembled pig;

Then we wittled free, did the cook and me,
On the crew of the captain's gig.

"Then only the cook and me was left,
And the delicate question, 'Which
Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose,
And we argued it out as sich.

"For I loved that cook as a brother, I did, And the cook he worshipped me;

But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed In the other chap's hold, you see.

"I'll be eat if you dines off me,' says Tom. 'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be.

I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I;

And 'Exactly so,' quoth he.

"Say he: 'Dear James, to murder me
Were a foolish thing to do,

For don't you see that you can't cook me,
While I can and will-cook you?'

"So he boils the water, and takes the salt And the pepper in portions true

(Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot, And some sage and parsley too.

"Come here,' says he, with proper pride,

Which his smiling features tell;

""Twill soothing be if I let you see

How extremely nice you'll smell.'

"And he stirred it round, and round, and round, And he sniffed at the foaming froth;

When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals In the scum of the boiling broth.

"And I eat that cook in a week or less,

And as I eating be

The last of his chops, why I almost drops,
For a wessel in sight I see.

“And I never larf, and I never smile,

And I never lark nor play;

But I sit and croak, and a single joke
I have-which is to say: