An' sent him word she'd done it, an' not to forget to write.

Tom at last got married; his wife was smart and stout,
An' she shoved up the window and slung his poetry out.
An' at each new poem's creation she gave it circulation;
An' fast as he would write 'em, she seen to their puttin' forth,
An' sent 'em east an westward, an' also south an' north.

Till Tom he struck the opinion that poetry didn't pay,
An' turned the guns of his genius, an' fired 'em another way.
He settled himself down steady, an' is quite well off already;
An' all of his life is verses, with his wife the first an' best,
An' ten or a dozen childr'n to constitute the rest.





GOIN' HOME TO-DAY.

My business on the jury's done--the quibblin' all is through--
I've watched the lawyers right and left, and give my verdict true;
I stuck so long unto my chair, I thought I would grow in;
And if I do not know myself, they'll get me there ag'in;
But now the court's adjourned for good, and I have got my pay;
I'm loose at last, and thank the Lord, I'm going home to-day.

I've somehow felt uneasy like, since first day I come down;
It is an awkward game to play the gentleman in town;
And this 'ere Sunday suit of mine on Sunday rightly sets;