EVENING AT THE FARM.

TROWBRIDGE.

OVER the hill the farm-boy goes,
His shadow lengthens along the land
A giant staff in a giant hand;
In the poplar-tree, above the spring,
The katy-did begins to sing;

The early dews are falling ;

Into the stone-heap darts the mink;
The swallows skim the river's brink;
And home to the woodland fly the crows,
When over the hill the farm-boy goes,
Cheerily calling:

'Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! co'!" Farther, farther, over the hill,

Faintly calling, calling still,

Now to her task the milkmaid goes,
The cattle come crowding through the gate,
Lowing, pushing, little and great ;
About the trough, by the farm-yard pump,
The frolicsome yearlings frisk and jump,
While the pleasant dews are falling ;-
The new milch heifer is quick and shy,
But the old cow waits with tranquil eye,
And the white stream into the bright pail flows,
When to her task the milkmaid goes,

Soothingly calling:

So, boss! so boss! so! so! so!"
The cheerful milkmaid takes her stool,
And sits and milks in the twilight cool,

Saying: "So! so, boss! so! so!"

To supper at last the farmer goes,
The apples are pared, the paper read,
The stories are told, then all to bed.
Without, the crickets' ceaseless song
Makes the shrill silence all night long ;
The heavy dews are falling.

The housewife's hand has turned the lock:
Drowsily ticks the kitchen clock;
The household sinks to deep repose,
But still in sleep the farm-boy goes,
Singing, calling :

"Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! co'!"
And oft the milkmaid, in her dreams,
Drums in the pail with the flashing streams,
Murmuring, "So, boss! so!"

THE SMACK IN SCHOOL.

W. P. PALMER.

A DISTRICT School, not far away
'Mid Berkshire hills, one winter's day,
Was humming with its wonted noise
Of threescore mingled girls and boys-
Some few upon their tasks intent,
But more on furtive mischief bent;
The while the master's downward look
Was fastened on a copy-book--

When suddenly behind his back,

Rose, loud and clear, a rousing smack,

As 'twere a battery of bliss

Let off in one tremendous kiss!

"What's that?" the startled master cries

'That, thir," a little imp replies,

"Wath William Willith, if you pleathe

I thaw him kith Thuthannah Peathe!"

With frown to make a statue thrill,
The master thundered, “Hither, Will!"
Like wretch o'ertaken in his track,
With stolen chattels on his back,
Will hung his head in fear and shame,
And to the awful presence came-
A great, green, bashful simpleton,
The butt of all good-natured fun-
With smile suppressed, and birch upraised,
The threat'ner faltered-" I'm amazed
That you, my biggest pupil, should
Be guilty of an act so rude!

Before the whole set school to boot-
What evil genius put you to 't?”
"'Twas she, herself, sir," sobbed the lad,

"I didn't mean to be so bad

But when Susannah shook her curls,
And whispered I was 'fear'd of girls,
And dassn't kiss a baby's doll,

I couldn't stand it, sir, at all!
But up and kissed her on the spot.
I know-boo hoo-I ought to not-
But, somehow, from her looks-boo hoo-
I thought she kind o' wished me to!"

FALSTAFF AND PRINCE HENRY.

Enter Poins, Bardolph, Gadshill and Peto. POINS. Welcome, Jack: where hast thou been? FAL. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! marry, and amen! Give me a cup of sack, boy. Ere lead this life long, I'll sew nether-stocks and mend them and foot them too. A plague of all cowards! Give me

a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant? [He drinks].

P. HEN. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the sweet tale of the sun! if thou didst, then behold that com

pound.

FAL. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too; there is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man: yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it. A villainous coward! Go thy ways, old Jack; die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live not three good men unhanged in England; and one of them is fat and grows old: God help the while! a bad world, I say. I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or anything. A plague of all cowards, I say still. P. HEN. How now, wool-sack: what mutter you?

FAL. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild-geese, I'll never wear hair ɔn my face more. You Prince of Wales!

P. HEN.

natter?

man, what's the

Why, you great round

answer me that and

FAL. Are you not a coward? Poins there?

POINS. 'Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward,

by the Lord, I'll stab thee.

FAL. I call thee coward! call thee coward; but I would

I'll see thee damned ere I give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in your shoulders, you care not who sees your back: call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! give me them that will face me. Give me a cup of sack: I am a rogue, if I drunk to-day.

P. HEN. O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunkest last.

FAL. All's one for that. [He drinks.] A plague of all cowards, still say I.

P. HEN. What's the matter?

FAL. What's the matter? there be four of us here have ta'en a thousand pound this morning.

P. HEN. Where is it, Jack? where is it?

FAL. Where is it? taken from us it is: a hundred upon poo four of us.

P. HEN. What, a hundred, man?

FAL. I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them two hours together. I have 'scaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet, four through the hose; my buckler cut through and through; my sword hacked like a hand-saw-ecce signum! I never dealt better since I was a man: all would not do. A plague of all cowards! Let them speak: if they speak more or less than truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness.

P. HEN. Speak, sirs: how was it?

BARD. We four set upon some dozen-
FAL. Sixteen, at least, my lord.
BARD. And bound them.

PETO. No, no, they were not bound.

FAL. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew.

BARD. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us

FAL. And unbound the rest, and then come in the other.

P. HEN. What, fought ye with them all?

FAL. All! I know not what ye call all; but if I fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish : if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then i am no two-legged creature.

P. HEN. Pray God, you have not murdered some of them. FAL. Nay, that's past praying for: for I have peppered two of them: two, I am sure, I have paid; two rogues in buckam suits. I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a lie,