I'm not much given to complain;
'Tis in a most essential point
A blank; I've read it oft in vain
To find one syllable about her size,
The color of her hair, or of her eyes.

Or whether she was short or tall,
Or if she sung or play'd with grace,
If she wore hoops or waterfall
I cannot find a single trace
Of proof; and as I like to be precise,
My disappointment equals my surprise.

This Persian belle; (confound the belle)
Excuse me, please; I won't be rude;
She's in my way, so I can't tell
My tale, so much does she intrude;
I wish I knew her age, and whether she
Was single, married, or engaged to be.

These are important facts to know,
I wonder how they slipped the pen
Of him who wrote the story, so
I wonder at the taste of men
Who wrote for future ages thus to spoil
A tale to save time, paper, ink or oil.

Our Persian lady, as I said,
Decked out in costly jewels rare,
A visit to a Grecian made--
A lady of great worth, and fair
To look upon, of great domestic merit
Which from a noble race she did inherit.

Puffed up with vanity and pride,
The Persian flashing like a gem,
Displayed her brilliants, glittering wide;
The Grecian coldly looked at them:
"Have you no jewelry at all, to wear?
Your dress and person look so poor and bare."

She called her children to her side,
Seven stalwart sons of martial mien;
"These are my jewels," she replied,
"I'm richer far than you, I ween:
These are the glory and the strength of Greece,
Which all the gems on earth would not increase,"

Let others shine in diamonds bright,
Or hoard their greenbacks, bonds or gold,
You have your jewels in your sight,
And hearing, like the matron old;
And should they still continue to increase,
You'll beat the model mother of old Greece.

Then hail Columbia, happy land!
While California yields her ore,
May you increase your jewel band,
By adding every year one more;
And when you're asked your jewels to display.
Point to your score of sons saying "these are they."

THE MARKET-MAN'S LICENSE,

OR THE FARMER'S APPEAL FROM A JACKASS TO THE MAYOR.

The following poem grew out of a misunderstanding between Mr. Scott
and the clerk of the Wilmington market. In the winter of 1868, Mr.
Scott was in the habit of selling hominy in the market, and the
clerk treated him rudely and caused him to leave his usual stand and
remove to another one. From this arbitrary exercise of power