s ringin'
With the beautifullest singin'
That a mortal ever heard!

Sahry's sot, tho'--. So I tell her
He's a purty little feller,
With his wings o' creamy-yeller,
And his eyes keen as a cat;
And the twitter o' the critter
'Pears to absolutely glitter!
Guess I'll haf to go and git her
A high-priceter cage 'n that!

_A Liz Town Humorist_

Settin' round the stove, last night,
Down at Wess's store, was me
And Mart Strimples, Tunk, and White,
And Doc Bills, and two er three
Fellers o' the Mudsock tribe
No use tryin' to describe!
And says Doc, he says, says he--,
"Talkin' 'bout good things to eat,
Ripe mushmillon's hard to beat!"

I chawed on. And Mart he 'lowed
Wortermillon beat the mush--.
"Red," he says, "and juicy-- Hush--!
I'll jes' leave it to the crowd!"
Then a Mudsock chap, says he--,
"Punkin's good enough fer me--
Punkin pies, I mean," he says--,
Them beats millons--! What say, Wess?

I chawed on. And Wess says--, "Well,
You jes' fetch that wife of mine
All yer wortermillon-rine--,
And she'll bile it down a spell--
In with sorghum, I suppose,
And what else, Lord only knows--!
But I'm here to tell all hands
Them p'serves meets my demands!"

I chawed on. And White he says--,
"Well, I'll jes' stand, in with Wess--
I'm no hog!" And Tunk says--, "I
Guess I'll pastur' out on pie
With the Mudsock boys!" says he;
"Now what's yourn?" he says to me:
I chawed on-- fer-- quite a spell
Then I speaks up, slow and dry--,
Jes' tobacker!" I-says-I--.
And you'd ort o' heerd 'em yell!

_Kingry's Mill_

On old Brandywine-- about
Where White's Lots is now laid out,
And the old crick narries down
To the ditch that splits the town--,
Kingry's Mill stood. Hardly see
Where the old dam ust to be;
Shallor, long, dry trought o' grass
Where the old race ust to pass!

That's be'n forty years ago--
Forty years o' frost and snow--
Forty years o' shade and shine
Sence them boyhood-days o' mine--!
All the old landmarks o' town.
Changed about, er rotted down!
Where's the Tanyard? Where's the Still?
Tell me where's old Kingry's Mill?

Don't seem furder back, to me,
I'll be dogg'd! Than yisterd'y,
Since us fellers, in bare feet
And straw hats, went through the wheat,
Cuttin' 'crost the shortest shoot
Fer that-air old ellum root
Jest above the mill-dam-- where
The blame' cars now crosses there!

Through the willers down the crick
We could see the old mill stick
Its red gable up, as if
It jest kn