Often sees she men on horseback coming down the turnpike rough, But they came not as John Jackson, she can see it well enough; Well she knows the sober trotting of the sorrel horse he keeps, As he jogs along at leisure, with head down like a sheep's. She would know him 'mid a thousand, by his home-made coat and vest, By his socks, which were blue woolen, such as farmers wear out West; By the color of his trowsers, and his saddle which was spread, By a blanket which was taken for that purpose from the bed. None like he the yoke of hickory, on the unbroken ox can throw None amid his father's cornfields use like him the spade and hoe; And at all the apple-cuttings, few, indeed, the men are seen, That can dance with him the polka, touch with him the violin. He has said to Martha Hopkins, and she thinks she hears him now; For she knows as well as can be, that he meant to keep his vow; When the buck-eye tree has blossom'd, and your uncle plants his corn, Shall the bells of Indiana usher in the wedding-morn. He has invited his relations, bought a Sunday hat and gown, And he thinks he'll get a carriage, and they'll spend a day in town; That their love will newly kindle, and what comfort it will give, To sit down to the first breakfast in the cabin where they'll live. Tender eyes of Martha Hopkins! what has got you in such scrape, 'Tis a tear that falls to glitter on the ruffle of her cape; Ah! the eye of love may brighten, to be certain what it sees, One man looks like another, when half-hidden by the trees. But her eager eyes rekindle, she forgets the pies and bread, As she sees a man on horseback, round the corner of the shed, Now tie on another apron, get the comb and smooth your hair, 'Tis the sorrel horse that gallops, 'tis John Jackson's self that's there. THE BASHFUL MAN'S STORY.--_Charles Matthews._