They still have made me slight returns, And thus my grief divide; For oh! they’ve cured me of my Burns, And eased my Akenside. But all I think I shall not say, Nor let my anger burn; For as they have not found me Gay, They have not left me Sterne. THE VEGETABLE GIRL. Behind a market stall installed, I mark it every day, Stands at her stand the fairest girl I’ve met with in the bay; Her two lips are of cherry red, Her hands a pretty pair, With such a pretty turn-up nose, And lovely reddish hair. ’Tis there she stands from morn till night Her customers to please, And to appease their appetite She sells them beans and peas. Attracted by the glances from The apple of her eye, And by her Chili apples, too, Each passer-by will buy. She stands upon her little feet, Throughout the livelong day, And sells her celery and things,— A big feat, by the way. She changes off her stock for change, Attending to each call; And when she has but one beet left, She says, “Now that beats all.” EPITAPH ON AN OLD HORSE. Here lies a faithful steed, A stanch, uncompromising “silver gray;” Who ran the race of life with sprightly speed, Yet never ran—away. Wild oats he never sowed, Yet masticated tame ones with much zest: Cheerful he bore each light allotted load, As cheerfully took rest. Bright were his eyes, yet soft, And in the main his tail was white and flowing; And though he never sketched a single draught, He showed great taste for drawing. Lithe were his limbs, and clean, Fitted alike for buggy or for dray, And like Napoleon the Great, I ween, He had a _martial neigh_. Oft have I watched him grace His favorite stall, well littered, warm, and fair, With such contentment shining from his face, And such a stable air! With here and there a speck Of roan diversifying his broad back, And, martyr-like, a halter round his neck, Which bound him to the rack.