And here all hope soured on me Of my fellow-critter's aid,-- I jest flopped down on my marrow-bones, Crotch-deep in the snow, and prayed. * * * * * By this, the torches was played out, And me and Isrul Parr Went off for some wood to a sheepfold That he said was somewhar thar. We found it at last, and a little shed Where they shut up the lambs at night. We looked in, and seen them huddled thar, So warm and sleepy and white; And THAR sot Little Breeches and chirped, As peart as ever you see, "I want a chaw of terbacker, And that's what's the matter of me." How did he git thar? Angels. He could never have walked in that storm. They jest scooped down and toted him To whar it was safe and warm. And I think that saving a little child, And bringing him to his own, Is a derned sight better business Than loafing around the Throne. This little poem is an imitation of what was the rude dialect of some parts of Pike County, Indiana. One must not be too critical of the roughness and the apparent irreverence of some of the lines, for the sentiment is a pleasing one. An ignorant man who believes in "God and the angels" may be forgiven for the crudity of his ideas, and the mistakes he makes in bringing up his boy, especially as he "never ain't had no show." THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL" _By_ W. S. GILBERT 'Twas on the shores that round our coasts From Deal to Ramsgate span, That I found alone, on a piece of stone, An elderly naval man. His hair was weedy, his beard was long, And weedy and long was he; And I heard this wight on the shore recite, In a singular minor key:-- "O, I am a cook and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig." And he shook his fists and he tore his hair Till I really felt afraid, For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking, And so I simply said:-- "O elderly man, it's little I know Of the duties of men of the sea, And I'll eat my hand if I understand How you can possibly be "At once a cook and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig!" Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which Is a trick all seamen larn, And having got rid of a thumping quid He spun this painful yarn:-- "'Twas in the good ship Nancy Bell That we sailed to the Indian sea, And there on a reef we come to grief, Which has often occurred to me. "And pretty nigh all o' the crew was drowned (There was seventy-seven o' soul); And only ten of the Nancy's men Said 'Here' to the muster-roll. "There was me, and the cook, and the captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig.