I met her with outward calm, and asked her to set down and lay off her things. She sot down, but she said she couldn’t lay off her things. Says she, “I was comin’ down past, and I thought I would call and let you see the last numbah of the Augah, there is a piece in it concernin’ the tariff that stirs men’s souls, I like it evah so much.” [Illustration: READING POETRY.] She handed me the paper, folded so I couldn’t see nothin’ but a piece of poetry by Betsey Bobbet. I see what she wanted of me and so I dropped my breadths of carpetin’ and took hold of it and began to read it. “Read it audible if you please,” says she, “Especially the precious remahks ovah it, it is such a feast for me to be a sitting, and heah it reheahsed by a musical vorce.” Says I, “I spose I can rehearse it if it will do you any good,” so I began as follers: “It is seldem that we present to the readers of the Augur (the best paper for the fireside in Jonesville or the world) with a poem like the following. It may be by the assistance of the Augur (only twelve shillings a year in advance, wood and potatoes taken in exchange) the name of Betsey Bobbet will yet be carved on the lofty pinnacle of fame’s towering pillow. We think however that she could study such writers as Sylvanus Cobb, and Tupper with profit both to herself and to them. EDITOR OF THE AUGUR.” Here Betsey interrupted me, “The deah editah of the Augah had no need to advise me to read Tuppah, for he is indeed my most favorite authar, you have devorhed him havn’t you Josiah Allen’s wife?” “Devoured who?” says I, in a tone pretty near as cold as a cold icicle. “Mahten, Fahyueah, Tuppah, that sweet authar,” says she. “No mom,” says I shortly, “I hain’t devoured Martin Farquhar Tupper, nor no other man, I hain’t a cannibal.” “Oh! you understand me not, I meant, devorhed his sweet, tender lines.” “I hain’t devoured his tenderlines, nor nothin’ relatin’ to him,” and I made a motion to lay the paper down, but Betsey urged me to go on, and so I read. GUSHINGS OF A TENDAH SOUL. Oh let who will, Oh let who can, Be tied onto A horrid male man. Thus said I ’ere, My tendah heart was touched, Thus said I ’ere My tendah feelings gushed. But oh a change Hath swept ore me, As billows sweep The “deep blue sea.” A voice, a noble form, One day I saw; An arrow flew, My heart is nearly raw. His first pardner lies Beneath the turf, He is wandering now, In sorrows briny surf. Two twins, the little Deah cherub creechahs, Now wipe the teahs, From off his classic feachahs. Oh sweet lot, worthy Angel arisen, To wipe the teahs, From eyes like his’en. “What think you of it?” says she as I finished readin’.