How sweet she looked in home spun frock, With arms and shoulders bare, And yellow flowers and scarlet leaves Twined in her auburn hair; With saucy lips and fingers plump Stained by the berries wild; And hazel eyes whose drooping lids Half hid them when she smiled. I could have kissed the little tracks Her bare brown feet had made; There was no huckleberry pond Too deep for me to wade-- There was no rough persimmon tree Too tall for me to scale-- If Bettie Bell was standing by With the little wooden pail. Another with a touch of humor will next be given: MR. BROWN; OR CIRCUMSTANCES ALTER CASES. "O tell me Mary have you seen That ugly Mr. Brown With pumpkin head and brimstone hair, And manners like a clown! What could have made young Charley Smith Bring such a gawk to town? He has no breeding, I am sure-- He stares at ladies so With those great dumpling eyes of his--- And I would like to know How Bettie Jones can condescend To take him for a beau!" Quoth Mary, "What you say is true; He's awkward and he's plain; But then, you know, he's rich; And wealth with some will gain."-- "Indeed, I never heard of that," Said pretty Martha Jane. "I only got a glance at him At Mrs. Jenkins' ball; And on acquaintance he may not look So ugly after all. I wonder if young Charley Smith Will ask his friend to call!" Even in parody the isolated sufferer would at times seek self-forgetfulness or diversion. A short one is here inserted from the author's scrap-book. To a Southerner, the faithfulness and humor of the selection will be manifest: SKETCH. The darkey sat on his stubborn mule, Day through the west had fled, And the silver light of the rising moon Shone on his bare bald head. Firm as an Alp the old mule stood-- An Alp with its crest of snow-- The darkey thumped, the darkey kicked, And swore he'd make it go. The night wore on, it would not budge Till it had changed its mind; And the darkey cursed, the darkey swore Till he was hoarse and blind. At last he saw its big ears twitch, Its eyes cast back the while; And felt the skin beneath him writhe Like a serpent in its coil. Then came a yell of wild despair; The man--oh! where was he?-- When the clouds unveil the hidden moon I think perhaps we'll see.