His dog, which hadn't breakfasted, Dissented from his view, And wished that he could swell, instead, The volume of cold stew. "Nobody'd put me up," said Ben, "With patriot galoots Which benefits their feller men By playin' warious roots; "But havin' all the tools about, I'm goin' to commence A-turnin' silver dollars out Wuth eighty-seven cents. "The feller takin' 'em can't whine: (No more, likewise, can I): They're better than the genooine, Which mostly satisfy. "It's only makin' coinage free, And mebby might augment The wolume of the currency A noomerous per cent." I don't quite see his error nor Malevolence prepense, But fifteen years they gave him for That technical offense. THE RICH TESTATOR. He lay on his bed and solemnly "signed," Gasping--perhaps 'twas a jest he meant: "This of a sound and disposing mind Is the last ill-will and contestament." TWO METHODS. To bucks and ewes by the Good Shepherd fed The Priest delivers masses for the dead, And even from estrays outside the fold Death for the masses he would not withhold. The Parson, loth alike to free or kill, Forsakes the souls already on the grill, And, God's prerogative of mercy shamming, Spares living sinners for a harder damning. FOUNDATIONS OF THE STATE Observe, dear Lord, what lively pranks Are played by sentimental cranks! First this one mounts his hinder hoofs And brays the chimneys off the roofs; Then that one, with exalted voice, Expounds the thesis of his choice, Our understandings to bombard, Till all the window panes are starred! A third augments the vocal shock Till steeples to their bases rock, Confessing, as they humbly nod, They hear and mark the will of God. A fourth in oral thunder vents His awful penury of sense Till dogs with sympathetic howls, And lowing cows, and cackling fowls, Hens, geese, and all domestic birds, Attest the wisdom of his words. Cranks thus their intellects deflate Of theories about the State. This one avers 'tis built on Truth, And that on Temperance. This youth Declares that Science bears the pile; That graybeard, with a holy smile, Says Faith is the supporting stone; While women swear that Love alone Could so unflinchingly endure The heavy load. And some are sure The solemn vow of Christian Wedlock Is the indubitable bedrock. Physicians once about the bed Of one whose life was nearly sped Blew up a disputatious breeze About the cause of his disease: This, that and t' other thing they blamed. "Tut, tut!" the dying man exclaimed, "What made me ill I do not care; You've not an ounce of it, I'll swear. And if you had the skill to make it I'd see you hanged before I'd take it!" AN IMPOSTER.