And when the lamp is lighted In the long November days, And lads and lasses mingle At the shucking of the maize; When pies of smoking pumpkin Upon the table stand, And bowls of black molasses Go round from hand to hand; When slap-jacks, maple-sugared, Are hissing in the pan, And cider, with a dash of gin, Foams in the social can; When the goodman wets his whistle, And the goodwife scolds the child; And the girls exclaim convulsively, "Have done, or I'll be riled!" When the loafer sitting next them Attempts a sly caress, And whispers, "Oh, you 'possum, You've fixed my heart, I guess!" With laughter and with weeping, Then shall they tell the tale, How Colt his foeman quartered, And died within the jail. The Death of Jabez Dollar. [Before the following poem, which originally appeared in 'Fraser's Magazine,' could have reached America, intelligence was received in this country of an affray in Congress, very nearly the counterpart of that which the Author has here imagined in jest. It was very clear, to any one who observed the then state of public planners in America, that such occurrences must happen, sooner or later. The Americans apparently felt the force of the satire, as the poem was widely reprinted throughout the States. It subsequently returned to this country, embodied in an American work on American manners, where it characteristically appeared as the writer's own production; and it afterwards went the round of British newspapers, as an amusing satire, by an American, of his countrymen's foibles!] The Congress met, the day was wet, Van Buren took the chair; On either side, the statesman pride of far Kentuck was there. With moody frown, there sat Calhoun, and slowly in his cheek His quid he thrust, and slaked the dust, as Webster rose to speak. Upon that day, near gifted Clay, a youthful member sat, And like a free American upon the floor he spat; Then turning round to Clay, he said, and wiped his manly chin, "What kind of Locofoco's that, as wears the painter's skin?" "Young man," quoth Clay, "avoid the way of Slick of Tennessee; Of gougers fierce, the eyes that pierce, the fiercest gouger he; He chews and spits, as there he sits, and whittles at the chairs, And in his hand, for deadly strife, a bowie-knife he bears. "Avoid that knife. In frequent strife its blade, so long and thin, Has found itself a resting-place his rivals' ribs within." But coward fear came never near young Jabez Dollar's heart,-- "Were he an alligator, I would rile him pretty smart!" Then up he rose, and cleared his nose, and looked toward the chair; He saw the stately stripes and stars,--our country's flag was there! His heart beat high, with eldritch cry upon the floor he sprang, Then raised his wrist, and shook his fist, and spoke his first harangue.