Quompegan is a town some ten miles | Wherein a constant snuffle you might south From Jethro, at Nagumscot river-mouth, A seaport town, and makes its title good With lumber and dried fish and eastern wood. Here Deacon Bitters dwelt and kept the Store, The richest man for many a mile of shore ; In little less than everything dealt he, true He had been known to bite a fig in two, And change a board-nail for a shinglenail. All that he had he ready held for sale, His house, his tomb, whate'er the law allows, And he had gladly parted with his spouse. But in a dark back-room he peddled rum, And eased Ma'am Conscience, if she e'er would scold, By christening it with water ere he sold. A small, dry man he was, who wore a Were silver-fringed; the driver's own 'Fore this he 's treasurer of a fund to train Young imps as missionaries; hopes to was blue As the coarse frock that swung below his knee. Behind his load for shelter waded he; His mittened hands now on his chest he beat, Now stamped the stiffened cowhides of his feet, Hushed as a ghost's; his armpit scarce could hold The walnut whipstock slippery-bright with cold. What wonder if, the tavern as he past, He looked and longed, and stayed his beasts at last, Who patient stood and veiled themselves in steam While he explored the bar-room's ruddy gleam? "Before the fire, in want of thought profound, There sat a brother-townsman weatherbound. A sturdy churl, crisp-headed, bristlyeared, Red as a pepper; 'twixt coarse brows and beard His eyes lay ambushed, on the watch for fools, Clear, gray, and glittering like two bayedged pools; A shifty creature, with a turn for fun, gain We callilate to make folks useful here." Could swap a poor horse for a better" Well," says old Bitters, "I expect I one, He'd a high-stepper always in his stall; Liked far and near, and dreaded therewithal. To him the in-comer, Perez, how d' ye do?" 'Jest as I'm mind to, Obed; how do you?' Then, his eyes twinkling such swift gleams as run Along the levelled barrel of a gun Brought to his shoulder by a man you know Will bring his game down, he continued, 'So, I s'pose you're haulin' wood? But you're too late; The Deacon's off; Old Splitfoot could n't wait; He made a bee-line las' night in the storm To where he won't need wood to keep him warm. can Scale a fair load of wood with e'er a man." "Wood we don't deal in; but perhaps you'll suit, Because we buy our brimstone by the foot: Here, take this measurin' rod, as smooth as sin, And keep a reckonin' of what loads comes in. You'll not want business, for we need a lot To keep the Yankees that you send us hot; At firin' up they 're barely half as spry As Spaniards or Italians, though they 're dry; At first we have to let the draught on stronger. But, heat 'em through, they seem to hold it longer." "Bitters he took the rod, and pretty | That in five minutes they had drawed a where you be; You can't go in athout a pass from me." "All right," says t' other, "only step round smart ; I must be home by noon-time with the cart." Bitters goes round it sharp-eyed as a rat, Then with a scrap of paper on his hat Pretends to cipher. "By the public staff, That load scarce rises twelve foot and a half." "There's fourteen foot and over," says the driver, "Worth twenty dollars, ef it's worth a stiver; Good fourth-proof brimstone, that 'll make 'em squirm, — I leave it to the Headman of the Firm; And gi'n fair satisfaction, thirty year." crowd, And afore long the Boss, who heard the With that they fell to quarrellin' so loud Men unsophisticate, rude-nerved as bears. Ezra is gone and his large-hearted kind, The landlords of the hospitable mind; Good Warriner of Springfield was the last; An inn is now a vision of the past; One yet-surviving host my mind recalls, You'll find him if you go to Trenton Falls." THE ORIGIN OF DIDACTIC POETRY. WHEN wise Minerva still was young Or flirting, those twin curses, How nice they were! to rhyme with far A kind star did not tarry; The metre, too, was regular As schoolboy's dot and carry; Proud Pallas sighed, "It will not do; She took the shortest path thence, The verses? Some in ocean swilled, Years after, when a poet asked The Goddess's opinion, As one whose soul its wings had tasked 488 THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. DON'T believe in the Flying Dutchman? man : I shudder whenever he nears! He's a Rip van Winkle skipper, Back topsails! you can't escape him; The Lord knows how long out of Like a long-disembodied idea, (A kind of ghost plentiful now,) He stands there; you fancy you see a Coeval of Teniers or Douw. He greets you; would have you take let ters: You scan the addresses with dread, While he mutters his donners and wet ters, They're all from the dead to the dead! You seem taking time for reflection, CREDIDIMUS JOVEM REGNARE. In the pulpit I've known of his preaching, Out of hearing behind the time, Some statement of Balaam's impeaching, Giving Eve a due sense of her crime. I have seen him some poor ancient thrashing Into something (God save us!) more With the Water of Life itself washing O dread fellow-mortal, get newer were At knowing a loaf from a stone. Till the couriers of God fail in duty, We sha'n't ask a mummy for news, Nor sate the soul's hunger for beauty With your drawings from casts of a Muse. CREDIDIMUS JOVEM REGNARE. But the heart fills your throat with a Insisted all the world should see jam, Camels or whales where none there be ! Beset by doubts of every breed |