A very intelligent Irishman tells the following incident of his experience in America: I came to this country several years ago, and, as soon as I arrived, hired out to a gentleman who farmed a few acres. He showed me over the premises, the stables, the cow, and where the corn, hay, oats, etc., were kept, and then sent me in to my supper. After supper, he said to me, "James, you may feed the cow, and give her corn in the ear." I went out and walked about, thinking, "what could he mean? Had I understood him?" I scratched my head, then resolved I would enquire again; so I went into the library where my master was writing very busily and he answered me without looking up: "I thought I told you to give the cow some corn in the ear."
I went out more puzzled than ever. What sort of an animal must this Yankee cow be? I examined her mouth and ears. The teeth were good, and the ears like those of kine in the old country. Dripping with sweat, I entered my master's presence once more "Please, sir, you bid me give the cow some corn in the ear, but didn't you mean the mouth?" He looked at me a moment, and then burst into such a convulsion of laughter, that I made for the stable as fast as my feet could take me, thinking I was in the service of a crazy man.
* * * * *
POOR LITTLE JOE.
Prop yer eyes wide open, Joey,
Fur I've brought you sumpin great.
Apples? No, a deal sight better!
Don't you take no interest, wait'
Flowers, Joe,—I know'd you'd like 'em—
Ain't them scrumptious, ain't them high
Tears, my boy, what's them fur, Joey?
There—poor little Joe—don't cry.
I was skippin' past a winder,
Where a bang-up lady sot,
All amongst a lot of bushes—
Each one climbin' from a pot.
Every bush had flowers on it;
Pretty! Mebbe' not! Oh no'
Wish you could a-seen'm growin',
It was such a stunnin show.
Well, I thought of you, poor feller,
Lyin' here so sick and weak,
Never knowin' any comfort,
And I puts on lots o' cheek;
"Missus," says I, "if yo please, mum,
Could I ax you for a rose?
For my little brother, missus,
Never seed one, I suppose."
Then I told her all about you—
How I bringed you up,—poor Joe!
(Lackin' women-folks to do it)
Sich a imp you was, you know—
Till yer got that awful tumble,
Jist as I had broke yer in
(Hard work, too), to earn yer livin'
Blackin' boots for honest tin.
How that tumble crippled of you—
So's you couldn't hyper much—
Joe, it hurted when I see you
For the first time with your crutch.
"But," I says, "he's laid up now, mum,
'Pears to weaken every day."
Joe, she up and went to cuttin'—
That's the how of this bokay.
Say! it seems to me, ole feller,
You is quite yourself to-night;
Kind o' chirk, it's been a fortnight
Sence your eyes have been so bright.
Better! well, I'm glad to hear it!
Yes, they're mighty pretty, Joe,
Smellin' of them's made you happy?
Well, I thought it would, you know.