THE BEAN.
Next to rhy bread, beans hav been called by the poets, and philosphers the cumfort, and staff ov life. The bean iz all food, thare iz no more waste in them, than thare iz in a pint ov cold water, when a man iz auphull dry. Beans are all colors, and most shapes, flat, round, oblong, square, and 3 cornered, and a quart ov them put into a pot, and biled 2 hours, will meazzure a gallon, and a haff, when they cum out. This makes them a better dividend paying seed than enny thing we kno ov. Beans are az old az Esau, he sold out for bean porridge. Beans gro on the jump, and thare aint but phew things that kan beat a bean klimbing a pole. I luv beans, but dont hanker for them. But beans, and me wont quarrell. Baked beans are a grate necessity in Nu England, and not to hav a platter ov them for Sunday dinner, iz lookt upon thare az being stuck-up to the neighbors. One ov the old blue laws ov Massachusetts waz, "thou shalt eat baked beans on Sunday." I kan remember now ov eating baked beans, and rhy, and injun bread every Sunday, when i waz a boy, and luving it, bekauze i waz obliged to.
EXAMINE.
The happyest time in enny ones life, iz the fust 20 minnitts after they hav had an akeing tooth jerkt out.
Imaginashun never filled a man's stummak yet, yu kant git pork, and beans, by dreaming about them.
CANCER, THE KRAB.
A Shell-Fish—pretty mutch all shell.
