HOW MARRIAGE IS LIKE A DEVONSHIRE LANE. JOHN MARRIOTT. The author of the following ballad, descriptive of the Devonshire lanes of alden time, was v.car of Broadclist. In a Devonshire lane as I tottered along, The other day, much in want of a subject for song, In the first place 'tis long, and when you are in it, For howe'er rough and dirty the road may be found But though 'tis long and not very wide, For two are the most that together can ride; Oft poverty meets them with mendicant looks, Then the banks are so high to the left hand and right That marriage is just like a Devonshire lane. But thinks I, too, these banks, within which we are pent With bud, blossom, and berry, are richly besprent; And the conjugal fence, which forbids us to roam, Soothes the roughness of care, cheers the winter of life. Then long be the journey, and narrow the way. WHAT DROVE ME INTO A LUNATIC What ruined me and got me into an idiot asylum was this: I used to have a strong contempt for lawyers. I thought their long cross-examinations were brainless dialogues for no purpose. Lawyer Johnson had me as a witness in a wood case. In my direct testimony I had sworn truthfully that John Hall had cut ten cords of wood in three days. Then Johnson sharpened his pencil and commenced examining me. 66 'Now, Mr. Perkins," he began, " how much wood do you say was cut by Mr. Hall?" "Just ten cords, sir," I answered boldly. "I meas ured it." "That's your impression?" "Yes, sir." "Well, we don't want impressions, sir. What we want is facts before this jury-f-a-c-t-s, sir, facts!" "The witness will please state facts hereafter," said the Judge, while the crimson came to my face. "Now, sir," continued Johnson, pointing his finger at me, "will you swear that it was more than nine cords?" "Yes, sir. It was ten cords—just—————” "There! never mind," interrupted Johnson. "Now, how much less than twelve cords were there?" "Two cords, sir." From St. Jacob's Oil Family Calendar, 1885, by permission "How do you know there were just two cords less, sir? Did you measure these two cords, sir?" asked Johnson, savagely. "No, sir, I—__" 'There, that will do! You did not measure it. Just as I expected,----all guess-work. Now didn't you swear a moment ago that you measured this wood?" "Stop, sir! The jury will note this discrepancy.' "Now, sir," continued Johnson, slowly, as he pointed his finger almost down my throat, "now, sir, on your oath, will you swear that there were not ten cords and a half?" "Yes, sir," I answered meekly. "Well now, Mr. Perkins, I demand a straight answer -a truthful answer, sir." "T-t-ten c-c-cords," I answered, hesitatingly. "Now," continued Johnson, as he smiled satirically, "do you know the penalty of perjury, sir?” "Yes, sir, I think "On your oath, on your s-o-l-e-m-n oath, with no evasion, are you willing to perjure yourself by solemnly swearing that there were more than nine cords of wood?" Yes, sir, I—” 66 "Aha! Yes, sir. You are willing to perjure yourself then? Just as I thought (turning to the Judge); you see, your Honor, that this witness is prevaricating. He is not willing to swear that there were more than nine cords of wood. It is infamous, gentlemen of the jury, such testimony as this." The jury nodded assent and smiled sarcastically at me. "Now," said Johnson, "I will ask this perjured witness just one more question. "I ask you, sir-do you know-do you realize, sir, what an awful-a-w-f-u-l thing it is to tell a lie?" "Yes, sir," I said, my voice trembling. And, knowing this, you swear on your solemn oath, that there were about nine cords of wood?" "No, sir, I don't do anything of "Hold on, sir! Now how do you know there were just nine cords?" "I don't know any such thing, sir! I——” "Aha! you don't know then? Just as I expected. And yet you swore you did know,----swore you measured it. Infamous! Gentlemen of the jury, what shall we do with this perjurer?" "But I Not a word, sir,-hush! This jury shall not be insulted by a perjurer! Call the next witness!" This is why I am now keeping books in a lunatic asylum. LITTLE JO.-MARY MCGUIRE. Written expressly for this Collection. I wonder if old Santa Claus will come to-night! I wish he had, for little Jo was here- When he was here. We hadn't fire to keep us warm last Christmas day; And not enough, not near enough to eat, Just bread and tea; but not a bit of meat On Christmas day! I didn't care to play, The snow kept falling fast And sleighs went past. Once when I brought my blocks and things to Jo Jo doesn't want to play." And not a soul came in the whole day through, And then toward night the wind arose and blew, How all the snow turned into rain. That made it lonesomer, you know, And little Jo grew worse toward night, That's why I had to go to bed so early; But this was Christmas night,—his hair was curly, And lonesome mother looked, she didn't talk, And then to see how careful I could walk. Once in the night I woke-the rain still poured Jo's bed, and when he tossed about and cried There was such comfort in that pretty hymn,- Still hearing in my dreams-though faint and dim➡ Next morning I woke suddenly and sat Up in the bed; the dreadful storm had passed. It made me very glad to notice that; She hadn't sewed since Jo was took that way,- I dressed me quick, and went to Joey's bed; |