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The groaning chair began to crawl,
Like a huge snail, along the wall;
There stuck aloft in public view,
And with small change a pulpit grew.

The cottage, by such feats as these,
Grown to a church by just degrees,
The hermits then desired the host
To ask for what he fancied most.
Philemon, having paused awhile,
Returned them thanks in homely style:
“I'm old, and fain would live at ease;
Make me the parson, if you please.”

Thus happy in their change of life Were several years this man and wife. When on a day, which proved their last, Discoursing on old stories past, They went by chance, amidst their talk, To the churchyard to take a walk; When Baucis hastily cried out, “My dear, I see your forehead sprout ! “But yes! Methinks, I feel it true; And really yours is budding too – Nay, - now I cannot stir my foot; It feels as if 'twere taking root !” Description would but tire my muse; In short, they both were turned to yews.



A RUSHLIGHT that had grown fat and saucy with too much grease boasted one evening before a large company that it shone brighter than the sun, the moon, and all the stars. At that moment a puff of wind came and blew it out. One who lighted it again said “Shine on, friend Rushlight, and hold your tongue; the lights of heaven are never blown out.”



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