POETRY.
A FARMER IN SEARCH OF A WIFE.
MY head's in a muddle,
My heart's full of trouble, And little the wonder, as soon you may see.
I want a wife badly, And marry I'd gladly, But that's where my heart and my head disagree.
My heart says, When you love Be sure that it's true love Before you dare venture to ask for her hand. Then my bead whispers, Charmers Are useless to farmers, Take a less of good stock and a fistful of land.
Oh, Sheela is artful, She carries a heartful
Of Cupid's devices. hid under her shawl—
A smile to allure you, A glance to assure you, Then a toss of her head that makes light of them all.
My impudent Kitty, So smiling and witty, So busy and bright when there's company near; She'd banquet a neighbour, But think it a labour To work for the poor man that loved her so dear.
Bad luck to the fairy That saddled poor Mary With a face and a fortune so contrariwise; Though her features are twisted, Could the farm be resisted, Sure her cows and young pigs would bring tears to your eyes. But the lass that will love me —By all that's above me !— I'll take her and wed her for love's own sweet sake ; If she's fair, all the better, I'm thankful to get her, Rich, poor, plain or handsome, I'm willing to take !
H. M. JOHNSTON.
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