s never too fond of his can;
And while Smith in the public was stopping to swill,
Jones had woo'd and had won the fair maid of the mill.

Tom homeward returned like a runaway pup,
When the lash of the whipper-in touches him up;
And he sighed to himself, "It's most painfully clear
That I've lost a _good wife_ for a _bad glass of Beer_."

* * * * *

At length he was married to Emily Brown--
A tidier girl there was none in the town--
The church bells were ringing, the village was gay,
As Tom met his bride in her bridal array.

For a twelvemonth or more things went on pretty straight;
Tom went early to work, and was never home late;
But after that time a sad change, it would seem,
Came over the spirit of Emily's dream.

The Rector missed Tom from his place in the choir;
In the evening his wife sat alone by the fire;
When her husband came home he was never too early,
And his manner was dull, and at times even surly.

He was late in the autumn in sowing his wheat;
His bullocks and sheep had disease of the feet;
His sows had small litters; his taters went bad;
And he took _just a glass_ when he felt rather sad.

The Rector's "good lady" was passing one day,
And looked in, her usual visit to pay--
"How dy'e do, Mrs. Smith? Is the baby quite well?
Have you got any eggs, or young chickens to sell?"

But Emily Smith couldn't answer a word;
At length her reply indistinctly was heard;
"I'm all of a mullock [1], it's no use denying--"
And with that the poor woman she burst out a crying.

Then after a time with her apron she dried
The tears from her eyes, and more calmly replied,
"I don't mind confessing the truth, ma'am, to you,
For I've found in you always a comforter true.

Things are going to ruin; the land's full o' twitch;
There's no one to clean out a drain or a ditch;
The gates are all broken, the fences all down;
And the state of our farm is the talk of the town.

We've lost a young horse, and another's gone lame;
Our hay's not worth carting; the wheat's much the same;
Our pigs and our cattle are always astray;
Our milk's good-for-nothing; our hens never lay.

Tom ain't a bad husband, as husbands do go;
(That ain't saying much, as I daresay you know)
But there's one thing that puts him and me out o' gear--
He's always a craving for _one glass of Beer_.

He never gets drunk, but he'