Clipped From Huron Reflector
t r #. [From the Downing Gazelle.] Kitchen Poetry. Tin tired of work, said Polly Gray: It's nothing bur scrub, the livelong ctey; I've wallo'ped the pofc and kettles round Till my ears arc sick of the very sound. My hands are as hard as a critter's horn, Such things I never since I was born On any decent body did sef. Much more on one that was made hrie There! there! that pot is sputtering over, Because I forgot to take off the an er-- The fat is scorching the bread is burning- Run, Poliy the fetter needs a turning-The broom is worn to the very hub-The brush is only a tangled stub. How many sprauhng. hitching motions I've made in wearing out then; nations! I've twisted my hip^ and shou'drr* out, In banging ihe'beds and blankets about. There lire" two Ions marks astride of my They husbands mean, but the deuce only When one will come! and here I must In this stewed up kitchen to work all There was Betsey Grant and Huiila Drew, Two lazy drabs as e-.er I knew-They wricgled ana tu isted their bodies And'laid all they earnt in finery out. And each wore behind a frightful lump. That look'd for the world, like a camel's My stars! I wonder the men don't go Aid bring home a "Hottentot Venus" or The girls"\\ould be in utter despair, To match the form of the Hottentot fair. Well HtiIJa Drew and Betsey Grant Are married now and board \\ ith my They draw 1 their words and siick back Too "plaguy proud to earn their bread. I wonder what the reason can be That nobody comes to marry me? Splash goes"the dish cloth into the kettle-I'll try for once Miss Polly's mettle-Let the cakes burn as black as ray Stay here for a drudge I'll be hang'd if I mean to flirt, and idle, and wriggle, And lace, and pad, and stare, and giggle; And then if nobody the question pops, By j:a s s, I shall be as mad a* hops. MOl cjbl.