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IX.

Besides, Casilda, be it known, had much

Of what the French applaud, - and not amiss,

As savoir-faire (I do not know the Dutch) ;

The literal Germans call it Mutterwiss,

The Yankees gumption, and the Grecians nous, – A useful thing to have about the house.

Χ.

At length the lady hit upon a plan
Worthy of Hermes for its deep disguise;
She got a carpenter, - a trusty man,

To make a door, and of a certain size,
With curious carvings and heraldic bands,
And bade him wait her ladyship's commands.

XI.

Then falling sick, - as gentle ladies know
The ready art, unless romances lie,

She groaned aloud, and bade Don José go,

And quickly, too, - or she should surely die,

And fetch her nurse, - a woman who abode
Some three miles distant by the nearest road.

XII.

With many a frown and many a bitter curse

He heard the summons. 'T was a pretty hour,

He said, to go a-gadding for a nurse!

At twelve at night! - and in a drenching shower!

He 'd never go, - unless the devil sent, -
And then Don José took his hat and went!

XIII.

A long, long hour he paced the dirty street

Where dwelt the nurse, but could n't find the place;

For he had lost the number; and his feet,

Though clad in leather, made a bootless chase; He fain had questioned some one; all in vain, The very thieves were fearful of the rain !

XIV.

Returning homeward from his weary tramp,

He reached his house, - or where his house should

be;

When, by the glimmer of the entry-lamp,

Don José saw – and marvelled much to see

An ancient, strange, and most fantastic door,
The like whereof he'd never seen before!

XV.

"Now, by Our Lady! - this is mighty queer!"
Cried José, - staring at the graven wood,
"I know my dwelling stands exactly here;
At least, I 'm certain here is where it stood
Two hours ago, when (here he gave a curse)
Donna Casilda sent me for the nurse.

XVI.

I know the houses upon either side;

There stands the dwelling of the undertaker ;
Here my good friend Morena lived and died;
And here's the shop of old Trappal, the baker ;
And yet, as sure as iron is n't brass,
'Tis not my door, or I'm a precious ass!

XVII.

"However, I will knock"; and so he did,

And called, "Casilda!" loud enough to rouse The very dullest watchman in Madrid;

But woke, instead, the porter of the house, Who rudely asked him, Where he got his beer? And bade him, "Go! - there's no Casilda here!"

XVIII.

Don José crossed himself in dire dismay,
Lest he had lost his reason, or his sight;
At least 't was certain he had lost his way;
And, hoping sleep might set the matter right,
He sought and found the dwelling of a friend
Who lived in town, - quite at the other end.

ΧΙΧ.

Next morning José, rising with the sun,

Returned, once more, to seek the missing house;

And there it stood, as it had always done,
And there stood also his indignant spouse
With half her city cousins at her back,
Waiting to put poor José on the rack.

xx.

"A charming husband, you!" the dame began, "To leave your spouse in peril of her life, For tavern revellers ! - You're a pretty man, Thus to desert your lawful, wedded wife, And spend your nights - O villain! - don't explain, I 'll be revenged if there is law in Spain!"

XXI.

"Nay, Madam, hear me! - just a single word
And then he told her of his fruitless search
To find the beldam; and of what occurred,
How his own house had left him in the lurch!

Here such a stream of scorn came pouring in,
Don José's voice was smothered in the din.

XXII.

"Nay," said Casilda, “that will never do;
Your own confession plainly puts you down!
Say you were tipsy (it were nothing new),
And spent the night carousing through the town
With other topers; that may be received;
But, faith! your tale will never be believed!"

XXIII.

Crazed with the clamor of the noisy crew
All singing chorus to the injured dame,
Say, what the deuce could poor Don José do? -
He prayed for pardon, and confessed his shame;
And gave no dinners, in his future life,
Without remembering to invite his wife!

THE DERVIS AND HIS ENEMIES.

A TURKISH LEGEND.

N

I.

EAR Babylon, in ancient times,
There dwelt a humble, pious Dervis

Who lived on alms, and spent his days
In exhortation, prayer, and praise,
Devoted to the Prophet's service.

II.

To him, one day, a neighbor sent

A gift extremely rare and pleasant,

A fatted ox of goodly size;

Whereat the grateful Dervis cries,

"Allah be praised for this fine present!"

III.

So large a gift were hard to hide;

Nor was he careful to conceal it; Indeed, a thief had chanced to spy The ox as he was passing by,

And so resolved to go and steal it.

IV.

Now while he sought, with this intent,
The owner's humble habitation,

He met a stranger near the place,

Who seemed to judge him by his faceA person of his own vocation.