The Farm

The farmer and the farinei's wife A sitting hen defied; And, for a while, glad vict'ry seamed To crown the aggressor's side. The ooach-house was the battle-field, And Biddy's will was firm Within Us aacred precincts thew To serve her little term. What though they Bhut the wood-shed door, And showed her there a nest,- Filled to tbe very brim with egs- To soothe her ruffled breast? This Biddy knew a thiog or two; And, from a window high. Back to her chosen nest agaln Triumphantly did fly! Twas shoo! here, and shoo! there; And shriek, and squawk, and nutter, Until that peaceful farm was filled With noises juet too utter! Theangry farmer lost his wits; The wife her apron shook; And all because this setting hen Had Btiuh detenuined look. They poked her! they punched her! They breathed m accents dire! But yet that f ussy feathered fowl Her purpose kept entire. And even though a wagon-pole Was brandished at a pinch, They could not scare nor terrify Nor bu-ige that hen an inch. At last tbe farmer charged the hen, But punched a mild eyed cow, Who poked the horee, who kicked the pig, Who raised a dreadful row. The pig broke out and found nis way. Down to the garden bed; And followed on his martial heels The horse with f rantic tread. They vlsited the rows of beans, The huls of early corn, Tbe hot-beds and the lettuce beds, And left them all forloru. And all that day, and allnext week, The farmer did repair. His woou-shed door is fastened stil!, But Biddy is not there. Look for her in the eamage-house, Where, prickly as a thistle, That sitting hen is sitting yet, In one perpetual bristle. The farmer and the farmer's wife At laBf have had to yield, Aad Biddy sits victorioue üpon that battle-field. Oh. fictie goddess Victory, To thus desert us men, And give the plume of conqueror To keeping of a hen! Dear me! what are we coming to, To thuB disgrace our eires? What shall we teil posterity If any one inquires?