VICE VERSA.

Down in the state of Maine, the story goes,

A woman, to secure a lapsing pension,

Married a soldier — though the good Lord knows

That very common act scarce calls for mention.

What makes it worthy to be writ and read —

The man she married had been nine hours dead!

Now, marrying a corpse is not an act

Familiar to our daily observation,

And so I crave her pardon if the fact

Suggests this interesting speculation:

Should some mischance restore the man to life

Would she be then a widow, or a wife?

Let casuists contest the point; I'm not

Disposed to grapple with so great a matter.

‘ T would tie my thinker in a double knot

And drive me staring mad as any hatter —

Though I submit that hatters are, in fact,

Sane, and all other human beings cracked.

Small thought have I of Destiny or Chance;

Luck seems to me the same thing as Intention;

In metaphysics I could ne'er advance,

And think it of the Devil's own invention.

Enough of joy to know though when I wed

I must be married, yet I may be dead.