Theer wur a lark a-singin' 'is best of a Sunday at murn,

Could n't see 'im, we 'eärd 'im a-mountin' oop 'igher an' 'igher,

"fur I

An' then 'e turn'd to the sun, an' 'e shined like a sparkle o' fire. "Does n't tha see 'im," she axes, can see 'im?" an' I Seeäd nobbut the smile o' the sun as

danced in 'er pratty blue eye; An' I says "I mun gie tha a kiss," an'

Sally says "Noä, thou moänt," But I gied 'er a kiss, an' then anoother, an' Sally says "doänt!"

1 Bellowed, cried out.
Sluggish, out of spirits.

Sa like a graät num cumpus I blubber'd awaïy o' the bed —

"Weant uiver do it naw moor;" an' Sally looökt up an' she said, "I'll upowd it 3 tha weänt; thou 'rt laike the rest o' the men, Thou 'll goä sniffin' about the tap till tha Theer's thy hennemy, man, an' I knaws, does it agëan. as knaws tha sa well, That, if tha seeäs 'im an' smells 'im tha 'll foller 'im slick into Hell."

But arter I chaänged my mind, an' if Sally be left aloän,

stood a-gawmin' 1 in,

As thaw it wur summat bewitch'd istead

of a quart o' gin;

An' some on 'em said it wur watter I wur chousin' the wife,

Fur I could n't 'owd 'ands off gin, were it nobbut to saave my life:

An' blacksmith 'e strips me the thick ov 'is airm, an' 'e shaws it to me, "Feëal thou this! thou can't graw this upo' watter!" says he. An' Doctor 'e calls o' Sunday an' just as candles was lit,

"Thou moänt do it," he says, "tha mun break 'im off bit by bit." "Thou 'rt but a Methody-man," says Parson, and laäys down 'is 'at, An' 'e points to the bottle o' gin, "but I respecks tha fur that; An' Squire, his oän very sen, walks down fro' the 'All to see,

An' 'e spanks 'is 'and into mine, “fur I respecks tha," says 'e;

An' coostom ageän draw'd in like a wind fro' far an' wide,

An' browt me the booöts to be cobbled fro' hafe the coontryside.

XVI.

An' theer 'e stans an' theer 'e shall stan to my dying daäy;

'im afoor the Throan.

kind of a waäy,

Proud on 'im, like, my lad, an' I keeäps

'im clean an' bright,

Loovs 'im, an' roobs 'im, an' doosts 'im, an' puts 'im back i' the light.

1 Staring vacantly.

The highway running by it leaves

breadth

a

Of sward to left and right, where, long

lightning-fork

Of laughter drew me thro' the glimmering glades

Down to the snowlike sparkle of a cloth On fern and foxglove. Lo, the face again,

My Rosalind in this Arden - Edith — all One bloom of youth, health, beauty, happiness,

And moved to merriment at a passing jest.

There one of those about her knowing

As yet I had not bound myself by words,

Only, believing I loved Edith, made Edith love me. Then came the day when I,

Flattering myself that all my doubts were fools

Born of the fool this Age that doubts of all

Not I that day of Edith's love or mine — Had braced my purpose to declare myself:

I stood upon the stairs of Paradise.
The golden gates would open at a word.
I spoke it told her of my passion, seen
And lost and found again, had got so far,
Had caught her hand, her eyelids fell

I heard