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Fur I fun', when 'er back wur turn'd, wheer Sally's owd stockin' wur

An' when we coom'd into Meeätin', at

fust she wur all in a tew, An' I grabb’d the munny she maäde, and But, arter, we sing'd the 'ymn togither I weär'd it o' liquor, I did.

like birds on a beugh; An' Muggins e' preäch'd o' Hell-fire an'

the loov o' God fur men,

An' then upo' coomin' aważy Sally gied An' one night I cooms 'oäm like a bull

me a kiss ov 'ersen. gotten loose at a faäir, An' she wur a-waäitin' fo’mma, an' cryin' an' teärin' 'er 'aäir,

Heer wur a fall fro' a kiss to a kick like An' I tummiled athurt the craädle an'

Saätan as fell sweär'd as I'd breäk ivry stick O’ furnitur 'ere i’ the 'ouse, an' I gied

Down out o' heaven i' Hell-fire — thaw

theer 's naw drinkin' i' Hell; our Sally a kick, An' I mash'd the taäbles an' chairs, an'

Meä fur to kick our Sally as kep' the

wolf fro' the door, she an’ the babby beäld,? Fur I knaw'd naw moor what I did nor a

All along o' the drink, fur I loov'd 'er as

well as afoor. mortal beäst o' the feäld.




An' when I waäked i’ the murnin' I seeäd

that our Sally went laämed Cos' o' the kick as I gied 'er, an' I wur

dreädful ashaämed ; An' Sally wur sloomy' an' draggle

taäil'd in an owd turn gown, An' the babby's faäce wurn't wesh'd an'

the 'ole 'ouse hupside down.

Sa like a graät num-cumpus I blubber'd

awaäy o' the bed “ Weant niver 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

does it agëan. Theer 's thy hennemy, man, an' I knaws,

as knaws tha sa well, That, if tha seeäs 'im an' smells 'im

tha 'll foller 'im slick into Hell.”



An' then I minded our Sally sa pratty an' neät an sweeät,

'Naäy,” says I, "fur I weänt goä sniffin Straät as a pole an' cleän as a flower fro'

about the tap.” 'eäd to feeät :

“ Weänt tha?” she says, an' mysen I An' then I minded the fust kiss I gied 'er

thowt i' mysen “may hap: by Thursby thurn;

“Noa :” an' I started awaäy like a shot, Theer wur a lark a-singin' 'is best of a

an' down to the Hinn, Sunday at murn,

An' I browt what tha seeäs stannin' theer' Could n't see 'im, we 'eärd 'im a-mountin'

yon big black bottle o'gin. oop ’igher an' 'igher, An' then 'e turn’d to the sun, an''e shined

XIII. like a sparkle o' fire. “Does n't tha see 'im," she axes, “fur I “ That caps owt,

says Sally, an' saw she can see ’im?an' I

begins to cry, Seeäd nobbut the smile o' the sun as But I puts it inter 'er 'ands an' I says danced in 'er pratty blue eye;

to 'er, “ Sally,” says I, An' I says “I mun gie tha a kiss,” an' “Stan' 'im theer i' ihe naäme o' the Lord Sally says “ Noä, thou moänt,”

an' the power ov 'is Graäce, But I giod 'er a kiss, an' then anoother, Stan' 'im theer, fur I 'll look my hennemy an' Sally says “ doänt !"

straït i’ the faäce, 1 Bellowed, cried out.

3 I'll uphold it. > sluggish, out of spirits.

* That 's beyond overything




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Stan' 'im theer i' the winder, an' let ma

XVII. looök at 'im then,

Would n't a pint a sarved as well as a 'E seeäms naw moor nor watter, an' 'e 's

quart ? Naw doubt : the Divil's oän sen.”

But I liked a bigger feller to fight wi' an'

fowt it out. Fine an' meller 'e mun be by this, if I

cared to taäste, An' I wur down i' tha month, could n't But I moänt, my lad, and I weänt, fur do naw work an' all,

I'd feäl mysen cleäu disgraäced. Nasty an’snaggy an' shaäky, an' poonch'd

my ’and wi' the hawl, But she wur a power o' coomfut, an' satiled 'ersen o' my knee,

An' once I said to the Missis, “ My lass, An' coäxd an' coodled ine oop till agëan Smash the bottle to smithers, the Divil ’s

when I cooms to die, I feel'd mysen free.

in ’im,” said I. But arter I chaänged my mind, an' if

Sally be left aloän, An' Sally she tell’d it about, and foälk I'll hev 'im a-buried wi’mma an' taäke stood a-gawmin'1 in,

'im afoor the Throan. As thaw it wur summat bewitch'd istead

of a quart o'gin ; An' some on 'em said it wur watter - an' Coom thou 'cer — yon laädy a-steppin' I wur chousin' the wife,

along the streeät, Fur I could n't 'owd ’ands off gin, were it | Does n't tha knaw 'er - sa pratty, an nobbut to saave my life :

feät, an' neät, an' sweeät ? An' blacksmith 'e strips me the thick ov Look at the cloäths on 'cr back, thebbe 'is airm, an''e shaws it to me,

ammost spick-span-new, “Feëal thou this! thou can't graw this An' Tommy's faäce is as fresh as a cod. upo' watter!” says he.

lin 'at 's wesh'd 'i the dew, An' Doctor 'e calls o' Sunday an' just as

candles was lit, “ Thou moänt do it,” he says, " tha mun 'Ere our Sally an' Tommy, an' we be abreäk 'im off bit by bit.”

goin' to dine, Thou 'rt but a Methody-man,” says Baäcon an' taätes, an'a beslings-puddin'? Parson, and laäys down ’is ’at,

an' Adam's wine; An''e points to the bottle o' gin, “but I But tha wants ony grog tha mun goä respecks tha fur that;

fur it down to the Hinn, An' Squire, his oän very sen, walks down Fur I weänt shed a drop on 'is blood, noa, fro’ the 'All to see,

not fur Sally's oän kin. An' 'e spanks 'is 'and into mine, “fur I

respecks tha,” says 'e ; An'coostom ageän draw'd in like a wind

THE SISTERS. fro' far an' wide, Au' browt me the booöts to be cobbled They have left the doors ajar; and by fro' hafe the coontryside.

their clash, And prelude on the keys, I know the


Their favorite which I call An' theer 'e stans an' theer 'e shall stan

Tables my dying daäy ; I’a gotten to loov 'im ágeän in anoother Evelyn begins it “ O diviner Air.”

kind of a waäy, Proud on 'im, like, my lad, an' I keeäps 'im cleän an' bright,

( diviner Air, Loovs 'im, an' roobs 'im, an' doosts 'im,

Thro’ the heat, the drowth, the dust,

the glare, an' puts 'im back i’ the light.

? A pudding made with the first milk of the 1 Staring vacantly.

cow after calving.



" The


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he Sily.

Far from out the west in shadowing No sisters ever prized each other more. showers,

Not so: their mother and her sister loved Over all the meadow baked and bare, More passionately still. Making fresh and fair

But that my best All the bowers and the flowers,

And oldest friend, your Uucle, wishes it, Fainting flowers, faded bowers, And that I know you worthy every way Over all this weary world of ours, To be my son, Í might, perchance, be Breathe, diviner Air !


To part them, or part from them: and A sweet voice that - you scarce could

yet one better that.


marry, or all the broad lands in Now follows Edith echoing Evelyn.

your view
From this bay window - which our house

has held
Three hundred years

will pass collatO diviner Light,

erally. Thro' the cloud that roofs our noon with night,

My father with a child on either knee, Thro' the blotting mist, the blinding a hand upon the head of either child, showers,

Smoothing their locks, as golden as his Far from out a sky forever bright, Over all the woodland's flooded bow. Were silver, "get them wedded ”would

ers, Over all the meadow's drowning flow. And once my prattling Edith ask'd bim ers,

“ why? Over all this ruin'd word of ours, Ay, why? said he, "for why should I go Break, diviner Light !


Then told them of his wars, and of his Marvellously like, their voices and

wound. themselves !

For see —

- this wine the grape from Tho' one is somewhat deeper than the

whence it flow'd other,

Was blackening on the slopes of Portugal, As one is somewhat graver than the When that brave soldier, down the terother

rible ridge Edith than Evelyn. Your good Uncle, Plunged in the last fierce charge at Wa. whom

terloo, You count the father of your fortune, And caught the laming bullet. He left longs

me this, For this alliance : let me ask you then,

Which yet retains a memory of its youth, Which voice most takes you ? for I do not

As I of mine, and my first passion. doubt

Come ! Being a watchful parent, you are taken, Here's to your happy union with my With one or other : tho’sometimes I fear

child! You may be fickering, fluttering in a doubt

Yet must you change your name : no Between the two which must not be

fault of mine! which might

You say that you can do it as willingly Be death to one : they both are beautiful : As birds make ready for their bridal-time Evelyn is gayer, wittier, prettier, says By change of feather: for all that, my boy The common voice, if one may trust it : Some birds are sick and sullen when they she?

molt. No! but the paler and the graver, Edith. An old and worthy name! but mine that Woo her and gain her then: no waver

stirr'd ing, boy!

Among our civil wars and earlier too The graver is perhaps the one for you Among the Roses, the more venerable. Who jest and laugh so easily and so I care not for a name – no fault of mine. well.

Once more - a happier marriage than For love will go by contrast, as by likes.

my own!



You see yon Lombard poplar on the Of our New Forest. I was there alone : plain.

The phantom of the whirling landaulet The highway running by it leaves a Forever past me by; when one quick breadth

peal Of sward to left and right, where, long Of laughter drew me thro' the glimmerago,

ing glades One bright May morning in a world of Down to the snowlike sparkle of a cloth song,

On fern and foxglove. Lo, the face I lay at leisure, watching overhead

again, The aerial poplar wave, an amber spire. My Rosalind in this Arden Edith - all

One bloom of youth, health, beauty, hapA dozed ; I woke. An open landaulet piness, Whirl'd by, which, after it had past me, And moved to merriment at a passing show'd

jest. Turning my way, the loveliest face on earth.

There one of those about her knowing The face of one there sitting opposite. On whom I brought a strange unhappi- Call’d me to join them; so with these I

spent That time I did not see.

What seem'd my crowning hour, my day

of days. Love at first sight I woo'd her then, nor unsuccessfully, May seem - with goodly rhyme and rea The worse for her, for me! was I conson for it

tent ? Possible - at first glimpse, and for a | Ay – no, not quite ; for now and then I face

thought Gone in a moment - - strange. Yet once, Laziness, vague love-longings, the bright when first

I came on lake Llanberris in the dark, Had made a heated haze to magnify
A moonless night with storm

The charm of Edith that a man's lightning-fork

ideal Flash'd out the lake; and tho’ I loiter'd Is high in heaven, and lodged with Plato's there

God, The full day after, yet in retrospect Not findable here content, and not That less than momentary thunder-sketch content, Of lake and mountain conquers all the In some such fashion as a man may be day.

That having had the portrait of his friend

Drawn by an artist, looks at it, and says, The Sun himself has limn'd the face Good! very like! not altogether he.”

for me. Not quite so quickly, no, nor half as well. As yet I had not bound myself by For look you here — the shadows are too words, deep,

Only, believing I loved Edith, made And like the critic's blurring comment Edith love me. Then came the day when make

I, The veriest beauties of the work appear Flattering myself that all my doubts were The darkest faults : the sweet eyes frown: fools

Born of the fool this Age that doubts of Seem but a gash. My sole memorial Of Edith no the other, both indeed. Not I that day of Edith's love or mine

Had braced my purpose to declare mySo that bright face was flash'd thro'

self: sense and soul

I stood upon the stairs of Paradise. And by the poplar vanish'd to be The golden gates would open at a word. fonnd

I spoke it — told her of my passion, seen Long after, as it seem'd, beneath the tall And lost and found again, had got so far, Tree-bowers, and those long-sweeping Had caught her hand, her eyelids fell beechen boughs

I heard


the lips



Wheels, and a noise of welcome at the Poor soul, not knowing) are you ill?” doors

(so ran On a sudden after two Italian years The letter) " you have not been here of Had set the blossom of her health again, late. The younger sister, Evelyn, enter'd - You will not find me here. At last I go there,

On that long-promised visit to the Sorth. There was the face, and altogether she. I told your wayside story to my mother The mother fell about the daughter's And Evelyn. She remembers you. Fareneck,

well. The sisters closed in one another's arms, Pray come and see my mother. Almost Their people throng'd about them from blind the hall,

With ever-growing cataract, yet she And in the thick of question and reply

thinks I fled the house, driven by one angel face, She sees you when she hears. Again And all the Furies.

farewell.” I was bound to her; I could not free myself in honor – bound Cold words from one I had hoped to Not by the sounded letter of the word,

warm so far But counter-pressures of the yielded That I could stamp my image on her hand

heart ! That timorously and faintly echoed mine, “Pray come and see my mother, and Quick blushes, the sweet dwelling of her farewell." eyes

Cold, but as welcome as free airs of Upon me when she thought I did not


After a dungeon's closeness. Selfish, Were these not bonds ? nay, nay, but strange! could I wed her

What dwarfs are men ! my strangled Loving the other? do her that great vanity wrong?

Utter'd a stifled cry

to have vext my. Had I not dream'd I loved her yester


And all in vain for her - cold heart or Had I not known where Love, at first a fear,

No bride for me. Yet so my path was Grew after marriage to full height and clear form?

To win the sister. Yet after marriage, that mock-sister

Whom I woo'd and won. there

For Evelyn knew not of my former suit, Brother-in-law — the fiery nearness of Because the simple mother work'd upon it

By Edith pray'd me not to whisper of Unlawful and disloyal brotherhood

it. What end but darkness could ensue from And Edith would be bridesmaid on the this

day. For all the three ? So Love and Honor But on that day, not being all at ease, jarr'd

I from the altar glancing back upon her, Tho' Love and Honor join’d to raise the Before the first “I will” was utter’d, saw full

The bridesmaid pale, statuelike, passionHigh-tide of doubt that sway'd me up and less down

“No harm, no harm," I turned again, Advancing nor retreating.

and placed

Edith wrote: My ring upon the finger of my bride. "My mother bids me ask ” (I did not tell you

So, when we parted, Edith spoke no A widow with less guile than many a

word, child.

She wept no tear, but round my Evelyn Gol help the wrinkled children that are clung Christ's

In utter silence for so long, I thought As well as

the plump cheek - she “What, will she never get her sister wrought us harm,


morn ?


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