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We left her, happy each in each, and Edith had welcomed my short wooing of then,

her, As tho' the happiness of each in each And all her sweet self-sacrifice and death. Were not enough, must fain have torrents, lakes,

Henceforth that mystic bond betwixt Hills, the great things of Nature and the the twins fair,

Did I not tell you they were twins? – To lift us as it were from commonplace, prevail'd And help us to our joy. Better have So far that no caress could win iy wife sent

Back to that passionate answer of full Our Edith thro' the glories of the earth,

heart To change with her horizon, if true Love I had from her at first. Not that her Were not his own imperial all-in-all.

love, Far off we went.My God, I would Tho' scarce as great as Edith's power of not live

love, Save that I think this gross hard-seeming Had lessen'd, but the mother's garrulous world

wail Is our misshaping vision of the Powers Forever woke the unhappy Past again, Behind the world, that make our griefs Till that dead bridesmaid, meant to be our gains.

my bride,

Put forth cold hands between us, and I For on the dark night of our marriage fear'd day

The very fountains of her life were The great Tragedian, that had quench'd chill’d; herself

So took her thence, and brought her In that assumption of the bridesmaid

here, and here she

She bore a child, whom reverently we That loved me — our true Edith - her

call'd brain broke

Edith;

and in the second year was born With over-acting, till she rose and fled A second - this I named from her own Beneath a pitiless rush of Autumn rain

self, To the deaf church - to be let in — to Evelyn ; then two weeks pray

she joined, Before that altar - so I think; and there In and beyond the grave, that one she They found her beating the hard Prot

loved. estant doors.

Now in this quiet of declining life, She died and she was buried ere we knew. Thro' dreams by night and trances of the

day, I learnt it first. I had to speak. At The sisters glide about me hand in hand,

Both beautiful alike, nor can I tell The bright quick smile of Evelyn, that One from the other, no, nor care to tell had sunn'd

One from the other, only know they The morning of our marriage, passed

come, away :

They smile upon me, till, remembering And on our home-return the daily want

all Of Edith in the house, the garden, still The love they both have borne me, and Haunted us like her ghost; and by and

the love by,

I bore them both divided as I am Either from that necessity for talk From either by the stillness of the Which lives with blindness, or plain in

grave

I know not which of these I love the Of nature, or desire that her lost child

best. Should earn from both the praise of heroism,

But you love Edith; and her own true The mother broke her promise to the

eyes dead,

Are traitors to her; our quick Evelyn And told the living daughter with what | The merrier, prettier, wittier, as they love

talk,

no more

once

nocence

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I.

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II.

And not without good reason, my good “When theer's naw 'eäd to a 'Ouse by

the fault o' that ere maäle Is yet untouch'd: and I that hold them The gells they counts fur nout, and the both

next un he taäkes the taäil." Dearest of all things — well, I am not

IV. But if there lie a preference either What be the next un like? can tha tell way,

ony harm on 'im lass? And in the rich vocabulary of Love “Most dearest" be a true superlative –

Naäy sit down naw 'urry sa cowd!

hev another glass! I think I likewise love your Edith most.

Straänge an'cowd fur the time! we may

happen a fall o'snaw –

Not es I cares fur to hear ony harm, but THE VILLAGE WIFE; OR, THE

I likes to knaw.
ENTAIL.1

An' I oäps es 'e beänt booöklarn'd : but

'e dosn’ not coom fro’ the shere;

We'd anew o' that wi' the Squire, an 'OUSE-KEEPER sent tha my lass, fur new

we haätes booöklarnin' ere. Squire coom'd last night. Butter an'heggs — yis — yis. I'll goä wi' tha back : all right;

Fur Squire wur a Varsity scholard, an Butter I warrants be prime, an' I war

niver lookt arter the land rants the heggs be as well,

Whoäts or turmuts or taätes - 'e 'd halHafe a pint o' milk runs out when ya lus a booök i' 'is 'and, breäks the shell.

Hallus aloän wi' 'is booöks, thaw nigh

upo' seventy year.

An' boooks, what 's booöks? thou kpaws Sit thysen down fur a bit: hev a glass o' thebbe neyther 'ere nor theer.

cowslip wine! I like the owd Squire an' 'is gells as thaw they was gells o' mine,

An' the gells, they hed n't naw taäils, an' Fur then we was all es one, the Squire

the lawyer he towd it me an' 'is darters an' me,

That 'is taäil were soä tied up es he Hall but Miss Annie, the heldest, I niver

could n't cut down a tree ! not took to she :

“Drat the trees,” says I, to be sewer I But Nelly, the last of the cletch,2 I liked haätes 'em, my lass, 'er the fust on 'em all,

Fur we puts the muck o' the land, an' Fur hoffens we talkt o' my darter es died they sucks the muck fro'the grass.

o' the fever at fall :
An' I thowt 'twur the will o' the Lord,

VII.
but Miss Annie she said it wur
draäins,

An' Squire wur hallus a-smilin', an' gied Fur she hed n't naw coomfut in 'er, an'

to the tramps goin' by arn’d naw thanks fur 'er paäins.

An' all o' the wust i' the parish wi' Eh! thebbe all wi' the Lord my childer, An'ivry darter o' Squire's ħed her awn

hoffcns a drop in 'is eye. I han't gotten none !

ridin-erse to 'ersen, Sa new Squire 's coom'd wi' 'is taäil in 'is 'and, 'an owd Squire 's gone.

An' they rampaged about wi' their

grooms, an’ wus 'untin' arter the

inen,

An'hallus a dallackt 8 au' dizen'd out, an' Fur 'staäte be i' taäil, my lass: tha dosn' a-buyin' new cloäthes, knaw what that be ?

While e' sit like a graät glimmer-gowk But I knaws the law, I does, for the law

wi' 'is glasses athurt 'is noäse, yer ha towd it me.

An' 'is noäse sa grufted wi' snuff as it

could n't be scroob'd awaäy, 1 See note to “Northern Cobbler,” page 639. * A brood of chickens.

• Overdrest in gay colors. • Owl.

VI.

III.

X.

XI.

XII.

Fur 'atween is readin' an' writin''e snifft Fur I finds es I be that i' debt, es I 'oäps up a box in a daäy,

es thou 'll 'elp me a bit, An' 'e niver runn'd arter the fox, nor An' if thou 'll 'gree to cut off thy taäil I arter the birds wi' 'is gun,

may saäve mysen yit.” An' e' niver not shot one 'are, but 'e

leäved it to Charlie 'is son, An’'e niver not fish'd 'is awn ponds, but But Charlie 'e sets back 'is ears, an''e

Charlie 'e cotch'd the pike, Fur 'e warn't not burn to the land, an' 'e “I've gotten the 'staäte by the taäil an'

sweärs, an' 'e says to 'im "Noa." did n't take kind to it like ;

be dang'd if I iver let goa ! But I eärs es 'e'd gie fur a howry I owd Coom! coom! feyther," 'e says, “why book thutty pound an’ moor,

should n't thy booöks be sowd ? An' 'e'd wrote an owd book, his awn sen,

I hears es soom o’thy booöks mebbe sa I knaw'd es 'e'd coom to be

worth their weight i' gowd.” poor; An’’e gied

I be fear'd fur to tell tha 'ow much - fur an owd scratted stoän,

Heäps an' heäps o' booöks, I ha' see'd An’'e digg'd up a loomp i' the land an' 'em, belonged to the Squire, 'e got a brown pot an'a boän,

But the lasses 'ed teard out leaves i' the An' 'e bowt owd money, es would n't goä,

middle to kindle the fire; wi' good gowd o’the Queen, Sa moäst on 'is owd big booöks fetch'd An' 'e bowt little statutes all-naäkt an' nigh to nowt at the saäle,

which was a shaäme to be seen ; And Squire were at Charlie ageän to git But 'e niver looökt ower a bill, nor 'e

'im to cut off 'is taäil. niver not seed to owt, An''e niver knawd nowt but booöks, an' booöks, as thou knaws, beänt nowt. Ya would n't find Charlie's likes 'e

were that outdacions at 'oäm,

Not thaw ya went fur to raäke out Hell But owd Squire's laädy es long es she

wi' a small-tooth coämb lived she kep''em all clear, Droonk wi' the Quoloty's wine, an' droonk Thaw es long es she lived I niver hed

wi’ the farmer's aäle, none of 'er darters 'ere;

Mad wi' the lasses an' all an' 'e But arter she died we was all es one, the

would n't cut off the taäil. childer an' me, An' sarvints runn’d in an' out, an'offens

XIII. we hed 'em to tea.

Thou 's coom'd oop by the beck; and a Lawk! 'ow I laugh'd when the lasses 'ud thurn be a-grawin' theer, talk o' their Missis's waäys,

I niver ha seed it sa white wi' the Maäy An' the Missisis talk'd o' the lasses.

es I see'd it to-year I'll tell tha some o' these daäys. Theerabouts Charlie joompt — and it Hoänly Miss Annie were saw stuck oop, gied me a scare tother night, like 'er mother afoor

Fur I thowt it wur Charlie's ghoäst i’ the 'Er an' 'er blessed darter - they niver

derk, fur it looökt sa white. derken'd my door.

* Billy,” says 'e," hev a joomp!” – thaw

the banks o'the beck be sa high, IX.

Fur he ca'd 'is 'erse Billy-rough-un, thaw

niver a hair wur awry ; An' Squire 'e smiled an' 'e smiled till

'e'd gotten a fright at last, But Billy fell bakkuds o' Charlie, an' An''e calls fur 'is son, fur the 'turney's

Charlie 'e brok 'is neck, letters they foller'd sa fast ; So theer wur a hend o' the taäil, fur 'e But Squire wur afear'd o' 'is son, an' 'e

lost 'is taäil i’ the beck. says to 'im, meek as a mouse, “ Lad, thou mun cut off thy taäil, or the

XIV. gells 'ull goä to the 'Ouse,

Sa 'is taäil wur lost an' 'is booöks wur 1 Filthy.

gone an' 'is boy wur dead,

VIII.

An' Squire 'e smiled an' 'e smiled, but 'e | Fur I'd ha done owt fur the Squire an' niver not lift oop 'is eäd :

’is gells es belong'd to the land; Hallus a soft un Squire! an’’e smiled, fur Booöks, es I said afoor, thebbe neyther 'e hed u't naw friend,

'ere nor theer! Sa feyther an’son was buried togither, But I sarved 'em wi' butter an' beggs fur an' this wur the hend.

huppuds o' twenty year,

XVIII.

XV.

all;

An' Parson as hes n't the call, nor the An' they hallus paäid what I hax'd, sa I mooney, but hes the pride,

hallus deel'd wi' the Hall, ’E reäds of a sewer an’ sartan ’oäp o' the An’ they kuaw'd what butter wur, an’ tother side ;

they knaw'd what a hegg wur an' But I beänt that sewer es the Lord, how

siver they praäy'd an praäy'd, Hugger-mugger they lived, but they Lets them inter 'eaven easy es leaves their

was n't that easy to pleäse, debts to be paäid.

Till I gied 'em Hinjian curn, an' they Siver the mou'ds rattled down upo' poor an’ I niver puts saäme 8 i' my butter,

laäid big heggs es tha seeas ; owd Squire i’ the wood, An' I cried along wi' the gells, fur they

they does it at Willis's farm, weänt niver coom to naw good.

Taäste another drop o' the wive — tweänt

do tha naw harm.

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EMMIE.

I.

Fur Molly the youngest she walkt awaäy Sa new Squire's coom'd wi' 'is taäil in wi' a hofficer lad,

’is 'and, an' owd Squire 's gone; An' naw body 'eärd on 'er sin, sa o'coorse

I heard 'im a roomlin' by, but arter my she be gone to the bad ! An' Lucy wur laäme o one leg, sweet

nightcap wur on ; 'arts she never 'ed none

So I han't clapt eyes on 'im yit, fur he

coom'd last night sa laäte Straänge an' unheppen Miss Lucy! we

Pluksh !!! 4 the hens i’ the peäs! why naämed her “ Dot an' yaw one!”

did n't tha hesp the gaäte ? An' Hetty wur weak i’ the hattics, wi'out

ony harm i’ the legs, An' the fever 'ed baäked Jinny's 'eäd as bald as one o' them heggs,

IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL. An' Nelly wur up fro' the craädle as big

i' the mouth as a cow, An' saw she mun hammergrate,” lass, or

she weänt git a maäte onyhow! An'es fur Miss Annie es call'd 'me afoor Our doctor had call'd in another, I never my awn foälks to my faïce

had seen him before, "A hignorant village wife as ’ud hev to But he sent a chill to my heart when I be larn’d her awn plaäce,”..

saw him come in at the door, Hes fur Miss Hannie the heldest hes now Fresh from the surgery-schools of France be a-grawin' sa howd,

and of other lands I knaws that mooch o'sheä, es it beänt Harsh red hair, big voice, big chest, big not fit to be towd !

merciless hands! Wonderful cures he had done, O yes, but

they said too of him

He was happier using the knife than in Sa I did n't not taäke it kindly ov owd

trying to save the limb, Miss Annie to saäy

And that I can well believe, for he look'd Es I should be talkin' ayeän em, es soon

so coarse and so red, es they went waäv,

I could think he was one of those who Fur, lawks ! 'ow I cried when they went, would break their jests on the dead, an' our Nelly she gied me 'er 'and,

3 Lard. 1 Ungainly, awkward.

* A cry accompanied by a clapping of hands to 2 Emigrate.

scare trespassing fowl.

XVII.

II.

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And mangle the living dog that had loved Nay you remember our Emmie ; you used him and fawn'd at his knee

to send her the flowers ; Drench'd with the hellish corali – that How she would smile at 'em, play with ever such things should be !

'em, talk to 'em hours after hours ! They that can wander at will where the

works of the Lord are reveal'd

Little guess what joy can be got from a Here was a boy - I am sure that some cowslip out of the field; of our children would die

Flowers to these “ spirits in prison But for the voice of Love, and the smile,

all they can know of the spring, and the comforting eye

They freshen and sweeten the wards like Here was a boy in the ward, every bone the waft of an Angel's wing; seem'd out of its place

And she lay with a flower in one hand and Caught in a mill and crush'd - it was all

her thin hands crost on her breastbut a hopeless case :

Wan, but as pretty as heart can desire, And he handled him gently enough; but and we thought her at rest,

his voice and his face were not Quietly sleeping – so quiet, our doctor kind,

said "Poor little dear, And it was but a hopeless case, he had Nurse, I must do it to-morrow; she 'll seen it and made up his mind,

never live thro' it, I fear." And he said to me roughly, The lad

will need little more of your care.” “All the more need,” I told him, "to

seek the Lord Jesus in prayer; I walk'd with our kindly old doctor as They are all his children here, and I pray far as the head of the stair, for them all as my own :

Then I return’d to the ward ; the child But he turn'd to me, “ Ay, good woman, did n't see I was there.

can prayer set a broken bone?Then he mutter'd half to himself, but I

know that I heard him say "All very well but the good Lord Never since I was nurse, had I been so Jesus has had his day,

grieved and so vext! Emmie had heard him. Softly she call’d

from her cot to the next, Had ? has it come? It has only dawn'd.

“ He says I shall never live thro' it, O It will come by and by.

Annie, what shall I do?O how could I serve in the wards if the

Annie consider'd. “If I," said the wise

little Annie, was you, hope of the world were a lie? How could I bear with the sights and

I should cry to the dear Lord Jesus to the loathsome smells of disease.

help me, for, Emmie, you see, But that He said “Ye do it to me, when It's all in the picture there : Little

children should come to me.'” ye do it to these?

(Meaning the print that you gave us, I

find that it always can please

Our children, the dear Lord Jesus with So he went. And we past to this ward children about his knees.)

where the younger children are Yes, and I will,” said Emmie, “but laid :

then if I call to the Lord, Here is the cot of our orphan, our dar- How should he know that it's me ? such ling, our meek little maid;

a lot of beds in the ward !” Empty you see just now! We have lost That was a puzzle for Annie. Again she her who loved her so much

consider'd and said :: Patient of pain tho' as quick as a sensitive “Emmie, you put out your arms, and plant to the touch;

you leave 'em outside on the bed Hers was the prettiest prattle, it often The Lord has so much to see to ! but, moved me to tears,

Emmie, you tell it him plain, Hers was the gratefullest heart I have It's the little girl with her arms lying found in a child of her years

out on the counterpane."

VI.

III.

IV.

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