THE COURTIN'.

The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out

Towards the pootiest, bless her! An' leetle flames danced all about The chiny on the dresser.

Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung,
An' in amongst 'em rusted

The ole queen's arm thet Gran'ther Young
Fetched back from Concord busted.

The very room, coz she was in,

Seemed warm from floor to ceilin',

An' she looked full ez rosy agin
Ez the apples she was peelin'.

'T was kin' o' kingdom-come to look
On sech a blessèd cretur,
A dogrose blushin' to a brook
Ain't modester nor sweeter.

He was six foot o' man, A I,

Clean grit an' human natur'; None could n't quicker pitch a ton Nor dror a furrer straighter.

He'd sparked it with full twenty gals,

Hed squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em, Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells, All is, he could n't love 'em.

But long o' her his veins 'ould run
All crinkly like curled maple,
The side she breshed felt full o' sun
Ez a south slope in Ap'il.

She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing
Ez hisn in the choir;

My! when he made Ole Hundred ring,

She knowed the Lord was nigher.

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An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer,
When her new meetin'-bunnet
Felt somehow thru' its crown a pair
O' blue eyes sot upon it.

Thet night, I tell ye, she looked some!
She seemed to 've gut a new soul,
For she felt sartin-sure he 'd come,
Down to her very shoe-sole.

"You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?"

“Wal . . . no . . . I come dasignin’”.

"To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es Agin to-morrer's i'nin'."

To say why gals acts so or so,

Or don't, 'ould be presumin'; Mebby to mean yes an' say no Comes nateral to women.

He stood a spell on one foot fust,
Then stood a spell on t' other,
An' on which one he felt the wust

He could n't ha' told ye nuther.

THE PURITAN LOVERS.

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Says he, "I'd better call agin";

Says she, "Think likely, Mister":
Thet last word pricked him like a pin,
An'... Wal, he up an' kist her.

When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips,
Huldy sot pale ez ashes,

All kin' o'smily roun' the lips
An' teary roun' the lashes.

For she was jes' the quiet kind
Whose naturs never vary,

Like streams that keep a summer mind
Snowhid in Jenooary.

The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued
Too tight for all expressin',

Tell mother see how metters stood,
And gin 'em both her blessin'.

Then her red come back like the tide
Down to the Bay o' Fundy,

An' all I know is, they was cried

In meetin' come nex' Sunday.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

The Puritan Lovers.

DRA

RAWN out, like lingering bees, to share
The last, sweet summer weather,

Beneath the reddening maples walked
Two Puritans together.

A youth and maiden, heeding not

The woods which round them brightened,

Just conscious of each other's thoughts,
Half happy and half frightened.

Grave were their brows, and few their words,
And coarse their garb, and simple;
The maiden's very cheek seemed shy
To own its worldly dimple.

For stern the time; they dwelt with care;

And fear was oft a comer;

A sober April ushered in

The Pilgrim's toilful summer.

And stern their creed; they tarried here
Mere desert-land sojourners:

They must not dream of mirth or rest,
God's humble lesson-learners.

The temple's sacred perfume round
Their week-day robes was clinging;
Their mirth was but the golden bells
On priestly garments ringing.

But as to-day they softly talked,

That serious youth and maiden,
Their plainest words strange beauties wore,
Like weeds with dew-drops laden.

The saddest theme had something sweet,
The gravest, something tender,
While with slow steps they wandered on,
'Mid summer's fading splendor.

He said, "Next week the church will hold
A day of prayer and fasting";
And then he stooped, and bent to pick
A white life-everlasting.

A silvery bloom, with fadeless leaves;
He gave it to her, sighing;

A mute confession was his glance,
Her blush a mute replying.

THE PURITAN LOVERS.

"Mehetabel!" (at last he spoke,)

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My fairest one and dearest!

One thought is ever to my heart
The sweetest and the nearest.

"You read my soul; you know my wish;
Oh, grant me its fulfilling!"
She answered low, "If Heaven smiles,
And if my father's willing."

No idle passion swayed her heart,
This quaint New England beauty;
Faith was the guardian of her life;
Obedience was a duty.

Too truthful for reserve, she stood,
Her brown eyes earthward casting,
And held with trembling hand the while
Her white life-everlasting.

Her sober answer pleased the youth
Frank, clear, and gravely cheerful;
He left her at her father's door,
Too happy to be fearful.

She looked on high, with earnest plea,
And Heaven seemed bright above her;
And when she shyly spoke his name,
Her father praised her lover.

And when, that night, she sought her couch,
With head-board high and olden,

Her prayer was praise, her pillow down,
And all her dreams were golden.

And still upon her throbbing heart,
In bloom and breath undying,
A few life-everlasting flowers,
Her lover's gift, were lying.

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