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“Never knowd nothink, sir.”
“ No, sir. Nothink at all. Mr. Chadbands he wos a prayin' wunst at Mr. Sangshy's, and I heerd him, but he sounded as if he wos speakin' to hisself, and not to me. He prayed a lot but I could n't make out nothink on it. Different times there wos other genlmen come down Tom-allAlone's a prayin', but they all mostly sed as the t' other wuns prayed wrong, and all mostly sounded to be a talking to theirselves, or a passing blame on the t’ others, and not a talkin' to us. We never knowd nothink. I never knowd what it wos all about."
It takes him a long time to say this; and few but an experienced and attentive listener could hear, or, hearing, understand him. After a short relapse into sleep or stupor, he makes, of a sudden, a strong effort to get out of bed.
• Stay, Jo, stay! What now?
“ It 's time for me to go to that there berryin-ground, sir," he returns,fwith a wild look.
“ Lie down, and tell me. What burying-ground, Jo?”
“Where they laid him as wos wery good to me; wery good to me indeed, he wos. It 's time fur me to go down to that there berryin-ground, sir, and ask to be put along with him. I wants to go there and be berried. He used fur to say to me, 'I am as poor as you to-day, Jo,' he ses. I wants to tell him that I am as poor as him now, and have come there to be laid along with him.”
“ By and by, Jo. By and by.”
“Ah! Pr’aps they would n't do it if I wos to go myself. But will you promise to have me took there, sir, and have me laid along with him?"
“I will, indeed.”
“ Thank'ee, sir! Thank'ee, sir! They'll have to get the key of the gate alore they can take me in, for it 's allus locked. And there's a step there, as I used fur to clean with my broom. It 's turned wery dark, sir: Is there any light a comin'?"
“It is coming fast Jo."
Fast. The cart is shaken all to pieces, and the rugged road is very near its end.
“Jo, my poor fellow!"
“ Jo, can you say what I say?” “I'll say anythink as you say, sir, for I knows it 's good.” “OUR FATHER.” “Our Father!-yes, that's wery good, sir.” 66 WHICH ART IN HEAVEN.” “ Art in Heaven-is the light a comin', sir?” " It is close at hand. HALLOWED BE THY NAME!" “ Hallowed be—thy-name!" The light is come upon the dark benighted way. Dead!
Dead, your Majesty. Dead, my lords and gentlemen. Dead, Right Reverends and Wrong Reverends of every order. Dead, men and women, born with heavenly compassion in your hearts. And dying thus around us every day!
THE VOLUNTEER’S WIFE.
“AN' sure I was tould to come to your Honor,
To see if ye'd write a few words to me Pat. He's gone
for a soldier, is Misther O'Connor, Wid a sthripe on his arm and a band on his hat.
“ An' what’ll ye tell him? It ought to be aisy
For sich as yer Honor to spake wid the pen, Jist say I'm all right, and that Mavoorneen Daisy
(The baby, yer Honor,) is betther again.
“For when he went off it's so sick was the childer
She niver held up her blue eyes to his face; And when I'd be cryin' he'd look but the wilder,
An' say, Would you wish for the counthry's disgrace?'
“So he left her in danger, and me sorely gratin',
To follow the flag wid an Irishman's joy ;0, it's often I drame of the big drums a batin',
An' a bullet gone straight to the heart of me boy.
will he send me a bit of his money, For the rint an' the docther's bill due in a wake;Well, surely, there's tears on yer eye-lashes, honey!
Ah, faith, I've no right with such freedom to spake.
“You've overmuch trifling, I'll not give ye trouble,
I'll find some one willin'- O, what can it be? What's that in the newspaper
double? Yer Honor, don't hide it, but rade it to me.
“What, Patrick O'Connor! No, no, 't is some other!
Dead! dead! no, not him! 'Tis a wake scarce gone by: Dead! dead! why, the kiss on the cheek of his mother,
It has n't had time yet, yer Honor to dry. “ Don't tell me ! It's not him! O God, am I crazy?
Shot dead! O for love of sweet Heaven, say no. o, what 'll I do in the world wid poor Daisy!
I O, how will I live, an' 0, where will I go! 6. The room is so dark, I'm not seein' yer Honor,
I think I'll go home” And a sob thick and dry Came sharp from the bosom of Mary O'Connor,
But never a tear-drop welled up
to her eye.
M. A. DENNISON.
“Hı! Harry Holly! Halt,—and tell
A fellow just a thing or two;
How all the folks in Jersey do.
I, and a bullet from Fair Oaks;
Did you see any of our folks?
For if I do look grim and rough,
And hot saltpetre flames and smokes,
One's apt to think about his folks.
“ And so you saw them - when? and where?
The old man - is he hearty yet? And mother - does she fade at all?
Or does she seem to pine and fret For me? And Sis? — has she
tall? And did you see her friend That Annie Moss
(How this pipe chokes!) Where did you see her?— tell me, Hal,
A lot of news about our folks.
“ You saw them in the church — yet say;
It's likely, for they 're always there. Not Sunday? no? A funeral? Who?
Who, Harry? how you shake and stare! All well, you say, and all were out;
What ails you, Hal? Is this a hoax?
like a man,
“I said all well, old comrade, true; I
say all well, for He knows best Who takes the young ones in his arms,
Before the sun goes to the west.
And flowers fall as well as oaks;
Fair Annie blooms no more! And that's the matter with your folks.
“See, this long curl was kept for you;
And this white blossom from her breast; And here — your sister Bessie wrote
A letter, telling all the rest.
“Boys, be still; There's some bad news from Grainger's folks.”
He turns his back the only foe
That ever saw it-on this grief,
And, as men will, keeps down the tears
Kind Nature sends to Woe's relief.
" Ah, Hal, I 'll try;
To count her in among our folks.
“I s'pose she must be happy now,
But still I will keep thinking too,
By being tender, kind, and true.
She 's safe up there,
And wait to welcome in our folks.”
THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER.
THREE students were traveling over the Rhine;
“My beer and wine are fresh and clear;
The first he drew near, and the veil gently raised,