Scarce a year arter, by the scented hedgerows Down the mown hill-side, fro' the castle gateway Came a long train and, i' the midst, a black bier, Easily shouldered.

"Whose is yon corse that, thus adorned wi' gourd leaves

Forth ye bear with slow step?" A mourner answer'd,

"'T is the poor clay-cold body Lady Jane grew Tired to abide in.".

"Delve my grave quick, then, for I die to-morrow. Delve it one furlong fro' the kidney bean-sticks, Where I may dream she's goin' on precisely

As she was used to."

Hardly died Bill when, fro' the Lady Jane's grave, Crept to his white death-bed a lovely pumpkin: Climb'd the house wall and over-arched his head wi' Billowy verdure.

Simple this tale! - but delicately perfumed

As the sweet roadside honeysuckle. That's why, Difficult though its metre was to tackle,

I'm glad I wrote it.

A. T. Quiller-Couch.

Oh, delightsome Love! Not a jot do you care
For the restrictions set on human inter-

Course by cold-blooded social refiners;

Nor do I, neither.

Day by day, peepin' fro' behind the bean-sticks, Willum observed that scrap o' white a-wavin', Till his hot sighs out-growin' all repression Busted his weskit.

Lady Jane's guardian was a haughty Peer, who
Clung to old creeds and had a nasty temper;
Can we blame Willum that he hardly cared to
Risk a refusal ?

Year by year found him busy 'mid the bean-sticks,
Wholly uncertain how on earth to take steps.
Thus for eighteen years he beheld the maiden
Wave fro' her window.

But the nineteenth spring, i' the castle post-bag, Came by book-post Bill's catalogue o' seedlings Mark'd wi' blue ink at "Paragraphs relatin'

Mainly to Pumpkins."

"W. A. can," so the Lady Jane read,

"Strongly commend that very noble Gourd, the

Lady Jane, first-class medal, ornamental;

Grows to a great height."

Scarce a year are the scene: RESTOR

な

AFTER CAMPBELL

THE NEW ARRIVAL

HERE came to port last Sunday night

T The queerest little craft,

Without an inch of rigging on;

I looked and looked and laughed ! It seemed so curious that she

Should cross the Unknown water,
And moor herself within my room
My daughter! Oh, my daughter!

Yet by these presents witness all
She's welcome fifty times,

And comes consigned in hope and love—
And common-metre rhymes.

She has no manifest but this,

No flag floats o'er the water;

She's too new for the British Lloyds -
My daughter! Oh, my daughter!

Ring out, wild bells and tame ones too,
Ring out the lover's moon;

Ring in the little worsted socks,

Ring in the bib and spoon.

Ring out the muse, ring in the nurse,

Ring in the milk and water;

Away with paper, pen, and ink

My daughter! Oh, my daughter!

George Washington Cable.

JOHN THOMPSON'S DAUGHTER

A

FELLOW near Kentucky's clime
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry,
And I'll give thee a silver dime
To row us o'er the ferry."

"Now, who would cross the Ohio,
This dark and stormy water?"
"O, I am this young lady's beau,

And she, John Thompson's daughter.

"We've fled before her father's spite
With great precipitation;

And should he find us here to-night,
I'd lose my reputation.

"They 've missed the girl and purse beside,
His horsemen hard have pressed me;
And who will cheer my bonny bride,
If yet they shall arrest me?"

Out spoke the boatman then in time,
"You shall not fail, don't fear it ;

I'll go, not for your silver dime,
But for your manly spirit.

"And by my word, the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry;

For though a storm is coming on,
I'll row you o'er the ferry."