married I'll take some o' this nonsense out on ye, or I'll-I'll see!" says I. He glared at me as if he never'd seen me afore, he was so 'stonished, but I hauled him back down stairs, and we all went into the parlor at last and took our places in front of the minister. But it did seem as if delays and hitches was to be the order of the day, for jest as we got all ready ter begin, the minister was called to the door on important business that kep' him ten minutes or so, and there we stood in the middle o' the floor lookin' at one 'nother and feelin' awk'ard enough. Among the folks I invited to the weddin' was old Aunt Betsey Griffin, deaf as a post, and settin' beside her was old Mis' Potter, and Mis' Potter'd lost her mind, in a measure, as it were. I knew it would please 'em both ter come, so I invited 'em. Well, while we was waitin' for the minister and the room was still as the grave, all of a sudden Mis' Potter turned to Aunt Betsey and screamed into her ear loud enough to wake the dead : "Who did you say our Ruth Ann is goin' ter marry?" And Aunt Betsey screamed back jest as loud, though Mis' Potter ain't deaf a mite: "Mr. Hannibal Hawkins!" Mis' Potter nods her head contented, and sets and rocks for about a minute; then she leans over and screams again: "What did you say his name was?" Aunt Betsey tells her, and she nods and rocks as before, but her poor old head can't hold but one idee at once, so she hollers a third time, and says she: "What did you say her name was?" And Aunt Betsey answers patient and loud: "Ruth Ann Robbins!" Everybody was laughin' by this time, and I don't know how long them poor creatur's would ha' kep' our names goin' back'ard and for'ard if the minister hadn't come in jest then and put an end to it. The ceremony perceeded along smooth and proper till Hannibal ondertook ter find the ring to put on my finger. Then there was trouble. He fumbled fust in one pocket, then another, took out a cigar, a little box o' matches, a toothpick, a penknife, a horse ches'nut that he alwers carries fur rheumatiz, and several other things; took 'em out one to a time, looked at 'em thoughtful and inquirin', and put 'em back agin. Finally he dove into some place and took out a little wad o' paper, and all our sperits revived. That looked more like, but when he ondid it out rolled a dozen or more sugar-coated pills on to the floor! He let 'em roll and tried agin. This time he fished out a small card that 'peared ter have some writin' on it. (I found out afterward that he'd writ down on that card where he put the ring for fear he'd forgit, jest as he had.) When he'd read the card what did he dew but stoop over deliberate and pull off one o' 'em dretful boots and shake the ring out o' the toe on't! Then he put his boot back on and straightened himself up as carm as if it was customary and common for bridegrooms to carry the ring in the toe o' their boots, and takin my hand slipped the ring on to my finger as graceful as you please. Wall, I was thankful when it was all over, you'd better believe! It hadn't seemed a mite as I expected. I supposed that the thought of the great responsibility I was assumin' and one thing a'nother would lift my soul and make me feel dretful sollum and pious, but I declare to man I didn't think o' nothin' from beginnin' to end but jest Hannibal's odd boots and odd actions! So little does it take to keep a woman's mind from soarin'. After the ceremony we had cake and coffy passed round, and then as the bells was a-ringin' we perceeded to the church. It wa'n't but a few steps, jest acrost the common. We walked up the broad aisle tergether, Hannibal and me, I a-leanin' on his arm, lookin' my best, and he his'n, with everybody's eyes upon us! I tried not to feel proud, but it was a happy moment for me, I tell ye. And when we set down in the old pew where I'd set ever sence I was a baby, mother on one side, Hannibal on t'other, and me in the middle, it seemed awful pleasant, somehow. Mother alwers had a him book to herself, on account o' seein' better, ye know, so Hannibal and me we looked on tergether, and I had the proud pleasure o' hearin' him sing for the fust time. He's got a most powerful voice, and his expression does beat all! Everybody was lookin' at him. Why, he acted it all out so, as you might say! When he struck a high note he riz up to his full statur', balanced himself, kinder teeterin' on his toes, stretched up his neck, rolled his eyes 'way inter the back part of his head, and sech a tone as he fetched-highoh, terrible high! and on the contr'y, when he sung a low note, he jest scrooched all down inter his stummuck, like this, and somethin' rumbled 'way down in his chist, low-oh, terrible low and sollum! I think his "low A" was the very lowest one I ever heerd! His singin' was sartinly imposin', and I knowed it imposed on everybody that heerd it. As for me, I felt so excited and lifted up by it that I kep' awake all through the sermon, didn't even nod once, and was right on hand ter rouse up mother and Hannibal in season for the doxology. Then come the benediction, and we walked out tergether as we come in, with everybody lookin' and admirin' and envyin'. And I tried ter realize that I was married, and that this was my weddin'-day, but somehow I couldn't; it all seemed like a dream. A REVENGE.*-ROBERT C. V. MEYERS. How I had loved myself away for him And thought him true who had no truth for me? The graceful dagger found in Palestine, I know not of the days, if many or She stood there in the evening glow and spoke The song I used to sing to him, and I Grew stone in listening, could not speak nor move, My beauty withered, hardship mine, and want- Then in my swoon I saw the little maid My trance Here was the blow to strike, to ease the child Had loved so long,-those eyes, those loving eyes! Over the little one who noticed not Her fond caressing, but smiled upon me and And then it spread its hands, and then I knew But its mother saw Nor heard, but spoke thus to the child: "Oh, babe, we are alone, just you and I, Fatherless, widowed, since these weary months,Fatherless babe who never saw its sire, A mother I, who was a widow ere I knew the sadness of maternity! Take, take those eyes away, oh, little babe! He loved her, and he never loved me, though My woe is great, I pay the penalty Of baseness to my friend who loved as I, But who could only trust, and watch and wait. And then She pressed her face within the mist of lace That swathed the child,-the child that looked up in |