hour. I was forced to laugh at the joke, though out of the wrong side of my mouth, which gave my face something the look of a grid iron. The battle now began in the regular way. "Ah, Sally, give me a kiss and have done with it."-" No I won't, so there, nor tech to."—" I'll take it whether or no.". "Do it, if you dare." And at it we went, rough and tumble. An odd destruction of starch now commenced. The bow of my cravat was squat up in half a shake. At the next bout, smash went shirt collar, and, at the same time, some of the head fastenings gave way, and down came Sally's hair in a flood like a milldam broke loose, carrying away half a dozen combs. One dig of Sally's elbow, and my blooming ruffles wilted down into a dishcloth. But she had no time to boast. Soon her neck tackling began to shiver; it parted at the throat, and whorah, came a whole school of blue and white beads scampering and running races every which way about the floor. By the hokey, if Sally Jones isn't real grit, there's no snakes. She fought fair, however, I must own, and neither tried to bite or scratch; and when she could fight no longer, for want of breath, she yielded handsomely. The upshot of the matter is, I fell in love with Sally Jones, head over ears. Every Sunday night, rain or shine, finds me rapping at Squire Jones's door, and twenty times have I been within a hair's breadth of popping the question. But now I have made a final resolve; and if I live till next Sunday night, and I don't get choked in the trial, Sally Jones will hear thunder! DECEMBER TWILIGHT. ALONE-I am alone, Ellen, this weary wintry even, All nature's thickly shrouded in a winding-sheet of snow, And the embers on my cheerless hearth, like hope, are wearing low. There's sorrow in my soul, Ellen; and if I do not weep, It is that my own hand hath helped to mould my destiny. Beloved of my life's morning! beyond blue ocean's foam To wile her forth again, who there hath watch'd for me long hours. But Fancy-the unkind one !-cares nothing for my will- And when I'd fain be near thee, where oft in bliss we met, I know it, and I feel it now,-O! would that I had known Had the storm that smote me in its wrath, left thy young blossom free ? I dreamt I'd come again, Ellen, with riches, power, and fame- In the country of the stranger my lasting lot is cast, To-morrow, and to-morrow, the gaudy sun may shine He'll sooner warm the marble cold, than this heavy heart of mine. To-morrow, and to-morrow, the breeze across the sea THE END. WILLIAM KENNEDY. GLASGOW: GEORGE BROOK MAN, PRINTER, VILLAFIEI D. * The following are references to anonymous pieces. Vol. i. pp. 17, 26, 36, 57, 64, 73, 74, 89, 103, 109, 111, 122, 137, 145, 154, 168, 191, 192, 196, 208, Vol. ii. pp. 1, 20, 37, 54, 78, 97, 98, 103, 118, 137, 206, 213, 223, 242, 263, 272, 305, 313, 322, 325, Vol. iii. pp. 1, 36, 45, 70, 110, 134, 177, 209, 230, 232, 248, 253, 264, 275, 294, 295, 351, 356, 395 293, 300, 306, 347, 360, 368, 381, 424. |