luck till 'er, wid 'er goin' away ter the coonthry, ter spind Thanksgivin' wid 'er brither; an' be the token, she wor goin' ter shtay the wake, fer they were havin' a big toime there, wid shleighin' an dancin', an' the loike o' that, bein' her youngist brither wor home from Californy, an' warnted ter have a "family rayunion," hersilf sed. Wull, av it was, thinkes I to mesilf whin I seen 'em a-shtartin' aff: "Now is yer toime, Nora Mulligan; shure, tis yersilf can git up the illigint party fer Thanksgivin' at home, an' be St. Michael, we'll have a dance, too, as 11 bate ivirything." An' so I wint ter plannin'. "An' who 'll I ax ter me party" thinkses I. "There's Terry Mulrooney, shure I coodent be havin' coompany widout him, fer wid arl the gas, an' the 'luminatin', the rooms wad be dark if he wor-rn't there. Arrah, 'tis himsilf is the illigint feller, wid 'is blue eyes an' 'is big fwhiskers. They're a trifle rid, ter be shure, but that's jist nothin' at arl, at arl-I can say 'im arl the sooner at Mass. Kitty Hooligan she says, says she, "Whin 'e coomes ter say yer, wid 'is rid nead, an' 'is brass jewelery arl arn 'im, the paple thinks theys a torchlight percession, an' wance the fire kimpanies kim out wid jist catchin' a glimpse o' thim whiskers." Are-rn't that the foine lie fer her, the invious jade! Shure, I shlapped her face, good, fer 'er impidence; an' wor I ter blame fer it? The loike o' her a-makin' that talk 'bout me own dear bye, an' shure a finer lad niver kem from Mullingar! I'll not ax her ter me party, that's so. But there's Katie Flynn, she's a good gurrul, an' Judy Ryan, wid her swate smilin' ways, as gintle as the flowers o' May, so she is ; an' of coorse, I'll ax Mickey Brannigan, fer Judy is the light o' his eyes; an' Bridget O'Mara, she's that cute, now, she makes ivery wan laugh wid her sayin's, ye 'd die yesilf ter hare 'er; an' there's Maggie Reilly, an' Pat Toole, an' Janie Sullivan, an' Nora Mc Funnigafferty, an' Dinnis Finnegan an' a lot more. Shure, I'll have a varry selict party, too; an' I'll have the invitations printed, so I will, wid a burrud a' stannin' on wan fut, in the corner, as is sthyle now, ye know. An' oh-h-h-! The Howly Vargin be praised!! Shure, the misthriss have an' illigint new navy blue satin dhriss, trimmed that loafly now, wid shiny sparklin' things arl over it, an' a train a yard long. Oh, it's jist beautiful an' it'll go wid me compliction, illigint. There'll be nothin' loike it, at the party; an' won't Terry's eyes sthick out? Wusha! I care more ter looke foine ter Terry, than to make the gurruls invious aven, if ye'd belave it." Wull, ye see, I got ivery thing planned, an' me cookin' arl done, an' the avenin' o' the party come. Ivery thing wor jist roight; the ice-crames wor lovely, an' arl the odther things accordin', an', av it was, whin I pit arn the misthrisses blue satin, it fitted me beautiful, an' wid me new yaller tie, that Terry gev me, an' me hair arl banged up, they calls it, I did look lovely an' Terry sed so, a-callin' me the pride av 'is harrt an' the jewel av 'is eye, an' the loike o' that-yer know how 'tis, yersilf. I wor a proud an' happy gurrul that toime, for I opened the grand dhrawin'-rooms ter the coompany, an wid the bright loights, an' the good atin', ivery thing wor jist splindid. But oh wusha, wusha, ochone! whin we wor a-clarin' aff the refrishmints, what did that ould haythin av Biddy McWhirk do, but impty a whole sasser of ice-crame right arn the frint av the dhriss I had arn me-the misthrisses blue satin! Howly mither o' Moses! but I thort I'd die. An' that wor'n't enough, but while I wor a-stannin', a-cryin' an' a-wringin' me two hands, an' Bridget a-tryin' ter clane it wid some soft soap, O-0-0 ochone, wirristhroo! the waiter kim rinnin' oup, an' toult me some mane thafe kim in the ary dure, an' sthole the spoons we'd bin afther usin'. I wor wild thin, I tell yez; I yelled "Perlice" an' "Fire" an' "Murdther," bein' that luny, I did'n't know fwhat I wor sayin', an' thin-Or-r-r thin-ter crack the climix, as folks be sayin', the masther an' the misthriss driv up ter the dure, an' kim right inter the midst o' the coompany. Oh-h-h! the yell she let out whin she seen that dhriss, an' shmall blame ter her indade, fer it wor a sight, an' thin—wid the masther a-dhrivin' the coompany out, an' the misthriss a bally raggin' the whole av us, an' the perlice a-comin', an' the whole o' thim a-scrachin' an' a-yellin' tergither, shure I thort me sowl wor in purgatory, an' I jist wint inter highstrikes, fer, faix, there wor nothin' else lift fer me to do. THE QUICKSAND.* - ROBERT C. V. MEYERS. After the revolution of 1688, in England, there sprang into existence the Jacobites, who adhered to the cause of the dethroned James II and his descendants, of the house of Stuart. A little party of Jacobites are here sorely pressed by their enemies upon a marshy fen. They had pressed us sore, and we fled from them, To us they were surely as ten to one; Our chief they had shot, so we laid him there "They call us serfs," said he, "our rights We carried him to the women there, And shrill fine fifes and beat of drum. Lizabeth she heard and spake— Her face was white like ivory "Women," she said, "the spoiler is here; At that each woman grasped her knife, *Written expressly for this Collection. 8* And nearer came the shout of the foe Like hunters of fox at close of the chase. And then we saw them! "Strike!" said he, In the women's eyes was the flare of the west. And lirra, lirra, the bugles sang, And trap, trap, trap, the drum-beats came; Then Lizabeth spake, the flare of the west Deep in her eyes as she raised them there, Her arms upthrown, and her throat bent back, Like a thing at bay where the hunters are. Yea, Lizabeth spake: "Come, God!" she cried, "As unto Israel in the Red sea, Come thou to us in miracle!" And her face it was white like ivory. And there was the foe a hundred yards off, Their music and laughter stinging the day. "Come, God!" cried Lizabeth." "Strike!" said the men, The women they looked in the eyes of their lords, "God," she cried, "thou hast come, thou hast come! And the earth it was moving like oil made thick Oh, life! it was awful! the trees slid flat, The rocks heaved heavy almost with groan, And our foe had a foe they fought in vain, The black beast quicksand sucking them down. They shrieked, they cried for help from us They fought with each other, they cursed, they killed, Our wives and daughters they hid their eyes, And there was the moving earth, and there Spake out with awe in every word: A BACHELOR'S REVERIE. Three locks of hair in my hand I hold One black, one brown, and one like gold- And where are the girls who owned them now, The brown-haired half brunette, The beautiful blonde with the snowy brow, The first was true till a rival lied And the dark-haired maiden, where is she? But she wouldn't desert her home for me, So I gave her up and went away, That was years ago. I returned to-day No lover she's had since I went away, I've wealth enough-she can have it all, SBB |