you come a'ter ?". walkin', I guess." "I after? O, jest takin' a walk.”- "Pleasant "I mean jest to see how you all do."—" Ho!That's another lie. You've come a-courtin', Johnny Beedle-you're a'ter our Sal. Say, now, d'ye want to marry, or only to court ?" This was what I call a choker. Poor Saliy made but one jump, and landed in the middle of the kitchen; and then she skulked in the dark corner, till the old man, after laughing himself into a whooping cough, was put to bed. Then came apples and cider; and the ice being broke, plenty chat with Mammy Jones, about the minister and the "sarmon." I agreed with her to a nicety upon all the points of doctrine; but I had forgot the text, and all the heads of the discourse but six. Then she teased and tormented me to tell who I accounted the best singer in the gallery that day. But, mum-there was no getting that out of "Praise to the face is often disgrace," says I, throwing a sly squint at Sally. me. At last, Mrs Jones lighted t'other candle; and after charging Sally to look well to the fire, she led the way to bed, and the Squire gathered up his shoes and stockings, and followed. Sally and I were left sitting a good yard apart, honest measure. For fear of getting tongue-tied again, I set right in with a steady stream of talk. I told her all the particulars about the weather that was past, and also some pretty 'cute guesses at what it was likely to be in future. At first I gave a hitch up with my chair at every full stop. Then, growing saucy, I repeated it at every comma and semicolon; and at last it was hitch, hitch, hitch, and I planted myself fast by her side. My "I vow, Sally, you looked so plaguy handsome to-day that I wanted to eat you up."—" Pshaw, git along you," says she. hand had crept along, somehow upon its fingers, and began to scrape acquaintance with hers. She sent it home again with a desperate jerk. Try it agin "-no better luck. "Why, Miss Jones, you're gettin' upstropulous-a little old maidish, I guess."-" Hands off is fair play, Mr Beedle." It is a good sign to find a girl sulky. I knew where the shoe pinched. It was that 'ere Patty Bean business. So I went to work to persuade her that I had never had any notion after Patty, and to prove it I fell to running her down at a great rate. Sally could not help chiming in with me, and I rather guess Miss Patty suffered a few. I now not only got hold of her hand without opposition, but managed to slip an arm round her waist. But there was no satisfying me so I must go to poking out my lips after a buss. I guess I rued it. She fetched me a slap on the face that made me see stars, and my ears rung like a brass kettle for a quarter of an 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, 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 haud 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 wili- 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 I dreamt I'd come again, Ellen, with riches, power, and fame- In the country of the stranger my lasting lot is cast, Tomorrow, and to-morrow, the breeze across the sea THE END. WILLIAM KENNEDY. GLASGOW : GEORGE BROOKMAN, PRINTER, VILLAFIRI.D. The Church-yard Watch, i. 297 iii. 139 BROWN, James Pennycook iii. 263 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, 2u6, 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. |