He stood a spell on one foot fust,

Then stood a spell on t'other, An' on which one he felt the wust He couldn't ha' told ye nuther.

Says he, "I'd better call agin;"

Says she, "Think likely, Mister;" That last word pricked him like a pin, Wal, he up an' kist her.

An' ...
When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips,
Huldy sot pale ez ashes,
All kin' o' smily roun' the lips
An' teary roun' the lashes.

For she was jes' the quiet kind
Whose naturs never vary,
Like streams that keep a summer
mind

Snowhid in Jenooary.

The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued

Too tight for all expressin', Tell mother see how metters stood, And gin 'em both her blessin'.

Then her red come back like the tide
Down to the Bay o' Fundy,

An' all I know is they was cried
In meetin' come nex' Sunday.
LOWELL: Biglow Papers.

HER LETTER.

I'm sitting alone by the fire,
Dressed just as I came from the dance,
In a robe even you would admire,
It cost a cool thousand in France;
I'm bediamonded out of all reason,
My hair is done up in a cue:
In short, sir, "the belle of the sea-
99
son

Is wasting an hour on you.

A dozen engagements I've broken;
I left in the midst of a set;
Likewise a proposal, half spoken,
That waits on the stairs-for me

yet. They say he'll be rich, when he grows up,

And then he adores me indeed.
And you,sir, are turning your nose up,
Three thousand miles off, as you read.

"And how do I like my position?" "And what do I think of New York?"

"And now, in my higher ambition, With whom do I waltz, flirt, or talk?" "And isn't it nice to have riches, And diamonds and silks, and all that?"

"And aren't it a change to the ditches

And tunnels of Poverty Flat ?"

Well yes, if you saw us out driving Each day in the park, four-in-hand; If you saw poor dear mamma contriving

To look supernaturally grand, —