He wished in his heart pretty Kath-Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm leen to please, And he thought the best way to do that was to tease. "Now, Rory, be easy," sweet Kathleen would cry, Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye, "With your tricks, I don't know, in throth, what I'm about, Faith, you've teased till I've put on my cloak inside out." "Oh! jewel," says Rory, "that same is the way You've thrated my heart for this many a day. And it's plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure? For it's all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More. And your reverence has towld us, unless we tell all, 'Tis worse than not makin' confession at all: So I'll say, in a word, I'm no very good boy, And, therefore, your blessin', sweet Father Molloy." "Well, I'll read from a book," says Father Molloy, "The manifold sins that humanity's heir to; And when you hear those that your conscience annoy, You'll just squeeze my hand, as acknowledging thereto." Then the Father began the dark roll of iniquity, And Paddy, thereat, felt his conscience grow rickety, And he gave such a squeeze that the priest gave a roar — "Oh, murdher!" says Paddy," don't read any more, For, if you keep readin', by all that is thrue, Your reverence's fist will be soon black and blue; Besides, to be throubled my conscience begins, That your reverence should have any hand in my sins: So you'd betther suppose I committed them all, For whether they're great ones, or whether they're small, Or if they're a dozen, or if they're fourscore, 'Tis your reverence knows how to absolve them, asthore: 66 can Tut, tut!" says the priest, “you're a very bad man; For without your forgiveness, and also repentance, You'll ne'er go to Heaven, and that is my sentence." "Poo!" says Paddy McCabe, “ that's a very hard case, With your Reverence and Heaven I'm content to make pace; But with Heaven and your Reverence I wondher-Och hone, You would think of comparin' that blackguard Malone But since I'm hard press'd and that I must forgive, I forgive-if I die-but as sure as I live That ugly blackguard I will surely desthroy! JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. [From the Riglow Papers.] THE COURTIN'. GOD makes sech nights, all white an' | Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown still Fur'z you can look or listen, And peeked in thru' the win der, Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill, An' there sot Huldy all alone, All silence an' all glisten. 'Ith no one nigh to hender. A fireplace filled the room's one side, To bake ye to a puddin'. The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung, Fetched back from Concord busted. The very room, coz she was in, Seemed warm from floor to ceilin', And she looked full ez rosy agin Ez the apples she was peelin'. 'Twas kin' o' kingdom-come to look On sech a blessed cretur, A dog-rose blushin' to a brook Ain't modester nor sweeter. He was six foot o' man, A 1, Clean grit, an' human natur'; None couldn't quicker pitch a ton Nor dror a furrer straighter. He'd sparked it with full twenty gals, Hed squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em, Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells: But long o' her his veins 'ould run She thought no v'ice hed such a swing Ez hisn in the choir; My! when he made Ole Hunderd ring. She knowed the Lord was nigher. Thet night, I tell ye, she looked some! She seemed to 've gut a new soul, For she felt sartin-sure he'd come, Down to her very shoe-sole. She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu, He kin' o' l'itered on the mat, An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk An' on her apples kep' to work, "You want to see my pa, I s'pose?" signin'". no ... "To see my ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es Agin to-morrer's i'nin'." To say why gals acts so or so, Or don't, 'ould be presumin'; Comes nateral to women. He stood a spell on one foot fust, An' on which one he felt the wust Says he, "I'd better call agin;" Says she, "Think likely, mister;" Thet last word pricked him like a pin, An'... Wal, he up an' kist her. When ma bimeby upon 'em slips, All kin' o' smily roun' the lips For she was jes' the quiet kind Snowhid in Jenooary. |