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Where mortals in their little day
Of pride, disown their brother clay.
But when my soul can steal away
From such turmoil, with greater zest,
By fancy brought

I come in thought

To thee, my home, my spirit's rest.

For I behold thee fresh and fair
In summer light and summer air,
As when I rambled, pulling low
The hazel bough, that when let go

Flew back, with high-toss'd head upright,
To rock again in airy light;

Where brown-stem'd elms and ashes white Rose tall upon the flow'ry breast

Of some green mound

With timber crown'd,

My woodland home, my spirit's rest.

And there my fancy will not find
The loveless heart or selfish mind,
Nor scowling hatred, mutt'ring aught
To break my heart-entrancing thought;
But manly souls above deceit,

The bright'ning eyes they love to meet,
The fairest in their looks, and best
In heart I found

On thy lov'd ground,

My woodland home, my spirit's rest.

THE MOTHER'S DREAM.

(From "Poems of Rural Life in Common English.") I'D a dream to-night

As I fell asleep,

Oh the touching sight

Makes me still to weep:

Of my little lad,

Gone to leave me sad,

Aye, the child I had,
But was not to keep.

As in heaven high,

I my child did seek,
There, in train, came by
Children fair and meek,

Each in lily white,

With a lamp alight;
Each was clear to sight,
But they did not speak.

Then, a little sad,

Came my child in turn,
But the lamp he had,

Oh! it did not burn;
He, to clear my doubt,

Said, half turned about,

"Your tears put it out;
Mother, never mourn."

THE RUOSE THAT DECKED HER BREAST.

(Dorsetshire Dialect.)

POOR Jenny wer her Roberd's bride
Two happy years, an' then 'e died;
An' zoo the wold voke made her come,
Varsiaken, to her mâiden huome.
But Jenny's merry tongue wer dum;
An' roun' her comely neck she wore
A moorneen kerchif, wher avore
The ruose did deck her breast.

She waked aluone wi' eyeballs wet,
To zee the flow'rs that she'd a-zet;
The lilies, white 's her mâiden frocks,
The spik, to put 'ithin her box,
Wi' columbines an' hollyhocks;

The jilliflower an' noddin' pink,
An' ruose that touched her soul to think
O' thik that decked her breast.

Var at her weddin' jist avore
Her mâiden han' had yeet a-wore
A wife's goold ring, wi' hangin' head
She waked along thik flower bed,
Wher bloodywâ'iors, stained wi' red,
And miarygoolds did skirt the wa'k,
And gathered vrom the ruose's sta'k
A bud to deck her breast.

An' then her cheak wi' youthvul blood
Wer bloomen as the ruose's bud;
But now, as she wi' grief da pine,
'Tis piale's the milk-white jessamine.
But Roberd 'ave a-left behine

A little biaby wi' his fiace,

To smile an' nessle in the pliace

Wher the ruose did deck her breast.

TO THE WATER-CROWFOOT.

O SMALL-FEÄC'D flow'r that now dost bloom,
To stud wi' white the shallow Frome,
An' leave the clote' to spread his flow'r
On darksome pools o' stwoneless Stour,
When sof'ly-rizèn airs do cool
The water in the sheenèn pool,
Thy beds o' snow-white buds do gleam
So feäir upon the sky-blue stream,
As whitest clouds, a-hangèn high
Avore the blueness of the sky.

ZUMMER AN' WINTER.

WHEN I led by zummer streams

The pride o' Lea, as naïghbors thought her, While the zun, wi' evenèn beams,

Did cast our sheädes athirt the water:

Winds a-blowèn,

Streams a-flowèn,

Skies a-glowèn,

Tokens ov my jay zoo fleetèn,

Heightened it, that happy meetèn.

Then, when maïd and man took pleäces,

Gay in winter's Chris'mas dances,

Showèn in their merry feäces

Kindly smiles an' glisnèn glances:

Stars a-winkèn,

Days a-shrinkèn,

Sheädes a-zinkèn,

Brought anew the happy meetèn,
That did meäke the night too fleetèn.

1 The yellow water-lily.

965

FRANCES COURTENAY BARNUM.

BARNUM, MRS. FRANCES COURTENAY (BAYLOR), an American novelist; born in Arkansas, 1848. Her home is in Savannah. She has written: "On Both Sides," an international novel; "Behind the Blue Ridge;" "Juan and Juanita," a story for boys and girls; "Claudia Hyde." She has also been a frequent contributor to magazines, and a writer of short stories.

AN AMERICAN COUSIN.

(From "On Both Sides.")

COUSIN JOB was as good as his word. Before the girls were down next morning he went out for a walk on the Promenade, and came home to find his aunt enjoying the fashionable intelligence in the "Looker-On," in which, among the arrivals, figured the name of "Mr. Joseph Ketchum, United States." "Call that a newspaper!" said he indignantly when his attention was called to the interesting fact. He took it in his hand, flipped it scornfully with his thumb and middle finger, and, after careful examination, protested that it was not to be compared for one moment to the "Tecumseh Clarion." He was still talking about it when Kate came in and changed the current of his thoughts. "Well, you are all a lazy set here!" said he in greeting. "I have been up for two hours, and been pretty much all over the place, and I stopped at that store you told me about, and told the man to make me the finest suit he knew how to turn out, and to be quick about it. There was a chap there that smiled me in and smiled me out, and wanted me to buy everything on the shelves bad. He soft-sawdered me for half an hour, and offered to make me an overcoat like the one they had just sent the Prince of Wales, at 'living rates.' But I laid my fingers on my nose and told them I sabed all that, and that if he thought we weren't up to snuff in America he was mistaken, only it was General Grant's coat over there, and 1 By permission of J. B. Lippincott Co.

that I was used to making up my own mind; if I wanted any. thing I would get it, and if I did n't he would have to get up very early in the morning to sell it to me. And he begged my pardon when he saw he had waked up the wrong passenger, and said that he had n't meant to try any tricks of trade; theirs was a most respectable house; only if I had any horders' they would be glad to execute them."

"What did you say to that, Job?" asked Kate.

"I told him if he would stick to that programme he might make something out of me yet; but that as the prince and 1 were n't running in the same fire-brigade, it did n't matter about our being dressed exactly alike."

Great was the amusement of the ladies as they thought of the interview, and they exchanged eloquent glances across the table, while Mr. Ketchum devoted himself alternately to his breakfast and a map of the town which was spread out beside him.

"Cards to the Benedicts' ball on the 21st, girls, and a very kind note from Sir Robert, to say that he means to get a ticket for Cousin Job," said Kate. "Is n't it nice of him? It is the ball of the season, you know, and if there were pasteboard admittance to heaven it could hardly be more coveted than cards to the Benedicts","

"I am delighted!" cried Jenny and Lucy in a breath, both girls having known for some time of the coming event, and having dresses from Paris ordered for the occasion and worthy of it.

"But, Kate, I do so wish we could get a ticket for Mabel Vane and take her with us. Only think of it! she is eighteen, and as pretty as a pink, and has never been to a ball in her life! Such a frightful case of destitution in the upper classes has never come under my notice," said Jenny. "This is the way I came to know it. She was here yesterday, and was saying that she supposed we were very gay, and I asked if she was going to this ball, and she said, 'Oh, no! I can't afford it, even if there was a chance of my getting a ticket, which there is n't. Papa, you know, was a poor clergyman, and since his death mamma and I have always lived in lodgings, and we have no great friends, and can't entertain, and so we are quite out of the I often wonder how it would seem to be like other girls. Mamma says that there are five hundred girls here, and only one hundred men, and that if I ld go out it would n't be

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