THE COURTIN'.

God makes sech nights, all white an' still, furz you can look or listen,

Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill, all silence an' a.. glisten. Zekle crep' up, quite unbeknown, an' peeked in thru the winder,

An' there sot Huldy, all alone, with no one nigh to hinder. A fire-place filled the room's one side with half a cord o' wood in,

There warn't no stoves till Comfort died, to bake ye to a puddin'.

The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out toward the pootiest, bless her!

An' leetle flames danced all about the chiny on the dresser. Agin the chimbley crooknecks hung, and in amongst 'em rusted

The ole queen's-arm that gran'ther Young fetched back from Concord busted.

The very room, coz she was in, seemed warm from floor to ceilin',

An' she looked full ez rosy agin ez the apples she was peelin'. 'T was kin' o' kingdom come to look on sech a blessed cretur, A dogoose blushin' to a brook aint modester nor sweeter. He was six foot o' man, A 1, clean grit an' human natur, None could'nt quicker pitch a ton, nor dror a furrer straighter. He'd sparked it with full twenty gals, he'd squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em,

Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells,—all is, he couldn't love 'em.

But long o' her, his veins 'ould run all crinkly, like curled maple,

The side she breshed felt full o' sun ez a south slope in Ap'il. She thought no v'ice had sech a swing as hisn in the choir; My! when he made Ole Hundred ring, she knowed the Lord was nigher.

An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer, when her new meetin-' bunnet

Felt, somehow, thru its crown, a pair o' blue eyes sot upon it. 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 shoesole.

She heerd a foot, an' knowed it, 'tu, a-raspin' on the scraper,All ways to once her feelins' flew, like sparks in burnt-up

paper.

He kin' o' loitered on the mat, some doubtfle o' the sekle,

His heart kep' goin' pity-pat, but hern went pity-Zekle. An' yit, she gin her cheer a jerk, ez though she wished him furder,

An' on her apples kep' to work, parin' away like murder. "You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?" "Wal-no-I come designin'”

"To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es agin to-morrer's i'nin."

To say why gals act so or so, or don't, would be presumin';
Mebby to mean yes an' say no comes nateral to women.
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, an'-wal, he up an' kissed her.

When Ma, bimeby, upon 'em slips, Huldy sot, pale as ashes,
All kin' o'smily roun' the lips, an' teary roun' the lashes.
For she was jest the quiet kind, whose naturs never vary
Like streams thet keep a summer mind snow-hid in Jenooary.
The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued too tight for all ex-

pressin',

Till mother see how matters stood, an' 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' Sun

day.

JONTEEL HOMME.

In Angleterre, I vas vat you call de emigrant; because in de revolution, ma foi! ven my countree, dat I love so much, vant to cut off my head, I take to my feet, and run away very fast, so dat de guillotine can no cut short my valk over de sea -not at all. Here I make the montre, vat you call the vatch. I am de horologer, de clock-maker, and get de living by de tick. Mais dans Paris, in my own countree, I vas very large man, indeed; vas nobleman, and stood very high indeed in de grand armee Royale.

De oder day, I vas valk in vat you call you Park, and dere I see sit on de bench, un pauvre homme. He seem very hungry, very cold; he looked very dirty, very ragged, and very poor, indeed-but he appear very jonteel man for all dat. I go to him, and I say to him-for I see in de twinkle of de eye he vas von Frenchman-vas my countree-man : "Mon ami, my friend, my countree-man, for vat you sit on dis bench here, vy you not go to de cook-shop, de restaurateur, vere dey eat de beef and de mouton, and de sallad, and de pomme de terre ? " He say to me: "I am brave Français, I am jontil homme,-I am one of de first men in all France, but I am sans sous, point d'argent, I have not one single farthing dans tout le monde, not a penny in all de vorld, and no credit at all."

Den he show me his pockets filled vid very large holes, but noting else; but he appear a very jontil-homme for all dat And all at vonce, immediately, instantment, in de half second, I recollect to have seen him in Paris, dress all in de silver and in de gold lace. Jontilhomme, or nobleman, I forget vich, but it vas all de same, I look again,-ma foi! he have no lace but de rags, and no silver but de gray hair dat grow out of de hole in de top of his hat, like you see de pigeon claw stick out of de pie, but he vas a very jonteel homme for all dat.

He make de graceful bow to me. Mon Dieu! his knee come out of de pantaloon, and I see his great toe look at me out of de end of his boot. I say to him: My countree-man,

mon ami, no d'argent, no credit, no dinner! vat for you leave you logement, den ?—vy you no take de refreshment, and de sleep in you bed? He say to me: "Ah, mon ami! I have no logement, no bed: I lodge in de open air, vere I pay no rent, and I sleep here: de bench is my mattrass, and de tree dat hang over my head de curtain." "Ma foi! no logement, no bed! pauvre homme, my heart is melt vid de great big pity for you. My friend, my countree-man, I shall take you home to my maison, and give you de diner and de sleep for de night. My landlady is very particulaire, she no like de stranger to sleep in her domicile; so, ve vill vait, and get de bon appetite till it is dark-den, you sall pull off you shoe, and ve vill steal up de stair, and nobody sall know dat you are dere." Vell, ve valk under de tree, and talk of de grand restaurateur vere dey have de five hundred dishes for dinner, at de splendid palace of de great monarque a Versailles, till at last it grow to de dark night-den, ve steal home to my logement, and I open de door vid de littel key vat I have in my pocket; den I rub my shoe on de mat, and I leave de dirt; mon ami, my countreeman, he rub his shoe on de mat, and he leave de sole derebut he vas a very jonteel homme for all dat. Ve have de littel joke on his loss of de sole; den I pull off my shoe, and dere is my stocking; mon ami, my countree-man, he pull off his shoe, and dere is only his foot: he have no stocking at all. Vell, ve have the littel joke because he have no stocking, and ve creep up de stair light as de feather, vidout anybody hear. Vell, ve get into my room, mon apartment, mon chambre a lit; dere I strike de light, make de fire, lay de cloth, and get my dinner from de cupboard. I pull out de large piece of bread, de neck of mouton dat vas boiled yesterday, and de great dish of soup dat I make hot; and I say: Now, mon ami, my countree-man, ve vill have de dinner." I get up for de cloth to put under my chin, dat I may no grease my frill vid de soup; ma foi! ven I come back to help myself dere is none!-mon ami, my countree-man, he has swallow it all up. Vell, ve have de littel joke about de soup, sure not to grease my frill now, and I go to take some mouton; ma foi dere is only de bones! mon ami, mon countree-man, he have eat up all de meat—but he vas a very jonteel man for all dat. Vell, ve

66

have de littel joke, and I laugh a littel, on de wrong side of my mouth, about my friend eat all de meat and leave me de bone and I go to make shift vid de crust of bread—but, parbleu dere is no bread at all! mon ami, my countree-man, he eat all de bread vhile I eat de soup. Ve have not de littel joke dis time, and I content myself vid de cheese paring and de bit of salt. At last it come time to go to bed; and I say: "Mon ami, my countree-man, ve vill aller coucher, put our heads in de night-cap." Vell, I pull off my coat, and dere is my vaist-coat; mon ami, my countree-man pull of his coat, ma foi! dere is no vaist-coat at all. I say: "Mon ami, my countree-man, dere is de old sack de man bring vid de pomme de terre. You shall make shift vid dat. Vell, he lay down on de potatoe sack, and I go to sleep.-In de morning I vake and look for mon ami, my countree-man ;-and parbleu! he is no dere! I look and he is gone!-I say I say I will put on my clothes and see if he is down stairs. I look for my tings and parbleu dey is no dere, no more is my hat, nor my stocking, nor my shoe, nor my anyting: but dere is de chapeau vid de hole in de top, de pantaloon out of de knee, de shoe dat have no sole, and very littel body, and de greasy, rusty, ragged habit of mon ami, my countree-man. Vell, I say, he has dress himself in all my tings by mistake; he have no money no credit, no logement; he make shift and sleep in my potatoe sack; he get up vhile I sleep and run avay vid all my clothes; it is all very bad, ma foi!-Vell! I make de fire vid his old clothes, and dey vere too bad for me, and I wrap myself up in de blanket and I tink I will go to vork; ven, parbleu! I find all de vatches dat vas left by my customers, because dey would not go, had all go vhile I vas asleep! mon ami, my countreeman had taken dem vhile I vas dormi, and I vas ruin, and oblige to run avay-but he vas a very jont el man for all dat.

BILLY AND BETTY.

As Billy and Betty were sparking one night,

Grammercy," said he, and turned pale with affright; "Grammercy, dear Betty, a funeral is near,

For a death-watch is ticking e'en now in my ear."