WHY LIAB AND I PARTED N. S. EMERSON. ES, Liab brought home from the lawyers that paper for YES, me to sign, Saying what was his should be his, and what was mine For Liab and I had quarreled so many times, you see, And found that of all our property he'd gin me the better half; For he gave me the house and homestead and kept the Holyrock hill, He gave me the colt, Saladin, and kept the lame horse, Bill; He gave me the brindled heifer-we'd lost the line-back cow; He gave me the sheep and the two white shoats, and kept the lean old sow. I was mad because he favored me, and made it show so plain, And I s'pose if he hadn't done so much I should 'a' been mad again; But, looking along the paper, the next thing that I read Was, "Lay us under the maples together, when we're dead." Then I knew the one choice left he was a flood of tears or tongue, So I told him I wouldn't sign the thing to save him from being hung; In his mean old farm or live stock I scorned any part or share; I was going home to my mother's, and 'twas none of his busi ness, there! Then straight in my face looked Liab, till I turned my head away. He walked out through the kitchen, without a word to say. gate, And to all my sorry feelings it seemed to say: "Too late.” Then Bessie came in from playing, a tear on each round red cheek, And asked, "Where's papa going? He kissed me, but didn't speak." Up in my arms I caught her, and murmured and sobbed her name, Bemoaning that ever my darling was born to such woe and shame. But Liab was gone! The sunshine lay golden along the lane. I strained my eyes with watching, but he did not turn back again. The hours crept by slow-footed. At last came Saturday night. I tidied up the kitchen, and set the house to right, And cuddled little Bessie until she fell asleep, Then laid her on her pillow, and kissed her eyelids sweet. Oh, how I did miss Liab. I'd given half my life To hear his kind voice saying: "Where are you, Betsey, wife?" And I thought of how I'd fretted and aggravated him; It made my heart too heavy, and my eyes with tears grow dim. But there was the prayer-meeting gathered that night by Deacon West. First I thought I wouldn't go, and then concluded 'twas best, For the neighbors knowed,we'd parted, and as Liab allus said, They'd lent their kindest sarvice to help the thing ahead. That night they turned up their noses, with a smile that was mostly a sneer, And asked: "Where's Mr. Pratt, pray? Why isn't he with you here?" I was mad as a pestered hornet, though I tried to be proud and cool; I hated them for hypocrites, and called myself a fool. But when I could bear it no longer, and deacon was praying still, I slipped out and hurried homeward along by the Holyrock hill. Silent I entered the kitchen, and silently crossed the floor, But my heart stood still a minute as I opened the bedroom door, For there was my dear old Liab, a-kneeling by Bessie's bed, And a few tears shone on the pillow, that Bessie never shed. One look, and the very next moment I kneeled beside him there, And more tears fell on the pillow and some on my darling's hair. Next morning we burned the paper we both had forgotten to sign; I didn't ask his forgiveness, and he didn't beg for mine. "M THE BABY'S NAME. ORDAUNT," she called him. In a novel book A sort of notion favor'ble to "Jim." 66 'Why, blame it all, of course it is Mordaunt." She knew the way I felt about such names An' I-there wasn't any question-ought To reconcile my wishes to her views. He was so delicate-so teeny small, But smarter than the cracker of a whip. I don't believe he ever cried at all; Sometimes he'd pucker up his little lip An' look at you until you was ashamed Of all the sins you knew he knew you'd done. An' thinkin' that, when we two was alone, "Yer name's Mordaunt, old boy, when mother's near; We never told our little secret, an' We never will-we never, never will. A little baby's toddlin', toddlin' still, The God that give an' then that sent fer him. "H° OUT OF HER RECKONING. OW many in your family?" the census-taker said. "Well, shure, I think there is elivin. Jist let me count," said 66 she. There's Mike, my mon, that's did, an' me an' Patsy,-that makes three The triplets four an' Mary five, Tim six, an' Bridget sivin; The blessed twins is eight. Thot's all." "But that is not eleven." "Now wait a bit. There's me,-thot's wan-an' little Patsy, two; The triplets three an' Bridget four, an' Timmy there by you For 'dade there's 'livin; leastways there was when they went to bed lasht night. 66 Poor Mike is wan, the twins is two, Timmie an' Patsy four, An' Mary five an' Mike-oh, no; I counted him beforeAn' Mary five, an' Bridget six-ah, now I've got thim straight An' Katy sivin, the triplets eight-sure, the triplets they make eight An' Katy sivin, the triplets eight. Where have the ithers gone? By all the saints in hivin, I know I've counted ivery wan. Now whisht an' shtop yer shpakin'. I'll count them jist wance more. There's me an' Tim an' Patsy an' Katy-thot is four; Yes, thot is right," said Mrs. R. and rubbed her tousled pate, "I t'ought there was elivin, but I see there is but eight." 'CEPTIN' IKE. T WILLIAM DEVERE. HAR wuz Si, thar wuz Hi, thar wuz Alec an' Dan, Eliza, Mirandy, an' Flora, an' Belle, An' they all got along most uncommonly well, Somehow or other Ike never could work, Didn't cotton to nothin' exceptin' to shirk. All of Spragues's boys an' his girls had some spunk, An' he bragged that none of 'em no one could skunk, 'Ceptin' Ike. Thar wuz Si could split rails, an' Dan he could mow, An' everyone on 'em could work on the farm, 'Ceptin' Ike. |