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The dry and embalming air of the mine
Who was he, then? No man could say
In their great rough arms, begrimed with coal,
They took him up, as a tender lass
Will carry a babe, from that darksome hole
To the outer world of the short warm grass.
Older than any one here, I guess!
Belike, she may mind when the wall fell there,
And remember the chap by his comeliness."
So they brought old Bess with her silver hair,
And the crowd around him all gave way,
Then suddenly rang a sharp, low cry!
"O Willie! Willie! my lad! my lost!
O Willie darlin', were bitter tears!
They said ye were auver the sea—ye'd found
O darlin', a long, long life o' pain
1 ha' lived since then! . . . . And now I'm old, 'Seems a'most as if youth were come back again,
Seeing ye there wi' your locks o' gold,
Between us! .... O Willie! how strange it seems
To see ye here as I've seen ye oft,
In broken words like these, with soft
For surely a sight like this, the sun
The old dead love, and the living one!
The dead, with its undimmed fleshly grace,
Of its warm girl-beauty. A wizard's trick
Those bodies were just of one age; yet there
But the moment was come;—as a moment will
When, at the top, as their eyes see clear,
Over the mists of the vale below,
Mere specks their trials and toils appear
Beside the eternal rest they know.
Death came to old Bess that night, ana gave
The welcome summons that she should go.
And now, though the rains and winds may rave,
And there, while the summers and winters glido
A BOY.—N. T. Willis.
There's something in a noble boy,
With his unchec ked, unbidden joy,
Face to face,
LORD DUNDREARY PROPOSING.—F. J. Skill.
"Any fellah feelth nervouth when he knowth he 'th going 1.o make an ath of himthelf."
That's vewy twue,—I—I've often thed tho before. But the fact is, evewy fellah dothn't make an ath of himthelf, at least not quite such an ath as I've done in my time. I— don't mind telling you, but 'pon my word now,—I—I've made an awful ath of mythelf on thome occathious. You ion't believe it now,—do you? I—thought you wouldn't— but I have now—weally. Particularly with wegard to women.
To tell the twuth, that is my weakneth,—I s'pose I'm what they call a ladies' man. The pwetty cweachaws like me,—I know they do,—though they pwetend not to do so. It—it's the way with some fellahs. There was hith late Majesty, George the Fourth. I never thaw him mythelf, you know, but I've heard he had a sort of way with him that no woman could wesist. They used to call him a cam—what is it? a camelia —no, camel-leopard, no—chameleon, isn't it? that attwacts people with its eyes—no, by the way that—that's the bwute that changes color—it couldn't have been that you know,— Georgius Wex—never changed color,—he—he'd got beyond blushing, he had—he only blushed once—early—vewy early in life, and then it was by mistake—no, cam—chameleon's not the word. What the dooth is it? O, stop,—it begins with a B. By the way, it's 'stonishing how many words begin with a B. O, an awful lot! No—no wonder Dr. Watts talked about the—the busy B. Why, he's more work than all the west of the alphabet. However, the word begins with a B, and its Bas—Basiloose—yes, that's it—stop, I'd better look it out in the dictionary to make certain. I—I hate to make mistakes—I do—especially about a thimple matter like this. O, here we are—B. Basilica.
No, it—that can't be the word you know—George was king, and if—if Basilica means a royal palace—they—they might have been—welations—but that's all—no, it isn't Basilica—it—it's Basilisk—yes, I've got it now—it's Bathilith. That's what his Majesty was—a Bathilith, and fascinated fair cweachaws with his eye. Let me see—where waa