So I felt kind o' stuffy and proud, and took care But you wouldn't have thought it; that girl never keered Well, here's how it was. I was takin' some berries All alone in the shade, that June mornin', was she- 66 But she heard me a movin', and looked a bit frightened, "Mister Wray's an admirer of yours, I've no doubt You see him quite often." Well, sometimes. But why, And what if I did?" "Oh, well, nothin'," says I; Some folks says you're goin' to marry him, though," "Who says so?" says she; and she flared up like tow When you throw in a match. "Well, some folks that I know.' ""Taint true, sir," says she. And she snapped a big pod, Till the peas, right and left, flew all over the sod. Then I looked in her eyes, but she only looked down With a blush that she tried to chase off with a frown. "Then it's somebody else you like better," says I. 66 'No, it ain't though," says she: and I thought she would cry. Then I tried to say somethin': it stuck in my throat, But I said I knew somebody'd loved her so long- If she only could love him!-I hardly supposed That she cared for him much, though. And so, Tom,-and so,- The birds sang above us; our secret was theirs; I can talk of these things like a book now, you see. You may tease me now, Tom, just as much as you please. THE OLD PROFESSOR. The old professor taught no more, "And let me hear these boys recite." As we passed out we heard him say, 66 Pray, leave me here awhile alone, Here in my old place let me stay, Just as I did in years long flown.” Our tutor smiled, and bowed assent, Rose courteous from his high-backed chair, * * From out the shadows faces seemed * To look on him in his old place, And faces that had lost their youth, 66 These are my boys," he murmured then; "And is it, then, so long ago This chapter in my life was told? And seek their hearts to understand." They found him there, with open book, There used to be when fellows went We saw him in the college walk KENTUCKY BELLE.-CONSTANCE F. WOOLSON. Summer of 'sixty-three, sir, and Conrad was gone away- Conrad, he took the oxen, but he left Kentucky Belle. to me When I rode North with Conrad, away from the Tennessee. Conrad lived in Ohio-a German he is, you knowThe house stood in broad corn-fields, stretching on, row after row. The old folks made me welcome; they were kind as kind could be; But I kept longing, longing, for the hills of the Tennessee. Oh! for a sight of water, the shadowed slope of a hill! From east to west, no river to shine out under the moon, When I fell sick with pining, we didn't wait any more, I was at work that morning. Some one came riding like mad way. "I'm sent to warn the neighbors. He isn't a mile behind; He sweeps up all the horses-every horse that he can find. Morgan, Morgan the raider, and Morgan's terrible men, With bowie-knives and pistols, are galloping up the glen !" The lad rode down the valley, and I stood still at the door; The baby laughed and prattled, playing with spools on the floor; Kentuck was out in the pasture; Conrad, my man was gone. Near, nearer, Morgan's men were galloping, galloping on! Sudden I picked up baby, and ran to the pasture-bar. "Kentuck!" I called-"Kentucky!" She knew me ever so far! I led her down the gully that turns off there to the right, And tied her to the bushes; her head was just out of sight. As I ran back to the log house, at once there came a sound— The ring of hoofs, galloping hoofs, trembling over the ground Coming into the turnpike out from the White-Woman GlenMorgan, Morgan the raider, and Morgan's terrible men. As near they drew and nearer, my heart beat fast in alarm; But still I stood in the door-way with baby on my arm. They came; they passed; with spur and whip in haste they sped along- Morgan, Morgan the raider, and his band, six hundred strong. Weary they looked and jaded, riding through night and through day; Pushing on East to the river, many long miles away, To the border-strip where Virginia runs up into the West, And fording the Upper Ohio before they could stop to rest. On like the wind they hurried, and Morgan rode in advance; Bright were his eyes like live coals, as he gave me a sideways glance; And I was just breathing freely, after my choking pain, When the last one of the troopers suddenly drew his rein. Frightened I was to death, sir; I scarce dared look in his face, As he asked for a drink of water, and glanced around the place. I gave him a cup, and he smiled-'twas only a boy, you see; Only sixteen he was, sir-a fond mother's only son- And I thought me of the mother waiting down in the South. Oh! pluck was he to the backbone, and clear grit through and through; Boasted and bragged like a trooper; but the big words wouldn't do ; The boy was dying, sir, dying, as plain as plain could be, Worn out by his ride with Morgan up from the Tennessee. But when I told the laddie that I too was from the South, Water came in his dim eyes, and quivers around his mouth. "Do you know the Blue-Grass country?" he wistful began to say; Then swayed like a willow-sapling, and fainted dead away. I had him into the log house, and worked and brought him to; I fed him, and I coaxed him, as I thought his mother'd do; And when the lad got better, and the noise in his head was gone, Morgan's men were miles away, galloping, galloping on. |