And when she dies I wish that she would be laid by me,
And, lyin' together in silence, perhaps we will agree;
And, if ever we meet in heaven, I wouldn't think it queer
If we loved each other the better because we quarrelled here
WILL CARLETON.

HOW BETSEY AND I MADE UP.

Give us your hand, Mr. Lawyer: how do you do to-day?
You drew up that paper--I s'pose you want your pay.
Don't cut down your figures; make it an X or a V;
For that 'ere written agreement was just the makin' of me.

Goin' home that evenin' I tell you I was blue,

Thinkin' of all my troubles, and what I was goin' to do;
And if my horses hadn't been the steadiest team alive,
They'd 've tipped me over, certain, for I couldn't see where to
drive.

No-for I was labourin' under a heavy load;

No-for I was travellin' an entirely different road;
For I was a-tracin' over the path of our lives ag'in,

And seein' where we missed the way, and where we might

have been.

And many a corner we'd turned that just to a quarrel led, When I ought to've held my temper, and driven straight ahead;

And the more I thought it over the more these memories

came,

And the more I struck the opinion that I was the most to blame.

And things I had long forgotten kept risin' in my mind,
Of little matters betwixt us, where Betsey was good and kind;
And these things flashed all through me, as you know things
sometimes will

When a feller's alone in the darkness, and everything is still.

66 But," says I, "we're too far along to take another track, And when I put my hand to the plough, I do not oft turn back, And 'tain't an uncommon thing now for couples to smash in two;"

And so I set my teeth together, and vowed I'd see it through.

When I come in sight o' the house, 'twas some'at in the night, And just as I turned a hill-top I see the kitchen light; Which often a han'some pictur' to a hungry person makes, But it don't interest a feller much that's goin' to pull up stakes.

And when I went in the house, the table was set for me—
As good a supper's I ever saw, or ever want to see;
And I crammed the agreement down my pocket as well as I
could,

And fell to eatin' my victuals, which somehow didn't taste good.

And Betsey, she pretended to look about the house,

But she watched my side coat-pocket like a cat would watch

a mouse;

And then she went to foolin' a little with her cup,
And intently readin' a newspaper, a-holdin' it wrong

side up.

And when I'd done my supper, I drawed the agreement out, And gave it to her without a word, for she knowed what

'twas about;

And then I hummed a little tune, but now and then a note

Was bu'sted by some animal that hopped up in my throat.

Then Betsey she got her specs from off the mantel-shelf,
And read the article over quite softly to herself;

Read it by little and little, for her eyes is gettin' old,
And lawyers' writin' ain't no print, especially when it's cold.

And after she'd read a little she gave my arm a touch,

And kindly said she was afraid I was 'lowin' her too much; But when she was through, she went for me, her face a-streamin' with tears,

And kissed me for the first time in over twenty years!

I don't know what you'll think, sir-I didn't come to inquire

But I picked up that agreement and stuffed it in the fire; And I told her we'd bury the hatchet alongside of the cow; And we struck an agreement never to have another row.

And I told her in the future I wouldn't speak cross or rash If half the crockery in the house was broken all to smash; And she said, in regards to heaven, we'd try and learn its worth

By startin' a branch establishment and runnin' it here on earth.

And so we sat a-talkin' three-quarters of the night,

And opened our hearts to each other until they both grew light;

And the days when I was winnin' her away from so many

men

Was nothin' to that evenin' I courted her over again.

Next mornin' an ancient virgin took pains to call on us,
Her lamp all trimmed and a-burnin' to kindle another fuss;
But when she went to pryin' and openin' of old sores,
My Betsey rose politely, and showed her out-of-doors.

Since then I don't deny but there's been a word or two;
But we've got our eyes wide open, and know just what to do;
When one speaks cross the other just meets it with a laugh,
And the first one's ready to give up considerable more than
half.

Maybe you'll think me soft, sir, a-talkin' in this style,

But somehow it does me lots of good to tell it once in a while;
And I do it for a compliment-'tis so that you can see
That that there written agreement of yours was just the
makin' of me.

So make out your bill, Mr. Lawyer: don't stop short of an X;
Make it more if you want to, for I have got the cheques.
I'm richer than a National Bank, with all its treasures told,
For I've got a wife at home now that's worth her weight in
gold.

WILL CARLETON.

THE HAUNTED MERE.

"O Mother, the wind blows chill o'er the moor,
The sleet drives sharp 'gainst the pane,
The blast, like a guest, at the shaken door,
Comes knocking again and again.

"O! mother, there's one on the bleak, bare wold,
So weary and worn and thin,

Wand'ring alone in the bitter cold:

O! mother, you'll let her in?
For the winter even is dark and drear
While our home fireside is bright;
Its glow shines out on the glassy mere
Like a star through the stormy night.

O! mother, that woman is wan and faint, Footsore and hunger'd and ill:

Open the door to her piteous plaint,

She may die on the snow-wreathed hill."

"Put up the bolt on the creaking door,
The shutter across the pane,

Your sister darkens my hearth no more,
Nor eats of my bread again."

There presses a face to the streaming glass;
She can see the light in the room;
She can see her mother's tall shadow pass,
To the inner chamber's gloom.

As it duskily glows on the panelled wall,
The fire looks kind and clear,
And the peering eye that traces it all,
Grows dim with a burning tear.

The gleam from the midnight mere is gone,
The face from the window glass,
And a step drags wearily, wearily, on
To the edge of the deep morass.
The clouds that flitter across the moon
Make shadowy shapes and strange,
And beckon and waver and toss and croon
Round the dim and darksome Grange.

What misty form on the threshold stands,
Faltering in every gust?

Moaning, and wringing its ghastly hands,
Leaving no track in the dust?

Coming and going with soundless tread,
In the gloaming across the marsh,
When the moon is up and the world's abed,
And the winds whistle loud and harsh?