and been blessed for not making it shorter, and when Mr. Newman had called out warningly, "Ladies to get their fill fust, gentlemen, and don't you disremember it. Guzzlers to wait till the last. Begin to commence to wait on your ladies, gentlemen, and don't spare the vittles pervided and made and set out before you for the same,"-then, I say, there was noise enough. . . . A bountiful supper that, and certainly a merry company. Podge Brown was again in a position to show the superiority of head over heels, and became every moment more fatally fascinating. Before Mr. Mathers had well got out his "Amen," he was sportively pouring coffee in the custard, and daubing the pound-cake with mustard, by way of showing the tricksy quality of his wit, and from this he went on to other delightful and genial antics that completely enslaved all the young ladies about him, whom he tickled impartially and persistently, causing them to "think they'd die," and to assure him that they "would split their sides," to say nothing of spilling their coffee, dropping their plates, and choking over and over again. But although thus devoted to the sex at large, Mr. Brown was a man, and an unmarried one, and so it came about that he gradually and very artfully narrowed the circle of his charming attentions until Darthuly Meely was the object of most of them, and before the banquet was consumed he had contrived to give her the most signal marks of his preference, such as pulling down her hair, breaking most of her pearls, and repeatedly pulling her chair from under her. Something, however, must be allowed for the expansion of stocks and stones even under certain favorable conditions, and Mr. Brown was but mortal man, Darthuly Meely the dynamic force surging within him and seeking expression in playful fancies. Even Timothy White made three remarks in the course of that supper, and looked almost animated when fruit-cake was handed. And Jinny's tongue wagged freely in spite of such apparently insuperable obstacles to conversation as biscuits, and apples, and cakes, and pickles, of which her mouth was full. "You did jerk the liveliest to-night," she said to Pap. "When I knowed you was dead and in your grave, I usened to tell Alfred often that fur fiddlin' his Pa-ap beat all. And so you do, John, no matter who's the next one, fur it's jes' livin' music ef ever I heerd any, and you with a leg buried, anyways, to my certain knowing. Hit's jes' a wonderment how you kin."

One lady present certainly got what Mr. Newman wished all to have, and that was the dank and grewsome, who, considering that the meats were not cold baked, nor served on or out of a coffin, contrived to dispose of enough and to spare. She was still sitting over in a corner with a plate in her lank lap heaped high with a miscellaneous collection of eatables, with which she was apparently making close connection as far as could be seen (which was not far, the black sun-bonnet being cast down within an inch of the same, and mysterious sounds of chumping, and cracking, and gulping, and gurgling going on under its immediate protection as behind a screen), when the company trooped back to the living-room, leaving Simon Peter and Stonewall Jackson still skirmishing in the rear-perhaps to cover their retreat and bring off the D. and G.

The evening was now over, as soon appeared. Mothers began to think of

their babies and of their bread. Fathers "reckoned it was 'bout time to be gittin'." Grandfathers yawned dolorously, and were no longer to be kept up even by their sticks. Seeing this, Mr. Newman made his last official declaration: "Them that goes with the bride to her home-bringin' will git ready to start right away, and of they've got any saddlin' and bridlin' to do they'd better be mighty quick about it, as aforesaid." A general commotion of preparation now ensued. Children were sought for, shawls and bonnets resumed, farewells made, and the heads of families, the elders, and the little ones made their way outside, unhitched their "teams," clambered into their carts, and then waited, as etiquette demanded, for the departure of the bride and groom. Out came R. Mintah the next moment, followed by Jonah, and all cloaked and hooded. The night was black and starless, and it had been difficult to distinguish anything or anybody, but now fully fifty pine-knots were lit in rapid succession, and flamed and smoked in the fresh breeze that blew from the direction of the Ridge. And now R. Mintah was swept up on a white pony, with a beautiful flowing tail and mane, by Jonah. And now Jonah mounted a big bony chestnut, and laid his hand on his wife's bridle-rein. And now the young men and maidens mounted their respective steeds, and fell into line behind the first pair who were to be like another first pair, of whom it is said that "Adam delved and Eve span." And now Stone and Pete rush out and whisk up behind two of the cavaliers, and cling there like a couple of limpets. And now R. Mintah cries out, "Good-by! Good-by!" over and over again. "Good-night, Pa-ap. Good-by, dear Mother Newman. Goodby, Father Newman. Come over soon. Good-by all." And Jonah gives two short "good-nights," too, and the procession starts. The gleam of R. Mintah's red dress and hood is seen for some time, and then is to be seen no longer. The carts and wagons all go creaking, rattling away. The procession turns into the Red Lane now, and the young men and maidens burst into a song full of joy and triumph. Mother Newman turns away in tears. The dank and grewsome flits out into the darkness like Poe's raven. Matilda stalks off towards home in a temper because Alfred has lingered so long. Little Willy is fretting, too, and appears to be trying to gouge out one of his blue eyes with his fist. The procession is winding around the Mountain now, and they can see the torches still flaming, still smoking, still borne aloft. And now they have suddenly disappeared. Father Newman goes in and shuts the door. Jonah and R. Mintah are married. Pap, Alfred, and the child stumble home in silence the old leaning, moss-roofed home, with the tottering porch and the wavy chimney, into which a bride as young and fair as R. Mintah walked so long, long ago. As they enter the gates, the clouds part a little and show a brilliant stretch of stars. And Pap looking up at them thinks of one who has passed beyond them.

What though thou see'st my red lips A foul witchcraft, alas, unmanned:

Your eyesight fail and cheeks grow hol- Than e'er for yachts that brave the

No

THE VISION OF NIMROD.

[The Vision of Nimrod. 1881.]

O sun, no moon. Northward the star Orion, The star of Nimrod, had the zenith won, When from the waste the roaring of a lion

Boomed like the bursting of a signal gun.
They saw with fright the even dusk of night
Roll to a shape, black on the starlit heaven,
And lo, a Lion of enormous might,

Shadowy, shaggy! From his jaws of ravin.
Issued the awful sound

That shook the ground.

And as they gazed, speechless with mortal terror,
It took new form like ocean's clouds at morn;
The lion changed;-that surely was no error

Which saw a bull shaking his dreadful horn?
But hardly of the new shape were they 'ware
When the brute's head of him so fiercely charging
Turned human; a grave face with curling hair,
Its ordered locks on breast and back discharging,
Loomed through the dusky night.

And stayed their flight.

Then from the face, locked with a steadfast meaning
Upon their eyes, the shape took change and flow,
And lo, a giant on a war-club leaning,

Lifted on high, held the dark plain below.
Purple and golden on his stalwart shoulders
His garments lay, but spotted all and torn,
Like robe that long in royal cavern moulders;
And round his neck upon a chain was worn,
Like a strange cross to see,
An amber key.

But all that coat, by tooth of time corroded,
Was full of eyes and little crescent moons
And peaches over-ripeness has exploded-
Pomegranates cloven by a score of noons.
The war-club whereupon his left hand rested
Was scaly like a pinecone huge in size;
Against those two his shadowy bulk he breasted
And with his right hand pointed toward the skies.
Then in a voice of dread
Croaking, he said:

"Barbarians! Once, with the sages of Chaldee, I, Nimrod, watched upon a tower's back, Marking the planets creep most cunningly

A pinnacle past, which sharply cut their track; Methought this arm, that was all rigid grown