CLARA'S COURTSHIP.

You want to know-I see you do-
(You're dying till I tell it),
The ins and outs of how it grew,
And what at last befel it.

Dear Clara's courtship! who'd have thought
Of such a thing last summer?
The little madcap fairly caught
And by so queer a comer?

Because, you know, though Charley's young,
Good-looking, noble-plucky,

He seemed, at first, to have no tongue

A failing most unlucky!

He hummed and haw'd, and blush'd and stuttered, Especially with Clare,

And got, in company, so flutter'd

Whenever she was there,

That you'd have thought so gay a bird

Would certainly have chaffed

Him out of shyness so absurd;

She never even laugh'd!

But women are the very sphinx
In all affaires de cœur ;

They do, in them, what no one thinks;

You never can be sure!

They take to men-you fancy men

With whom they'd never parley;

Well, here you see a case again,
For Clara took to Charley!

And all at once her mocking way,
By magic seemed to leave her;
And really when she felt too gay
It almost seemed to grieve her!

Though, I confess, a little chaff

Would vastly have succeeded,

For 'tween ourselves, a downright laugh
Was just what Charley needed.

His qualities are great, I grant;
He's true as truth can make him ;
Yet now and then, he seems to want
Some friend to poke and shake him.

However, Clara felt, no doubt,
'Twas best to take his part,
Rather than seem to jibe or flout
So sensitive a heart.

And then, you may depend, she saw
That though he could not flatter,
Nor perch familiar like a daw,
Nor like a magpie chatter.

He had a fund of sterling sense,

A heart quite worth possessing; And that his love was so intense,

'Twas too much for expressing!

And he-you cannot feel surprise--
Was struck by Clara's curls,
And by those Saxon azure eyes
That beam in English girls.

Well, somehow-how, Dan Cupid knows!
She brought him to the scratch,
And one day got him to propose;
In fine, it was a match.

I saw them in the hothouse cooing
Behind a rare exotic?

And he, I think, was softly suing
In stammering tones erotic.

At any rate, a little after

She plucked a rose in bloom.
And gave him; then a gentle laughter
Chimed out his happy doom.

I long had guess'd how things were going,
And drank success to Charley

In frothing tankards overflowing,
Brew'd of the best of barley.

THE MILLER OF EAMONT BRIDGE:

A WESTMORELAND TALE OF THE LAST CENTURY.
BY MRS. HIBBERT WARE,

Authoress of "Dr. Harcourt's Assistant," "The Hunlock Title Deeds,"
"The Water Tower," &c.

CHAPTER XIV.

A MIDNIGHT INTRUSION.

THE hunt being now over, the party dispersed, the Squire, with some of his friends, to Troughton Hall, and the others to the "Welcome to Cumberland," where they intended to toast their victory.

Parson Lawson would only tarry a few minutes, "You know," he said, "that I have a ride of ten miles, and it will be dark before I get home."

When they were seated in the best room of the old Inn, an upper apartment, overlooking the broad, beautifully wooded river, with a bowl of hot punch on the table before them, John Clifton begged of the parson to favour them with a song. The reverend gentleman, indeed, had a fine deep voice, and was a vocalist of no mean order, consequently he was a great acquisition to the convivial meetings he was in the habit of joining, greatly to the scandal of Patterdale and other sanctimonious spirits.

Parson Lawson, with his usual good nature, consented at once, and the company called for "The New Hunting Song."

"Not a very new song now, my friends," said the parson; "'twas new when I was a lad, but that is twenty years ago. However, you shall have it. John, you have joined me in it many a time, so you shall make the second voice now. The song is a favourite of mine, I must confess; and besides, there's as good a moral in it, mind ye, as I could give ye in a sermon."

The singers sang most effectively and in perfect harmony; when they came to the concluding stanza, the parson dwelt upon it with emphasis

"Here's health to all hunters, and long be their lives!

May they never be cross'd by their sweethearts or wives!

May.-VOL. XIII., NO. LXXVII.

33

May they rule their own passions, and ever at rest!
As the most happy men, be they also the best ;
And free from all care, which the many surrounds,

Be happy at last,-when they see no more hounds !"

The parson now bid farewell to his friends, and took his departure, others soon followed his example; and at last there were left in the room only the miller, John Clifton, and Bump Willis.

Yack Gurnett was usually a very abstemious man-in fact, he was too parsimonious to spend much upon drink; but on this occasion, John saw that he was inclined to indulge freely, and he attributed it to a wish to drown care,-care caused, as it was whispered about, by his vixenish wife. John tried, in vain, to put an end to the miller's libations, by advising him to return home, as it was growing late. Yack, though unaccustomed to such dissipation, could evidently take a very good share of liquor without its producing any very startling effects. He was a little thick in his speech, slightly unsteady in his gait as he walked across the room; but the effect of his potations showed itself most in a certain air of clamour, or bold defiance in speaking of his wife, and an absence of his usual reticence.

Willis, glad of the opportunity to drink at another man's expense, was also considerably elated. John was, in fact, the only perfectly sober man of the three.

"Why John, what's come o'er thee, lad?" said the miller, poking the young farmer in the ribs; "art going to get wed, and has thy sweetheart forbidden thee to take more than one glass? Ah, John, hev a care! dunnot put thy head in the noose; thou knowest not what a wench is till thou hast gotten her."

"Hey-day, sir, this is strange advice! What would Mrs. Gurnett say?"

"Rot the man! what dost mean? Dost think I'm afraid of my wife?"

"Not I," answered John, laughing, though he had a strong inward conviction that, except when emboldened by drink, Yack was very much afraid of his wife.

Ods heartikins, the very idea of sech a thing! I afraid of my wife! Why, I've gotten her under my thumb, d'ye see," and the miller stuck his hat fiercely on his head, and clapping his hand on the crown of it, looked as if he fully believed his rash assertion. "I'm the master at home, I can tell ye that; there's no argufying matters wi' me, -adzooks, doesn't the Scripture say women shall obey their husbands ?"

"Eyh, to be sure; though I think it's t'other way about very often," answered John. "However, I must be off. I am going up to Mr. Cheney's, and I don't want to be late."