"Daughter," said she, not ungently, "I have sought thee in alarm,

Fearing, in the treacherous moonlight, thou perchance hadst come to harm;

Yet I hoped that I should find thee, though the night be dark and drear,

Knowing that thou lov'st to wander where no prying men are near."

Dumb, abashed stood little Thora, and her cheeks were flaming red;

Nervously she twirled her apron, and she hung her pretty head,

Till at length she gathered courage and she whispered breathlessly:

"Mother, dear, I love him truly, and he says that he loves me."

"Lord 'a' mercy on us, daughter!" solemnly the dame

replied;

"I who have the maids invited that they might thy choice decide;

For of men there are so many-stout and slender, short and tall

How's a maid to choose among them, since she cannot love them all?"

Now, the moon, who had been hiding in a veil of misty lace,

Wishing to embarrass no one by the shining of her face, Peeped again, in modest wonder, ere her cloud she gently broke,

[spoke: And she saw the good-wife smiling, as to Thora thus she

"Since thou now hast chosen, daughter-every bird must try his wings

Tell me, how didst thou discover that thy heart to Halvor clings?"

"Well," she said, in sweet confusion, while her eyes grew big with tears,

*Thou wouldst scarcely-understand it-mother dear— I boxed his ears."

HJALMAR H. BOYESEN.

SUNDAY FISHIN'.

From Harper's Magazine.

[EYO! you niggers, dah, I like ter know
Wut dat you up to yere! Well, toe by sho!
Ef you aint fishin' on de good Lawd's day,
Des like you done gone clah forgit de way
Up to de meetin'-'ouse! Yere, come erlong
Er me, en I'll show you de place you b'long.

I tells you wut, boys, dish yere chile is had
Speunce er Sunday fishin', en he glad
Dat he's alive! De las' time dat I broke
De Sabbaf-day dis way, it wa'n't no joke—
You heered me now! Dat wuz de time, you know,
I ketched de debble, en I thought, fer sho,
Dat he'd ketch me!

It wuz: I tuck my pole one Sabbaf-day
En went down to de river, at de place

Wut I kep' baited, up above de race.

Dey use ter be a little dogwood tree

Up on de bank, des big ernough fer me
To set en fish in; en I use ter clime

Into it alluz in high-water time;

It growed right on de steep bank's aidge, en lent 'Way out above de water.

W'en I went

Up dah dat day de muddy river den
Had riz en overflowed 'bout nine or ten
Feet fum de bank, en so I tuck en role
My breeches up, en waded wid my pole
Out to de tree, en clime into de fawk,
En 'gin ter fish.

'Twa'n't long befo' my cawk Duckt down clean outer sight, en den I felt De pole jerkt mos' away. I lay, I helt On to dat pole, but 'twa'n't no mortal use― Dat fish wuz boun' to make sump'n come loose. I had a monst'ous strong big cat-fish line, En so I tuck en fix my legs entwine Erround dat tree, en froze on to de pole, "Termint to swing 'twell sump'n los' der hol'.

But, Laws-a-massy! 'twa'n't no yethly use:
Fo' long I felt dat tree a-givin' loose;

En treckly down she come, sho 'nough, kerflop,
Into de b'ilin' water, me on top.

Yes, sir, right in de river; den dat thing
Wut I done ketched hit give a suddint swing,
En 'way hit tuck straight down de stream, wid me
Er-follern atter, settin' on de tree!

Sakes, how we trabbled! en'z we rolled along,
Hit struck me all to wunst sump'n 'uz wrong
Erbout dat fish! He wuz a pow'ful sight
Too peart.

De fus' thing wut I thought I better do

Wuz tu'n aloose dat pole; but, thinks I, “Shoo' I couldn't fool him dat away, en he

Mout tu'n loose too, en grab aholt er me."

Putty quick

I seed out in de river, right ahead,
Joe Taylor' fish-trap, en de good Lawd led
Us long up side it, en you mighty right,
I jumpt on to it mighty free en light;
En Mr. Smarty Nick, wid his ole tree,
Sailed on, a-thinkin' still he haulin' me!

Dat's wut de matter!

Niggers, dat de way

I quit dis fishin' on de Sabbaf-day.

Dah aint no pole ermong yo' all I'd tech;
En if you aint a-hankerin' to ketch
Sump'n you didn't barg'in for, I lay
You better put dem hooks en lines away.

Fer members uv de church, dish yere gits me!
Uv all de owdacious doin's I ever see,
Dis tak'n' de Sabbaf-day in vain's de wuss
Fer mortifyin' de morals uv- You Gus!
Look at dat bite you got! Law bless de Lam'

He's a joedahter!

Dat pole up dah!

Look out dah, doe jam

You trine, peahs like to me,

To knock de fish fum off dat 'simmon-tree;

Now look! Doe jerk dat way! Law love my soul,
You gwiner lose 'im! Yere, gimme dat pole;
I'll show you how to lan' 'im!, Stiddy, now-
Pulls like a cat-fish. Hit's de boss, I vow!
Des wait a minute; one mo' pull is boun'
To git 'im. Dah he is, safe on de groun'.

Haint he a whopper, dough! Hoo-wee! I lay
Y'all dat ah fish dis blessid day 'ull weigh
'Bout forty-Laws-a-massy! ef I aint

Done broke de Sabbaf 'fo' I knowed it! "Taint
No use to laugh-you reckon I wuz gwine
Ter let dat fish take off dis pole en line?

STOP!

WHERE'S ANNETTE?

TOP! strauger, may I speak with you? ah! yes, you needn't fear,

Till I whisper through the grating. I wouldn't have

them hear.

These jailers, if a body but chance to speak her name, They roll their eyes so savage, as if they meant to tame Some wild beast, and they scare me. Come nearer― nearer yet;

Come near till I whisper; have you seen her—seen Annette?

She has blue eyes-my darling; her curls are rings of

gold;

She is so plump and dimpled, and she's just three years

old.