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MARY GARVIN.

255

"God be praised!" said Goodwife Garvin, “He taketh, and he gives;

He woundeth, but he healeth; in her child our daughter lives.”

"Amen!" the old man answered, as he brushed a tear away,

And, kneeling by his hearth-stone, said, with rever"Let us pray."

ence,

All its Oriental symbols, and its Hebrew paraphrase,

Warm with earnest life and feeling, rose his prayer of love and praise.

But he started at beholding, as he rose from off his knee,

The stranger cross his forehead with the sign of

Papistrie.

"What is this?" cried Farmer Garvin.

English Christian's home

"Is an

A chapel or a mass-house, that you make the sign of Rome ? "

Then the young girl knelt beside him, kissed his trembling hand, and cried :

"O, forbear to chide my father; in that faith my mother died!

"On her wooden cross at Simcoe the dews and sunshine fall,

As they fall on Spurwink's graveyard; and the dear God watches all!"

The old man stroked the fair head that rested on his knee;

Your words, dear child," he answered, "are God's rebuke to me.

"Creed and rite perchance may differ, yet our faith and hope be one:

Let me be your father's father, let him be to me a

son.

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When the horn, on Sabbath morning, through the still and frosty air,

From Spurwink, Pool, and Black Point, called to sermon and to prayer,

To the goodly house of worship, where, in order due and fit,

As by public vote directed, classed and ranked the people sit;

Mistress first and goodwife after, clerkly squire before the clown,

From the brave coat, lace-embroidered, to the gray frock, shading down;

From the pulpit read the preacher: "Goodman Garvin and his wife

Fain would thank the Lord, whose kindness has followed them through life,

"For the great and crowning mercy, that their daughter, from the wild,

Where she rests (they hope in God's peace), has sent to them her child

"And the prayers of all God's people they ask that they may prove

Not unworthy, through their weakness, of such special proof of love."

As the preacher prayed, uprising, the aged couple

stood,

And the fair Canadian also, in her modest maiden

hood.

MAUD MULLER.

257

Thought the elders, grave and doubting, " She is Papist born and bred;

Thought the young men, "'Tis an angel in Mary Garvin's stead!"

MAUD MULLER.

MAUD MULLER, on a summer's day,
Raked the meadow sweet with hay.

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
Of simple beauty and rustic health.

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee
The mock-bird echoed from his tree.

But, when she glanced to the far-off town,
White from its hill-slope looking down,

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast-

A wish, that she hardly dared to own,
For something better than she had known.

The Judge rode slowly down the lane,
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane.

He drew his bridle in the shade
Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid.

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed
Through the meadow across the road.

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She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up,
And filled for him her small tin cup,

And blushed as she gave it, looking down
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.

"Thanks!" said the Judge, "a sweeter draught From a fairer hand was never quaffed."

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees,
Of the singing birds and the humming bees;

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether The cloud in the west would bring foul weather.

And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown,
And her graceful ankles bare and brown ;

And listened, while a pleased surprise
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes.

At last, like one who for delay
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away.

Maud Muller looked and sighed: "Ah, me!
That I the Judge's bride might be!

"He would dress me up in silks so fine,
And praise and toast me at his wine.

"My father should wear a broadcloth coat; My brother should sail a painted boat.

"I'd dress my mother so grand and gay,

And the baby should have a new toy each day

“And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor, And all should bless me who left our door."

MAUD MULLER.

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill,
And saw Maud Muller standing still.

"A form more fair, a face more sweet, Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet.

"And her modest answer and graceful air Show her wise and good as she is fair.

"Would she were mine, and I to-day, Like her, a harvester of hay:

“No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs,
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues,

"But low of cattle and song of birds,
And health and quiet and loving words."

But he thought of his sisters proud and cold,
And his mother vain of her rank and gold.

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on,
And Maud was left in the field alone.

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,
When he hummed in court an old love-tune;

And the young girl mused beside the well,
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell.

He wedded a wife of richest dower,
Who lived for fashion, as he for power.

Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow,
He watched a picture come and go:

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes
Looked out in their innocent surprise.

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