FORGIVE HER? NO NEVER!

Poverty Bay Standard, Volume X, Issue 1188, 30 October 1882, Page 8 (Supplement)

FORGIVE HER? NO NEVER!

Well, dominie, thank you for cornin’ They told you, I s’posc, I was wild When I found that a store-keepin’ fellar Had just run away with my child ; My baby, my motherless Nancy— She’s a baby, you see to me now, And to think that she would cheat her old father! “ When was it? ” you ask me, “ and how?” Well, ’long about hayin’ she told me— Her apron half over her cheek— That a lad from the town came a courtin’, “ Might she see him! ” I tried not to speak, But I couldn’t keep still, an’ I told her I’d shoot him as quick as a hound If he ever comes near her to court her When me and my gun was around, She looked kind o’ pitiful at me; “ Oh ! father, I’ve promised,” she said, And left me. Along through the orchard I saw the bent-down yaller head— I saw her go wanderin’ further — I knew well enough where she went, For her mother lies buried off yonder— The way that her footsteps wa.s bent. An’ she cahic when the dew was a failin’, A past me with never a word; But out of her own little window A pitiful sobbin’ I heard. Well, after that, all through the Summer, She seemed sort of solemn and shy, She said nothin’ more of her lover, And nothin’ about him said I. Last night, when the milkin’ was over, An’ I sat by the stoop all alone Little Nancy came softly beside me, And took my old hand in her own. Her face was as red as the roses. I know that she tried to confess That her mind was made up to the weddin’, But she had’nt the courage, I guess. “ Well, sir, when I called in the mornin’, No sleepy “ Yes, father,” I heard; I opened the door of her chamber, And pillow and blanket wa’n’t stirred. All her poor little duds she had taken— There wa’n’t such a wonderful sight— And a shabby and faded old picture, Of me and her mother in white, She left me this scrap of paper; She’s married by this time, you sec. “ You married her!” Well, sir, how dare you Come over here talkin’ to me ? “ Forgive her?” No, never! no, never! “ She wants me to bless her?” the jade ! “ She’s waitin’ out yonder?” No matter, She must lie in the bed she has made, I’ll never—no, never forgive her, Who’s cornin’ ? Oh Nancy, my child ! Ah, me ! she’s like her dead mother! Well, parson, we’ve got reconciled.” —Hural New Yorker.

The truth of the following story is vouched for by a clergyman. A good old lady, speaking in prayer meeting, and giving expression to the joy and confidence she felt, said : “ I feel as if 1 was ready this minute to fall into the arms of Beelzebub.” “Abraham! You mean Abraham!” hastily corrected a brother sitting near. “ Well, Abraham, then,” was the response; “it don’t make any difference. They're both good men!"