a snub, and his eyes were blue.
Angry I felt to see Rover rejoice,
But he suddenly stopp'd, began to quake,
And howl'd in a most deplorable voice,
As if his dog-heart was ready to break.

Then the boy, stooping down, _something_ slipp'd in
(The something was little and square and white)
Between the steel collar and hairy skin,
Saw that I saw it, and so took to flight.

Wagging his tail, a hurrah in each beat,
Expanding his chest with a gesture grand,
Rover ran back to crouch down at my feet,
Licking my eager incredulous hand.

* * * * *

It was in my hands--I tore it apart,
This letter that Harry had writ to me;
My head turn'd giddy, and so did my heart,
And turn'd my eyes blind that I could not see.

O wicked blind eyes, will you _not_ be clear?
Have I not _told_ you 'tis written by him?
'Tis a piece of Heaven I am holding here,
And my horrible earthly eyes are dim!

The cruel letters run out and run in,
Fluttering, tottering, stammering by,
Mixing together like threads that you spin,
Flying apart, as birds recklessly fly.

Is it for years that I helplessly stand,
While tremulous lights into shadows flit,
With a piece of Heaven held in my hand,
Which is mine--and I cannot enter it!

At last--O my wonderful dear at last!
Thou always comest, howe'er it is--
The senseless signs into symmetry pass'd,
For a few short seconds it _must_ be bliss!

And so standing there in the twilight's fall
(What happen'd is nothing but what must be)
I read the first words that ever at all
My Harry (God bless him!) has written me.

HARRY'S LETTER.

'O Child, when my words your sweet youth beguil'd
I _meant_ to make you the happiest child!
I _meant_ that no earthly life should be known
As bless'd as the life I had made my own;
My weakness and follies I had forgot--
But you _were_ happy with me, were you not?
I am not worthy my Love should come,
Forsaking for my sake her English home;
Exiled from all that is happy and good,
Caress'd by a hand that is stain'd with blood.
Your innocent face shall never be kiss'd
By him who his Heaven and Hope has miss'd!
I suffer for sin, as I ought to do;
But, my darling, it shall not fall on you.

'I am safely hous'd by a faithful friend,
And the letter I write his hands will send;
I'm at Clarendon Crescent, Liverpool
(I've told you, Love