ght more than you.
I'll allow that sometimes _her_ way
Don't seem the wisest, quite;
But the _easiest_ way,
When she's had her say,
Is to reckon yer mother is right.

Courted her ten long winters,
Saw her to singin'-school;
When she went down one spell to town,
I cried like a durned ol' fool;
Got mad at the boys for callin'
When I sparked her Sunday night:
But she said she knew
A thing or two,--
An' I reckoned yer mother wuz right.

I courted till I wuz aging,
And she wuz past her prime,--
I'd have died, I guess, if she hadn't said yes
When I popped f'r the hundredth time.
Said she'd never have took me
If I hadn't stuck so tight;
Opined that we
Could never agree,--
And I reckon yer mother wuz right!

"TROT, MY GOOD STEED, TROT!"

WHERE my true love abideth
I make my way to-night;
Lo! waiting, she
Espieth me,
And calleth in delight:
"I see his steed anear
Come trotting with my dear,--
Oh, idle not, good steed, but trot,
Trot thou my lover here!"

Aloose I cast the bridle,
And ply the whip and spur;
And gayly I
Speed this reply,
While faring on to her:
"Oh, true love, fear thou not!
I seek our trysting spot;
And double feed be yours, my steed,
If you more swiftly trot."

I vault from out the saddle,
And make my good steed fast;
Then to my breast
My love is pressed,--
At last, true heart, at last!
The garden drowsing lies,
The stars fold down their eyes,--
In this dear spot, my steed, neigh not,
Nor stamp in restless wise!

O passing sweet communion
Of young hearts, warm and true!
To thee belongs
The old, old songs
Love finds forever new.
We sing those songs, and then
Cometh the moment when
It's, "Good steed, trot from this dear spot,--
Trot, trot me home again!"

PROVIDENCE AND THE DOG.

WHEN I was you