TWO LOVERS.' BY GEORGE ELIOT. [GEORGE ELIOT, pseudonym of Mrs. Marian Evans Cross: A famous English novelist; born in Warwickshire, England, November 22, 1819. After the death of her father (1849) she settled in London, where she became assistant editor of the Westminster Review (1851). In 1854 she formed a union with George Henry Lewes, and after his death married, in 1880, John Walter Cross. "Scenes of Clerical Life" first established her reputation as a writer, and was followed by the novels " Adam Bede," "The Mill on the Floss," "Silas Marner," "Romola," "Felix Holt," "Middlemarch," and "Daniel Deronda." Among her other works may be mentioned "The Spanish Gypsy," a drama, and the poems "Agatha," ," "The Legend of Jubal," and "Armgart."] Two faces o'er a cradle bent: Two hands above the head were locked: These pressed each other while they rocked, Those watched a life that love had sent. O solemn hour! O hidden power! Two parents by the evening fire: O patient life! O tender strife! By permission of the Executors and Wm. Blackwood & Sons, The red light shone upon the floor And made the space between them wide; O past that is! FROM "A WINDOW IN THRUMS."1 BY JAMES M. BARRIE. [JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE: A Scotch novelist and playwright; born at Kirriemuir, Forfarshire, May 9, 1860. He graduated at Edinburgh University in 1882. He engaged first in provincial and then in London journalism, his first great work being the "Auld Licht Idylls," contributed to the St. James' Gazette, and collected in 1887. The best of his others are: "A Window in Thrums," "The Little Minister," "Sentimental Tommy," and a biography of his mother, "Margaret Ogilvy." For the stage he has written the successful comedies "Walker, London," "The Professor's Love Story," and "The Little Minister," a dramatization of his own novel.] How GAVIN BIRSE PUT IT TO MAG LOWNIE. In a wet day the rain gathered in blobs on the road that passed our garden. Then it crawled into the cart tracks until the road was streaked with water. Lastly, the water gathered in heavy yellow pools. If the on-ding still continued, clods of earth toppled from the garden dike into the ditch. On such a day, when even the dulseman had gone into shelter, and the women scudded by with their wrappers over their heads, came Gavin Birse to our door. Gavin, who was the Glen Quharity post, was still young, but had never been quite the same man since some amateurs in the glen ironed his back for rheumatism. I thought he had called to have a crack with me. He sent his compliments up to the attic, however, by Leeby, and would I come and be a witness? By permission of Hodder & Stoughton. (Price Ge.) Gavin came up and explained. He had taken off his scarf and thrust it into his pocket, lest the rain should take the color out of it. His boots cheeped, and his shoulders had risen to his ears. He stood steaming before my fire. "If it's no' ower muckle to ask ye," he said, "I would like ye for a witness." "A witness! But for what do you need a witness, Gavin?" "I want ye," he said, "to come wi' me to Mag's, and be a witness." Gavin and Mag Birse had been engaged for a year or more. Mag was the daughter of Janet Ogilvy, who was best remembered as the body that took the hill (that is, wandered about it) for twelve hours on the day Mr. Dishart, the Auld Licht minister, accepted a call to another church. "You don't mean to tell me, Gavin," I asked, "that your marriage is to take place to-day?" By the twist of his mouth I saw that he was only deferring a smile. "Far frae that," he said. “Ah, then, you have quarreled, and I am to speak up for you?" “Na, na," he said, “I dinna want ye to do that above all things.. It would be a favor if ye could gie me a bad character." This beat me, and, I dare say, my face showed it. "I'm no' juist what ye would call anxious to marry Mag noo," said Gavin, without a tremor. I told him to go on. "There's a lassie oot at Craigiebuckle," he explained, "workin' on the farm-Jeanie Luke by name. Ye may hae seen her?" "What of her?" I asked severely. "Weel," said Gavin, still unabashed, "I'm thinkin' noo 'at I would rather hae her." Then he stated his case more fully. "Ay, I thocht I liked Mag oncommon till I saw Jeanie, an' I like her fine yet, but I prefer the other ane. That state o' matters canna gang on forever, so I came into Thrums the day to settle 't one wy or another." "And how," I asked, "do you propose going about it? It is a somewhat delicate business." "Ou, I see nae great difficulty in 't. I'll speir at Mag, blunt oot, if she'll let me aff. Yes, I'll put it to her plain.' |
