STREAK THE FIRST.

And now the sacred rite was done, and the marriage-knot was tied,

And Colt withdrew his blushing wife a little way aside;

“Let's go,” he said, “into my cell; let's go alone, my dear;

I fain would shelter that sweet face from the sheriff's odious leer.

The jailer and the hangman, they are waiting both for me,—

I cannot bear to see them wink so knowingly at thee!

Oh, how I loved thee, dearest! They say that I am wild,

That a mother dares not trust me with the weasand of her child;

They say my bowie-knife is keen to sliver into halves

The carcass of my enemy, as butchers slay their calves.

They say that I am stern of mood, because, like salted beef,

I packed my quartered foeman up, and marked him‘ prime tariff;’

Because I thought to palm him on the simple-souled John Bull,

And clear a small percentage on the sale at Liverpool;

It may be so, I do not know — these things, perhaps, may be;

But surely I have always been a gentleman to thee!

Then come, my love, into my cell, short bridal space is ours,—

Nay, sheriff, never con thy watch — I guess there's good two hours.

We'll shut the prison doors and keep the gaping world at bay,

For love is long as‘ tarnity, though I must die to-day!”