While in vain the pink-lipped shell,
Murmuring in its hollow cell,
Would its own love-story tell.

Through the drifting apple-snow,
Where the four-leafed clovers grow,
Hand in hand they homeward go;

And they vow, whate'er the weather,
Mid the brier, through the heather,
They will walk life's way together.

Parting when the day grows late,
If a moment at the gate
One alone is left to wait,

Yet each other they will greet
Where life's shadeless, dusty street
And the heavenly pathway meet.

MARGARET MASON.




BERRYTOWN.

CHAPTER XI.