Constantine republican. [volume] (Constantine, Mich.) 1836-1838, 1837-05-10
JENNY'S FIRST LOVE LETTER.
by ALLEN CUNNINGHAM.
Tneedside. BOIL Jim

IDeedside, 3OM June, 1886.
DEAR MAGGIE-Since you left us have
thought the Tweed drumlie, and the heath
er on its banks less fragrant than when we
used to wander at sunset, and see the shep-
herds fold the ewes, and talk of the lads of
Yarrow and Gala. look at your seat
empty in the kirk, miss your voice in the
psalm: others look for you in the dance.
and | could wish you sometimes at our fire.
side; for, as my father said, Maggie's a
merry lass, and no ill-faur'd but above all,
| can no longer talk to you under my
breath-for my aunt, as you know, has her
full hearing-about lovers from either dale
or hill. All! my lass, have found out a
secret! Wooers have been more plenti-
full since we went TO London, and that says
plain as with tongue, that you attracted
many joes, who would likely have sighed
for me. Some them, indeed, lack spirit,
and others speak best after their supper
there is one, however, that cannot for my
heart know what to think Of; he has near
ly smothered me with verse he has made
the hills what he calls vocal with my name
yet he is, fear, thriitless creature, and |
expect he will be found drowned in Yarrow
some morning, if that very respectable
stream will consent to such folly.
But greater evil has come upon us
than poetry-there has been a painter here.
We once thought the land sufficiently afllic.
ted when we had three bards dwelling a.
mong us at once; it was reckoned so sore
visitation, that our minister alluded to il
in his prayer. But, o. Maggie, lass, q
painter is far sorer dispensation song
made about one, is foolish enough, and
vexatious enough while it last, but like o
dunt on the elbow, it is soon over. 1t is
otherwise with painter and his work; he
clinks we down in some foolish attitude, and
then hangs you up to be looked at, like Q
Saracen's head on sign post, now and fol
ever more; for picture will last thou
sand years, and some sangs die as they arc
born. The misery fart has fallen on thi:
vale, and not only on this vale, but on this
household, and of this household on me
Jenny Bellenden, in particular.
shall tell ye, Margaret, all about this
and how it began; | dreaded something
was about to happen, for | saw three mag
pies where magpies should not be; ant
two of our COWS, the best mixers of then
all, became as dry as the palm of m.
hand. Word, We see, ran round the dale
that strange lad, quick of the eye, AM
sharp looking, was wandering about fror
Dan to Beersheba, gazing at an old towe
here, fall of water there, lambs runnin
on one hillside, and shepherds sunnin
themselves on another; in short, he love
to look at all that no one cared about say
himself; and SO we suspected his morals
and kept sharp lookout on him.
But we would have thought that tn
stranger was every where: Invent with OF
two lasses 10 the troutlops with washing
we had scarcely put our feet into the tu
when we saw him amongst the halle
,, with paper and pencil, sketching us whei
we stood,-bare feet and all. / went
/ the stream-side with three lincn-webs
, bleach amongst the gowans there was h
the painter bodie again nay, one night {
! we sat watching our washing, with no be
ter light than the blessed moon, there W;
he like troubled spirit. We could m
! then make out his calling, but he soc
showed himself in his true colors.
You know, Margaret, one whites, cann
; find an opportunity of just doing all the
; want to do, or of saying all they want
> say, and this seems to have been the ca'
with jamie torrance of the Lamngforc
or, may be, he thought he could EXPIRE
: himself in grander way with the pen thu
If with the tongue; SO what did he do, but
], down and indte letter, and this same lett
o was brought to our town-end by the villaI
postman. think / see him now poppil
his head in at the window, and saying wi
:, provoking air Of intelligence in his face, /"
', letter! price iwo-pence.
r, We'll, you see, my heart was at n
s, mouth such thing as letter had r
N crossed our threshold since tho failure
lang Tam Tamson, the woolman.
"a letter." said my father "what