When dear David died (sniff—sniff), ez I sot by his side (sniff—sniff);
He ketched up my hand in his own (sniff—sniff);
He squeezed it awhile (sniff—sniff), an' he sez with a smile (sniff—sniff),
"You'll soon be a widder alone (sniff—sniff—sniff),
An' when I am gone (sniff—sniff) don't you fuss an' take on (sniff—sniff)
Like old Widder Dorothy Day (sniff—sniff).
Look out for your tin (sniff—sniff) if you marry agin (sniff—sniff),
Nor throw your affections away (sniff—sniff—sniff)."
My children hev grown, an' have homes o' their own—
They're doin' ez well ez they can (wipes her eyes and nose):
An' I'm gettin' sick o' this livin' alone—
I wouldn't mind havin' a man.
Fur David hez gone to the mansion above—
His body is cold in the ground,
Ef you know of a man who would marry for love,
Jest find him an' send him around.
HIS LAST COURT.
Old Judge Grepson, a justice of the peace, was never known to smile. He came to Arkansas years ago, and year after year, by the will of the voters, he held his place as magistrate. The lawyers who practiced in his court never joked with him, because every one soon learned that the old man never engaged in levity. Every morning, no matter how bad the weather might be, the old man took his place behind the bar which, with his own hands, he had made, and every evening, just at a certain time, he closed his books and went home. No one ever engaged him in private conversation, because he would talk to no one. No one ever went to his home, a little cottage among the trees in the city's outskirts, because he had never shown a disposition to make welcome the visits of those who even lived in the immediate vicinity. His office was not given him through the influence of "electioneering," because he never asked any man for his vote. He was first elected because, having been once summoned in a case of arbitration, he exhibited the executive side of such a legal mind that the people nominated and elected him. He soon gained the name of the "hard justice," and every lawyer in Arkansas referred to his decision. His rulings were never reversed by the higher courts. He showed no sentiment in decision. He stood upon the platform of a law which he made a study, and no one disputed him.
One day, a woman, charged with misdemeanor, was arraigned before him. "The old man seems more than ever unsteady," remarked a lawyer as the magistrate took his seat. "I don't see how a man so old can stand the vexation of a court much longer."
"I am not well to-day," said the Judge, turning to the lawyers, "and any cases that you may have you will please dispatch them to the best, and let me add, quickest of your ability."
Every one saw that the old man was unusually feeble, and no one thought of a scheme to prolong a discussion, for all the lawyers had learned to reverence him.
"Is this the woman?" asked the Judge. "Who is defending her?"
"I have no defence, your Honor," the woman replied. "In fact, I do not think I need any, for I am here to confess my guilt. No man can defend me," and she looked at the magistrate with a curious gaze. "I have been arrested on a charge of disturbing the peace, and I am willing to submit my case. I am dying of consumption, Judge, and I know that any ruling made by the law can have but little effect on me;" and she coughed a hollow, hacking cough, and drew around her an old black shawl that she wore. The expression on the face of the magistrate remained unchanged, but his eyelids dropped and he did not raise them when the woman continued: