I’ll take my hard words back, nor make a bad matter worse; She’ll have trouble enough; she shall not have my curse; But I’ll live a life so square――and I well know that I can,―― That she always will sorry be that she went with that han’somer man. Ah, here is her kitchen dress! it makes my poor eyes blur; It seems when I look at that, as if ’twas holdin’ her. And here are her week-day shoes, and there is her week-day hat, And yonder’s her weddin’ gown; I wonder she didn’t take that. ’Twas only this mornin’ she came and called me her “dearest dear,” And said I was makin’ for her a regular paradise here; O God! if you want a man to sense the pains of hell, Before you pitch him in just keep him in heaven a spell! Good-bye! I wish that death had severed us two apart. You’ve lost a worshiper here, you’ve crushed a lovin’ heart. I’ll worship no woman again; but I guess I’ll learn to pray, And kneel as _you_ used to kneel, before you run away. And if I thought I could bring my words on Heaven to bear, And if I thought I had some little influence there, I would pray that I might be, if it only could be so, As happy and gay as I was a half-hour ago. JANE (_entering_). Why, John, what a litter here! you’ve thrown things all around! Come, what’s the matter now? and what have you lost or found? And here’s my father here, a waiting for supper, too; I’ve been a riding with him――he’s that “handsomer man than you.” Ha! ha! Pa, take a seat, while I put the kettle on, And get things ready for tea, and kiss my dear old John. Why, John, you look so strange! come, what has crossed your track? I was only a joking, you know; I’m willing to take it back. JOHN (_aside_). Well, now, if this _ain’t_ a joke, with rather a bitter cream! It seems as if I’d woke from a mighty ticklish dream; And I think she “smells a rat,” for she smiles at me so queer, I hope she don’t; good gracious! I hope that they didn’t hear! ’Twas one of her practical drives――she thought I’d understand! But I’ll never break sod again till I get the lay of the land. But one thing’s settled with me――to appreciate heaven well, ’Tis good for a man to have some fifteen minutes of hell. ¹ Copyright, 1873, 1882, by Harper & Brothers. Illustration: (‡ decoration) Illustration: (‡ decoration) JOAQUIN MILLER. “THE POET OF THE SIERRAS.”