WHERE the crimson glow of sunset

Rested on a cottage fair,

And the gently wafted zephyrs

Breathed a whispered angel-prayer,

Underneath the emerald woodbine,

In a cool, refreshing bower,

Dick and Jennie sat together,

Playing checkers all the hour.

But the auburn lashes slender

E'er concealed her laughing eyes,

And whene'er his hand would wander

Nearer, then a blush would rise;

And 't was certain something other

Than the checkers moved the twain,

And their movements plain betokened

Love presided o'er the game.

Finally, in Jennie's corner,

Stood her only man at bay;

Battling nobly for deliverance,

'Gainst the enemy's array.

Ah, 't was but a useless struggle!

Pressed the foeman fierce and hard,

Till at last the only outlet

For escape was closed and barred.

Half caressingly, her fingers

Rested on the checker then,

While the rascal Dick bent over

And surveyed his conquering men;

And his hazel eyes grew softer,

As his gaze upon it fell, -

"Jennie, darling, 't is a captive;

May n't I have the hand as well?"

O'er her crimsoned cheeks the blushes

Chased each other in their play;

And the checker-board, unheeded,

Slid upon the grass away;

When the dying rays of glory

Bathed the landscape, as the sun

Slowly sank behind the mountain,

Game and Jennie both were won.

WALLINGFORD, '77.