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Poor thing, she hears their words

Well may she moan and sob; He is an ill-looking fellow,

And seems to like the job! He will take the rope with joy,

He's no pity - not he! And in less than half an hour,

She 'll be hanging on a tree!

PART III.

Now in this third part you will see, The end of Crabthorn's treachery ; How she had cause to rue the day Whereon the Cat was made away.

And there's the lace cap,

But there's no lace border on it; And in that half-open box,

Is the dear old lady's bonnet. And there lie the black silk mits,

And the funny high-heeled shoes ; And there the pomatum-pot,

And the powder-puffs she used to use. But she will never use them more,

Neither to-day nor tomorrow! She is dead — and gone from this world,

As the cat knows to her sorrow!
But now through that open door,

If you take a peep,
You see the great stately bed,

On which she used to sleep.
And there rests her coffin

On that very stately bed, -
For you must clearly understand,

That Madam Fortescue is dead !
See now, in this dressing-room,

There sits the poor cat;
Could you have thought a few days

Would make a change like that?
See, how woe-begone she looks

In what miserable case,
I really think I see the tears

All running down her face!
She has reason enough to cry. poor thing,

She has had a great loss! She had a mistress, the best in the world,

She has one now -so cross !
There she sits trembling,

And hanging down her head,
As if she knew misfortune was come,

Now Madam Fortescue is dead!
And look, there stands Mrs. Crabthorn,

With a rope in her hand,
Giving to that surly fellow

A very strict command. For what? to hang the cat!

" For then, Scroggin,” says she, “ I shall still have my fifty pounds a-year,

And what's the cat to me! “To be sure I promised Madam

To love the cat like a relation,But now she is dead and gone,

Why that's no signification! · And cats I never could bear,

And I'll not be plagued with that ; So take this new rope, Scroggin,

And see you hang the cat! “ Be sure to do it safely,

Hang her with the rope double ; And her skin will make you a cap,

Friend Scroggin, for your trouble !"

See now my dear brother

This is the great dining-hall,
Where the company is assembled

After the funeral.
It is a very noble room ;

But now we cannot stay,
We must look at the old wainscot,

And the pictures some other day.
See, here sits the company,

The heir and all the cousins
The nephews and the grand-nephews,

And the nieces by dozens.
And there is the lawyer

Reading the lady's will,
For an hour they've sat listening,

All of them, stock still.
The lawyer he has just reached

To where the will said,
Mrs. Crabthorn shall have fifty pounds

A-year, till the cat be dead. “ That fifty pounds a-year

Shall be left to her to keep The cat in good condition,

With a cushion whereon to sleep; “That as long as the cat live

The money shall be her due."
And the old lady prayed her, in her will,

To be a loving guardian and true. “Goodness me!" screamed Mrs. Crabthorn,

The cat's dead, I do declare! Who thought that Madam meant the money

Only for the cat's share ! “ Lawk sirs, she loved my lady

More than all the world beside; And so, like any Christian,

She took to her bed and died ! “ She died of grief for my lady,

On the third day and no other !" “ You shall not be forgotten. Crabthorn !" Said good Madam Fortescue's brother.

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All that we talked about that day,
of famous countries far away!
Of Crusoes in their islands lone,
That never were, nor will be known,
And yet this very moment stand
Upon some point of mountain lånd,
Looking out o'er the desert sea,
If chance some coming ship there be.
Thou know'st we talked of this thou know'st
We talked about a ship-boy's ghost -
A wretched little orphan lad
Who served a master stern and bad,
And had no friend to take his part,
And perished of a broken heart;
Or by his master's blows, some said,
For in the boat they found him dead,
And the boat's side was stained and red!

And with that up jumps Scroggin,

You see where he stands, Dangling the very rope

In his great, rough hands. And moreover than that,

To make it past a doubt, There 'sythe cat-skin in his pocket,

Which he will presently pull out.
And he tells all the company

Assembled there that day,
How Crabthorn had misused the cat,

And had her made away.
Now if you inquire of me

Why her death he did not smother, I can only say, bad people

Often betray one another. And' I can very well suppose

They have quarrelled since that day, And now to be revenged on her

He determines to betray.
But you see how angry she is,

How her face is in a blaze ;
But she deserved her disappointment,

And so every one says.
And now remember this,

My dear little brother, Never be unkind or cruel

To one thing or another. For nobody knows how sorely

They may have cause to repent; And always, sooner or later,

There comes a punishment!

And then we talked of many a heap Of ancient treasure in the deep, And the great serpent that some men, In far-off seas, meet now and then; Of grand sea-palaces that shine Through forests of old coralline; And wondrous creatures that may dwell In many a crimson Indian shell; Till I shook hands with thee, to see Thou wast a poet – Andrew Lee! Though thou wast guiltless all the time of putting any thoughts in rhyme; Ah, liitle fisher boy! since then, Ladies I've seen and learned men, All clever, and some great and wise, Who study all things, earth and skies, Who much have seen, and much have read, And famous things have writ and said; But Andrew, never have I heard One who so much my spirit stirred, As he who sate with me an hour, Screened from the pelting thunder-shower Now laughing in his merry wit; Now talking in a serious fit, In speech that poured like water frec; And that was thou – poor Andrew Lee!

ANDREW LEE,

THE FISHER BOY.

Then shame to think I knew thee not
Thou hast not, nor have I forgot;
And long 't will be ere I forget
How thou took*st up thy laden net,
And gave me all that it contained,
Because I too thy heart had gained !

Ah! Fisher Boy, I well know thee,
Brother thou art to Marion Lee!
What! didst thou think I knew thee not,
Couldst thou believe I had forgot?
For shame, for shame! what? I forget
The treasures of thy laden net!
And how we went one day together,
One day of showery summer weather,
Up the sea-shore, and for an hour
Stood sheltering from a pelting shower,
With an upturned, ancient boat,
That had not been for years afloat!
No, no, my boy! I liked too well
The old sea-stories thou didst tell;
I liked too well thy roguish eye -
Thy merry speech - thy laughter sly;
Thy old sea-jacket, to forget, -
And then the treasures of thy net!
Oh Andrew! thou hast not forgot,
I'm very sure that thou hast nor,

THE WANDERER'S RETURN.

THERE was a girl of fair Provence,

Fresh as a flower in May,
Who 'neath a spreading plane-tree sate,

Upon a summer-day,
And thus unto a mourner young,
In a low voice did say.

* And said I, I shall dance no more;

For though but young in years,
I knew what makes men wise and sad, -

Affection's ceaseless fears,
And that dull aching of the heart,

Which is not eased by tears.
« But sorrow will not always last,

Heaven keeps our griefs in view ;
Mine is a simple tale, dear friend,

Yet I will tell it you;
A simple tale of household grief

And household gladness too. "My father in the battle died,

And left young children three;
My brother Marc, a noble lad,

With spirit bold and free,
More kind than common brothers are;

And Isabel and me.
" When Marc was sixteen gummers old,

A tall youth and a strong,
Said he, I am a worthless drone,

I do my mother wrong
I'll hence and win the bread I eat,

I've burdened you loo long!
"Oh! many tears my mother shed;

And earnestly did pray,
That he would still abide with us,

And be the house's stay;
And be like morning to her eyes,

As he had been alway.
“But Marc he had a steadfast will,

A purpose fixed and good, And calmly still and manfully

Her prayers he long withstood; Until at length she gave consent,

Less willing than subdued.
“ 'T was on a shining morn in June,

He rose up to depart;
I dared not to my mother show

The sadness of my heart;
We said farewell, and yel farewell,

As if we could not part.
“ There seemed a gloom within the house,

Although the bright sun shone;
There was a want within our hearts –

For he, the dearest one,
Had said farewell that morn of June,

And from our sight was gone.
" At length most doleful tidings came,

Sad tidings of dismay;
The plagne was in the distant town,

And hundreds died each day;
We thought, in truth, poor Marc would die,

'Mid strangers far away. “ Weeks passed, and months, and not a word

Came from him to dispel The almost certainty of death

Which o'er our spirits fell ; My mother drooped from fear, which grew

Each day more terrible.

" At length she said, “I'll see my son

In life if yet he be,
Or else the turf that covers him!'

When sank she on her knee,
And clasped her hands in silent prayer,

And wept most piteously.
“ She went into the distant town,

Still asking everywhere
For tidings of her long-lost son :-

In vain she made her prayer;
All were so full of woe themselves,

No pity had they to spare.
To hear her tell that tale would move

The sternest heart to bleed;
She was a stranger in that place,

Yet none of her took heed;
And broken-hearted she came back,

A bowed and bruised reed.
"I marked her cheek yet paler grow,

More sunken yet her eye;
And to my soul assurance came

That she was near to die,
And hourly was my eamest prayer

Put up for her on high.
“Oh, what a woe seemed then to us,

The friendless orphan's fate!
I dared not picture to my mind,

How drear, how desolale -
But, like a frightened thing, my heart

Shrunk from a pang so great! “ We rarely left my mother's side,

'T was joy to touch her hand, And with unwearying, patient love,

Beside her couch to stand, To wait on her, and every wish

Unspoke to understand. “ At length, oh joy beyond all joys!

When we believed him dead,
One calm and sunny afternoon,

As she lay on her bed
In quiet sleep, methought below

I heard my brother's tread.
" I rose, and on the chamber stair,

I met himself — no other More beautiful than ere before,

My tall and manly brother! I should have swooned, but for the thought

Of my poor sleeping mother. “I cannot tell you how we met ;

I could not speak for weeping; Nor had I words enough for joy, —

My heart within seemed leaping, I should have screamed, but for the thought

Of her who there lay sleeping! * That Marc returned in joy to us,

My mother dreamed e'en then, And that prepared her for the bliss

of meeting him again ;To tell how great that bliss, would need The tongue of wisest men !

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“ His lightest tone, his very step,

More power had they to win
My drooping mother back to life,

Than every medicine ;
She rose again, like one revived

From death where he had been! “ The story that my brother told

Was long, and full of joy ; Scarce to the city had he come,

A poor and friendless boy, Than he chanced to meet a merchant good,

From whom he asked employ.
“The merchant was a childless man;

And in my brother's face,
Something he saw that moved his heart

To such unusual grace ;
• My son,' said he, is dead, wilt thou

Supply to me his place ?
“Even then, bound to the golden East,

His ship before him lay;
And this new bond of love was formed

There, standing on the quay ;
My brother went on board with him,

And sailed that very day!
“The letter that he wrote to us,

It never reached our hand;
And while we drooped with anxious love,

He gained the Indian strand,
And saw a thonsand wondrous things,

In that old, famous land.
" And many rich and curious things,

Bright bird and pearly shell,
He brought as if to realize

The tales he had to tell;
My mother smiled, and wept, and smiled,

And listened, and grew well. “ The merchant loved him more and more,

And did a father's part ;
And blessed my brother for the love

That healed his wounded heart;
He was a friend that heaven had sent

Kind mercy to impart. "So do not droop, my gentle friend,

Though grief may burden sore;
Look up to God, for he hath love

And comfort in great store,
And ofttimes moveth human hearts

To bless us o'er and o'er."

ELLEN MORE.

“Sweet Ellen More," said I, “ come forth

Beneath the sunny sky;
Why stand you musing all alone,

With such an anxious eye?
What is it, child, that aileth you ?"

And thus she made reply:

“The fields are green, the skies are bright,

The leaves are on the tree, And ’mong the sweet flowers of the thyme

Far flies the honey-bee; And the lark hath sung since morning prime,

And merrily singeth he.

" Yet not for this shall I go forth

On the open hills to play, There's not a bird that singeth now,

Would tempt me hence to stray ; I would not leave our cottage door

For a thousand flowers to-day!"

“And why ?" said I, “ what is there here

Beside your cottage-door, To make a merry girl like you

Thus idly stand 10 pore? There is a mystery in this thing:

Now tell me, Ellen More !"

A SWINGING SONG. MERRY it is on a summer's day, All through the meadows to wend away; To watch the brooks glide fast or slow, And the little fish twinkle down below; To hear the lark in the blue sky sing, Oh, sure enough, 't is a merry thing – But 't is merrier far to swing - to swing!

The fair girl looked into my face,

With her dark and serious eye ; Silently awhile she looked,

Then heaved a quiet sigh ; And, with a half-reluctant will, Again she made reply.

And as he leapt ashore, he sang

A simple Scottish air,“There's nae place like our ain dear hame

To be met wi' onywhere!"

A DAY OF DISASTERS.

“Three years ago, unknown to us,

When nuts were on the tree, Even in the pleasant harvest-time,

My brother went to sea Unknown to us, to sea he went,

And a woful house were we. "That winter was a weary time,

A long, dark time of woe; For we knew not in what ship he sailed,

And vainly sought to know; And day and night the loud, wild winds

Seemed evermore to blow. “My mother lay upon her bed,

Her spirit sorely tossed With dismal thoughts of storm and wreck

Upon some savage coast ; But morn and eve we prayed to Heaven

That he might not be lost.

A CONVERSATION BETWEEN PETER AND

ZEDEKIAH.

“And when the pleasant spring came on,

And fields again were green, He sent a letter full of news,

Of the wonders he had seen; Praying us to think him dutiful

As he afore had been.
“The tidings that came next were from

A sailor old and grey,
Who saw his ship at anchor lie

In the harbour at Bombay;
But he said my brother pined for home,

And wished he were away. “ Again he wrote a letter long,

Without a word of gloom ;
And soon, and very soon he said,

He should again come home;
I watched, as now, beside the door,

And yet he did not come. “I watched and watched, but I knew not then

It would be all in vain;
For very sick he lay the while,

In a hospital in Spain.-
Ah, me! I fear my brother dear

Will ne'er come home again!
“And now I watch-for we have heard

That he is on his way,
And the letter said, in very truth,

He would be here to-day.
Oh! there's no bird that singeth now

Could tempt me hence away!"

PETER.-Zedekiah, come here!
ZEDEKIAH.-Well now, what's the matter?
PETER.—Look at my hat; the more I set it right, it

only gets the flatter. ZEDEKIAH.—Why, Peter, what's come to your hat?

I never saw such a thing. PETER.—I've had nothing but ill-luck to-day; I did

this with the swing; I've been tossed into the apple-tree just as if I was

a ball, And though I caught hold of a bough, I've had a

terrible fall; I'm sure I should have cracked my skull, had it not

been for my hat. You may see what a fall it was, for the crown 's quite

flat; And it never will take its shape again, do all that

ever I may! ZEDEKIANI.— Never mind it, Peter! Put it on your

head, and come along, I say! PETER.–Nay, I shall not. I shall sit down under

this tree; I've had nothing but ill-luck to-day. Come, sit down

by me, And I'll tell you all, Zedekiah, for I feel quite for.

lorn; Oh dear! oh dear! I'm lamed now I've sate down

upon a thorn! ZEDEKIAH.-Goodness' sake! Peter be still—what a

terrible bellow One would think you'd sate on a hornet's nest ; sit

down, my good fellow. PETER.—I'll be sure there are no more thorns here,

before I sit down ; Pretty well of one thorn at a time, Master Zedekiah

Brown! There, now, I think this seat is safe and easy—80 Now

you must know I was fast asleep at breakfast-time; and you 'll al

ways find it so, That if you begin a day ill, it will be ill all the day. Well, when I woke, the breakfast-things were clat

tering all away; And I know they had eggs and fowl, and all sort of

good things; But then none may partake who are in bed when the

morning bell rings; So, sadly vexed as I was, I rolled myself round in

bed, And, “as breakfast is over, I'll not hurry myself," I said,

-That self-same eve I wandered down

Unto the busy strand,
Just as a little boat came in

With people to the land;
And 'mongst them was a sailor-boy,

Who leaped upon the sand.

I knew him by his dark blue eyes, And by his features fair;

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