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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!
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!
If you take a peep,
On which she used to sleep.
On that very stately bed, -
That Madam Fortescue is dead !
There sits the poor cat;
Would make a change like that?
In what miserable case,
All running down her face!
She has had a great loss! She had a mistress, the best in the world,
She has one now -so cross !
And hanging down her head,
Now Madam Fortescue is dead!
With a rope in her hand,
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,
After the funeral.
But now we cannot stay,
And the pictures some other day.
The heir and all the cousins
And the nieces by dozens.
Reading the lady's will,
All of them, stock still.
To where the will said,
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."
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.
All that we talked about that day,
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.
Assembled there that day,
And had her made away.
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.
How her face is in a blaze ;
And so every one says.
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!
THE FISHER BOY.
Then shame to think I knew thee not
Ah! Fisher Boy, I well know thee,
THE WANDERER'S RETURN.
THERE was a girl of fair Provence,
Fresh as a flower in May,
Upon a summer-day,
* And said I, I shall dance no more;
For though but young in years,
Affection's ceaseless fears,
Which is not eased by tears.
Heaven keeps our griefs in view ;
Yet I will tell it you;
And household gladness too. "My father in the battle died,
And left young children three;
With spirit bold and free,
And Isabel and me.
A tall youth and a strong,
I do my mother wrong
I've burdened you loo long!
And earnestly did pray,
And be the house's stay;
As he had been alway.
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.
He rose up to depart;
The sadness of my heart;
As if we could not part.
Although the bright sun shone;
For he, the dearest one,
And from our sight was gone.
Sad tidings of dismay;
And hundreds died each day;
'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,
When sank she on her knee,
And wept most piteously.
Still asking everywhere
In vain she made her prayer;
No pity had they to spare.
The sternest heart to bleed;
Yet none of her took heed;
A bowed and bruised reed.
More sunken yet her eye;
That she was near to die,
Put up for her on high.
The friendless orphan's fate!
How drear, how desolale -
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,
As she lay on her bed
I heard my brother's tread.
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 !
“ His lightest tone, his very step,
More power had they to win
Than every medicine ;
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.
And in my brother's face,
To such unusual grace ;
Supply to me his place ?
His ship before him lay;
There, standing on the quay ;
And sailed that very day!
It never reached our hand;
He gained the Indian strand,
In that old, famous land.
Bright bird and pearly shell,
The tales he had to tell;
And listened, and grew well. “ The merchant loved him more and more,
And did a father's part ;
That healed his wounded heart;
Kind mercy to impart. "So do not droop, my gentle friend,
Though grief may burden sore;
And comfort in great store,
To bless us o'er and o'er."
“Sweet Ellen More," said I, “ come forth
Beneath the sunny sky;
With such an anxious eye?
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
“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.
A sailor old and grey,
In the harbour at Bombay;
And wished he were away. “ Again he wrote a letter long,
Without a word of gloom ;
He should again come home;
And yet he did not come. “I watched and watched, but I knew not then
It would be all in vain;
In a hospital in Spain.-
Will ne'er come home again!
That he is on his way,
He would be here to-day.
Could tempt me hence away!"
PETER.-Zedekiah, come here!
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,
With people to the land;
Who leaped upon the sand.
I knew him by his dark blue eyes, And by his features fair;