23

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Why, Mary, how you twist and twirl!
Why dost not keep the track?

I'll carry thee home safe, my girl,”—
Then swung her on his back.

24 Poor Caleb muster'd all his wits
To bear the light ahead,

As Andrew reel'd and stopp'd by fits,
Or ran with thundering tread.

25 Exult, ye brutes, traduc'd and scorn'd,
Though true to nature's plan;

Exult, ye bristled, and ye horn'd,
When infants govern man.

26 Down to the mill-pool's dangerous brink
The headlong party drove;

The boy alone had power to think,

While Mary scream'd above.

27 "Stop!" Caleb cried, "you 've lost the path; The water's close before;

I see it shine, 'tis very deep,

Why, don't you hear it roar?" 28 And then in agony exclaim'd, "O where's my mother now?" The Solomon of hops and malt

66

Stopp'd short and made a bow.

29 His head was loose, his neck disjointed,
It cost him little trouble;

But to be stopp'd and disappointed,
Poh! danger was a bubble.

30 Onward he stepp'd, the boy alert,
Calling his courage forth,

Hung like a log on Andrew's skirt,

And down he brought them both.

31 The tumbling lantern reach'd the stream, Its hissing light soon gone;

'Twas night, without a single gleam,
And terror reign'd alone.

32 A general scream the miller heard,
Then rubb'd his eyes and ran;

33

And soon his welcome light appear'd,
As grumbling he began :—

"What have we here, and where abouts?
Why, what a hideous squall!

Some drunken fool! I thought as much-
'Tis only Andrew Hall!

34 "Poor children!" tenderly he said,
"But now the danger's past."

They thank'd him for his light and aid,
And drew near home at last.

35 But who upon the misty path

To meet them forward press'd?

'Twas Ellen, shivering with a babe
Close folded to her breast.

36 Said Andrew, "Now you're glad, I know,
To se-se-see us come ;-

But I have taken care of both,

And brought them bo-bo-both safe home." 37 With Andrew vex'd, of Mary proud, But prouder of her boy,

She kiss'd them both, and sobb'd aloud,-
The children cried for joy.

38 But what a home at last they found!
Of comforts all bereft;

The fire out, the last candle gone,
And not one penny left.

39 But Caleb quick as lightning flew
And raised a light instead;

And as the kindling brands he blew,
His father snored in bed.

40 No brawling, boxing termagant
Was Ellen, though offended;

Who ever knew a fault like this
By violence amended?

41 No she was mild as April morn,
And Andrew loved her too;

She rose at daybreak, though forlorn,
To try what love could do.

42 And as her waking husband groan'd,
And roll'd his burning head,

43

She spoke with all the power of truth,
Down kneeling by his bed.

"Dear Andrew, hear me,-though distress'd
Almost too much to speak,-

This infant starves upon my breast

To scold I am too weak.

44 "I work, I spin, I toil all day, Then leave my work to cry;

45

46

47

And start with horror when I think

You wish to see me die.

"But do you wish it? Can that bring
More comfort or more joy?

Look round the house, how destitute !
Look at your ragged boy!

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That boy should make a father proud,
If any feeling can ;

Then save your children, save your wife,

Your honour as a man.

"Hear me, for God's sake hear me now,

And act a father's part!"

The culprit bless'd her angel-tongue,

And clasp'd her to his heart;

48 And would have vow'd, and would have sworn,

But Ellen kiss'd him dumb,

"Exert your mind, vow to yourself,
And better days will come.

49 "I shall be well when you are kind,
And you'll be better too."-

"I'll drink no more," he quick rejoin'd,

"Be poison if I do."

50 From that bright day, his plants, his flowers, His crops began to thrive,

And for three years has Andrew been

The soberest man alive.

-R. BLOOMFIELD.

ROBERT AND RICHARD.

Quoth Richard to Bob, "Let things go as they will,
Of pleasure and fun I will still have my fill;
In frolic and mirth I see nothing amiss,

And, though I get tipsy, what harm is in this?

"For e'en Solomon says, and I vow he says truth,

6

Rejoice, O young man, in the days of thy youth.'"

“I am glad,” answered Bob, "you 're of Solomon's creed; But I beg, if you quote him, you'll please to proceed. "For "God (as the wise man continues to sing) Thy soul into judgment for all this will bring.' Thus a man may get plunged in a woeful abyss, By choosing to say, Pray, what harm is in this?"

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Come, come," says gay Richard, says gay Richard, "don't grudge me

a cup;

I'm resolved, while I'm able, I'll still keep it up;
Let old graybeards deny that in frolic there is bliss,
I'll game, love, and drink-and what harm is in this?"
Says Robert, "I grant, if you live for to-day,
You may game, love, and drink, and may frolic away;
But then, my dear Dick, I again must contend,

That the wise man has bid us-remember the end!"

Says Richard, "When sickness or peevish old age
Shall advance, to dismiss me from life's merry stage,
Repentence just, then, boy, may not be amiss,
But while young I'll be jolly-what harm is in this?"
They parted and Richard his pastimes begun―—

:

'Twas Richard the Jovial, the soul of all fun;

Each dancing-bout, drinking-bout, Dick would attend, And he sung and he swore, nor once thought of the end.

Now beggared by gaming, distempered by drink,
Death stared in his face, yet he dared not to think;
Despairing of mercy, despising all truth,

He died of old age in the prime of his youth.

On his tomb-stone good Robert these verses engraved, Which he hoped some gay fellow might read and be saved :

THE EPITAPH.

Here lies a poor youth, who called drinking his bliss, And was ruined by saying, What harm is in this? Let each passer-by to his error attend,

And learn of poor Dick, to remember the end!

-HANNAH MORE.