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He ev'ry soothing art display'd,
Tried of what stuff her skin was made ;
Failing in all, to Heav'n he pray'd

To take her.
Once walking by a river side,
In mournful terms, “ My dear," he cried,
“No more let feuds our peace divide ;

I'll end them.

“ Weary of life and quite resigned, To drown I have made up my mind, So tie my hands as fast behind

As can be ;

“Or nature may assert her reign,
My arms assist, my will restrain,
And, swimming, I once more regain

My troubles.”
With eager haste the dame complies,
While joy stands glistening in her eyes ;
Already in her thought he dies

Before her.

“ Yet when I view the rolling tide, Nature revolts,” he said.

“ Beside, I would not be a suicide,

And die thus.
“ It would be better far, I think,
While close I stand upon the brink,
You push me in--nay, never shrink,

But do it!"

To give the blow the more effect,
Some twenty yards she ran direct,
And did what she could least expect

She should do :

He slips aside himself to save ;
So souse she dashes in the wave,
And gave what ne'er before she gave-

Much pleasure.

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“Dear husband, help ! I sink !” she cried.
Thou best of wives !” the man replied,
" I would, but you my hands have tied :

Lord help ye !"

A none


Pass where we may, through city or through town,
Village or hamlet of this merry land,
Though lean and beggared, every twentieth pace
Conducts the unguarded nose to such a whift
Of stale debauch, forth issuing from the styes
That law has licensed, as makes Temperance reel.
There sit, involved and lost in curling clouds
Of Indian fume, and guzzling deep, the boor,
The lackey, and the groom : the craftsman there
Takes a Lethean leave of all his toil ;
Smith, cobbler, joiner, he that plies the shears,
And he that kneads the dough; all loud alike,
All learned, and all drunk! The fiddle screams
Plaintive and piteous, as it wept and wail'd
Its wasted tones and harmony unheard :
Fierce the dispute, whate'er the theme ; while she,
Fell Discord, arbitress of such debate,
Perch'd on the sign-post, holds with even hand
Her undecisive scales. In this she lays
A weight of ignorance ; in that of pride;
And smiles, delighted with the eternal poise.
Dire is the frequent curse, and its twin-sound,
The cheek-distending oath, not to be praised
As ornamental, musical, polite,
Like those which modern senators employ,
Whose oath is rhetoric, and who swear for fame!
Behold the schools in which plebeian minds,
Once simple, are initiated in arts
Which some may practise with politer grace,
But none with readier skill. 'Tis here they learn
The road that leads from competence


To indigence and rapine ; till at last
Society, grown weary of the load,
Shakes her encumber'd lap, and casts them out.



But censure profits little : vain the attempt
To advertise in verse a public pest
That, like the filth with which the peasant feeds
His hungry acres, stinks, and is of use :
The excise is fatten'd with the rich result
Of all this riot; and ten thousand casks,
For ever dribbling out their base contents,
Touch'd by the Midas finger of the State,
Bleed gold for ministers to sport away.
Drink, and be mad, then ! 'tis your country bids ;
Gloriously drink ! obey the important cal ;
Her cause demands the assistance of your throats :
Ye all can swallow, and she asks no more.



A COUNSEL in the Common Pleas,

Who was esteemed a mighty wit,

Upon the strength of a chance hit,
Amid a thousand Hippancies,
And his occasional bad jokes

In bullying, bantering, brow-beating,

Ridiculing and maltreating
Women, or other timid folks,
In a late cause resolved to hoar
A clownish Yorkshire farmer-one

Who by his uncouth look and gait

Appeared expressly meant by Fato
For being quizzed and played upon.
So, having tipp'd the wink to those

In the back rows,
Who kept their laughter bottled down

Until our wag should draw the cork,
He smiled jocosely on the clown

And went to work. “Well, Farmer Numskull, how go calves at York ? "

"Why, not sir, as they do with you, But on four legs instead of two.” “: Officer !” cried the legal elf, Piqued at the laugh against himself,


“Do, pray, keep silence down below there.
Now look at me, clown, and attend :
Have I not seen you somewhere, friend ?”

“Yees-very like-I often go there.”
“Our rustic's waggish-quite laconic,"
The counsel cried, with grin sardonic :
“I wish I'd known this prodigy,
This genius of the clods, when I

On circuit was at York residing.
Now, farmer, do for once speak true ;
Mind, you're on oath, so tell me, you
Who doubtless think yourself so clever,
Are there as many fools as ever

In the West Riding ?”
“Why, no sir, no ; we've got our share,
But not so many as when you were there."

Horace Smith


O, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the west-
Through all the wide border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword he weapons had none-
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Esk river where ford there was none;
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented—the gallant came late :
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar,
So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,
Among bridesmen and kinsmen, and brothers and all.
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word):
“O, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lochinvar ?”



"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied-
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young

The bride kissed the goblet, the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup;
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar-
“Now tread we a measure !” said young Lochinvar.
So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace :
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume ;
And the bride-maidens whispered, “ 'Twere better by far
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.”
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung !
“She is won ; we are gone over bank, bush, and scaur ;
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar
There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby cları ;
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;
There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ge e'er heard of gallant like young

Sir Walter Scott.


I HAD a little daughter,

And she was given to me,
To lead me gently backward

To the Heavenly Father's knee ;

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