I feared to see my mother's tears, my father's agony, When they knew that their beloved ones were in the deep, deep sea. Yet still my eyes looked wistfully across the ocean-tide, And, half unconsciously, I watched the pallid moonbeams glide I knew that dark green ivy-tower, I knew the house of God, To which so oft in sinless joy my boyhood's steps had trod; And many of my early loved were sleeping all around I gazed upon the moonbeam pale, till, to my aching eyes, As gliding from my aching sight, the wan, pale figure passed, EXTRACT FROM SPEED THE PLOUGH. Sir Philip Blandford and Farmer Ashfield. Sir Philip.-Come hither. I believe you hold a farm of mine? Ashfield.-Ees, zur, I do, at your zarvice. Sir Philip-I hope a profitable one? Ashfield.-Zometimes it be zur. But thic year, it be all t'other way as twur-but I do hope, as our landlords have a tightish big lump of the good, they'll be zo kind hearted as to take a lit tle bit of the bad. Sir Philip.-It is but reasonable. I conclude then, you are in my debt. Ashfield.-Ees, zur, I be-at your zarvice. Sir Philip.-How much? Ashfield.-Sir, I do owe ye a hundred and fifty pounds-at your zarvice. Sir Philip.-Which you can't pay. Ashfield.-Not a varthing, zur-at your zarvice. Sir Philip.-Well, I am willing to give you every indulgence. Ashfield. Be you, zur? that be deadly kind.-Dear heart! it will make my auld dame quite young again, and don't think helping a poor man will do your honour's health any arm-I don't indeed, zur-I had a thought of speaking to your worship about it but then thinks I, the gentleman, mayhap, be one of those that do like to do a good turn, and not to have a word zaid about it-zo, if you had not mentioned what I owed you, I am zure I never should-should not, indeed zur. Sir Philip.-Nay, I will wholly acquit you of the debt, on condition Ashfield.-Ees, zur. Sir Philip.-On condition, I say, you instantly turn out that boy-that Henry. Ashfield. Turn out Henry! Ha, ha, ha! Excuse my tittering, zur; but you bees making your vun of I, zure. Sir Philip.-I am not apt to trifle. Send him instantly from you, or take the consequences. Ashfield.-Turn out Henry! I vow I shou'dn't know how to zet about it-I should not, indeed zur. Sir Philip.-You hear my determination. If you disobey, you know what will follow. I'll leave you to reflect on it. (Exit. Ashfield. Well, zur, I'll argufy the topic, and then you may wait upon me, and I'll tell ye. (Makes the motion of turning out.)-I should be deadly awkward at it vor zartin. However, I'll put the case. Well, I goes whiztling whoam-noa, drabbit it, I shou'dn't be able to whiztle a bit, I'm zure. Well, I goes whoam, and I sees Henry zitting by my wife, mixing up someit to comfort the wold zool, and take away the pain of her rhumatics. Very well, then Henry places a chair vor I by the vire zide, and zays-" Varmer, the horses be fed, the sheep be folded, and you have nothing to do but zit down, smoke your pipe, and be happy!" Very well, (becomes affected) Then I zays"Henry, you be poor and friendless, zo you must turn out of my houze directly." Very well, then my wife stares at I-reaches her hand towards the vire place, and throws the poker at my head. Very well, then Henry gives a kind of anguish shake, and getting up sighs from the bottom of his heart-then holding up his head like a king, says-"Varmer, I have too long been a burthen to you—Heaven protect you as you have me. Farewell! I go." Then I says, "If thee does I'll be domn'd," (with great energy.) Hollo; you Mr. Sir Philip! you may come in. (Enter Sir Philip Blandford. Zur, I have argufied the topic, and it wou'd'nt be pratty-zo can't Sir Philip.-Can't! absurd! Ashfield.-Well, zur, there is but another word-I won't.. Ashfield. No, zur, I won't;-I'd zee myself hang'd first, and you too, zur-I would indeed (bowing.) Sir Philip.-You refuse then to obey. Ashfield.-I do, zur-at your zarvice (bowing.) Sir Philip. Then the law must take its course. Ashfield. I be very zorry for that too-I be, indeed zur; but if corn wou'd'nt grow, I cou'dn't help it; it wer'n't poison'd by the hand that zow'd it. Thic hand, zir, be as free from guilt as your own. Sir Philip.-Oh! (sighing deeply.) Ashfield. It were never held out to clinch a hard bargain, nor will it turn a good lad out into the wicked world, because he be poorish a bit. I be zorry you be offended, zur, quite-but come what wool, I'll never hit thic hand against here, but when I be zure that someit at inzide will jump against it with pleasure (bowing.) I do hope you'll repent of all your zins-I do, indeed, zur; and if you shou'd, I'll come and see you again as friendly as ever-I wool, indeed, zur. Sir Philip.-Your repentance will come too late! Ashfield. Thank ye, zur-good morning to you-I do hope I have made mysel agreeable—and so I'll go whoam. (Exit. (Exit, THE TINKER AND GLAZIER. SINCE gratitude, 'tis said, is not o'er common, One, Glazier Dick, the other Tom the Tinker; And hard it were to name the sturdiest drinker. Ꮓ Their ale they quaff'd, And as they swigg'd the nappy, They both agreed 'tis said, They jok'd, sung, laughed, And were completely happy. The landlord's eye bright as his sparkling ale, Had this blithe ending- Bring us t'other mug. The kettle gaily singing on the fire, Gives Dick a hint just to his heart's desire; And, while to draw more ale the landlord goes, Astrade's success!' he drinks, Nor doubts the wish'd success Tom will obtain. So, giving each kind customer a hand, His friendship, too, display'd, And drank success to trade!' But O, how pleasure vanish'd from his eye, How long and rueful his round visage grew, Soon as he saw the kettle's bottom fly; Solder the only fluid he could view. He rav'd, he caper'd, and he swore, And d-d the kettle's body o'er and o'er. 'Come, come,' says Dick, fetch us, my friend, more ale, All trades, you know, must live; Let's drink, 66 may trade with none of us e'er fail," The job to Tom then give; And, for the ale he drinks, our lad of mettle, Thought Tom, to serve my friend I know a trick, But not a word he said, And off he nimbly trips, Swift to a neighbouring church his way he takes; Nor in the dark, Misses his mark, But every pane of glass he quickly breaks. Back as he goes, His bosom glows, To think how great will be his friend Dick's joy Return'd, he, beckoning, draws his friend aside- And to Dick's ear his mouth applied, Thus briefly states the case! 'Dick, I may give you joy-you're a made man, I've done your business most complete, my friend: I'm off, the devil may catch me if he can, Each window in the church you've got to mend- If for your sake I have not broke them all.' And all his powers of utterance fail: Dick's unknown smart, And two such phizzes ne'er met mortal view. 'You have, indeed, my business done! For let me act the best I can, Tom, Tom, I am a ruin'd man. Zounds! zounds! this piece of friendship costs me dear, THE DEAD DONKEY. HE was stretched at full length beside the ditch where he died. A half-finished house in the back-ground seemed to rejoice in the fate of the poor animal; maliciously displayed on a board, whereon was legibly written "THIS CARCASS TO BE SOLD!" The sturdy thistle boldly reared its head in its vicinity, fearless of the donkey's pluck. |