Where he was born, till hunger drives him out,
Or plunder breaketh through his castle wall!
And so, in very deed, thou 'rt constancy!

Jul. Helen, you know the adage of the tree;
I've ta'en the bend. This rural life of mine,
Enjoined me by an unknown father's will,
I've led from infancy. Debarred from hope

Of change, I ne'er have sighed for change. The town,
To me, was like the moon, for any thought

I e'er should visit it-nor was I schooled

To think it half so fair!

Hel. Not half so fair!

The town 's the sun, and thou hast dwelt in night E'er since thy birth, not to have seen the town! Their women there are queens, and kings their men ; Their houses palaces!

Jul. And what of that?

Have your town palaces a hall like this?
Couches so fragrant? walls so high adorned?
Casements with such festoons, such prospects, Helen
As these fair vistas have? Your kings and queens!
See me a May-day queen, and talk of them!

Hel. Extremes are ever neighbors. 'Tis a step
From one to the other! Were thy constancy
A reasonable thing—a little less

Of constancy-a woman's constancy—

I should not wonder, wert thou ten years hence
The maid I know thee now; but, as it is,
The odds are ten to one, that this day year
Will see our May-day queen a city one.

Jul. Never! I'm wedded to a country life.
O, did you hear what Master Walter says!
Nine times in ten, the town's a hollow thing,
Where what things are, is naught to what they show;
Where merit's name laughs merit's self to scorn!
Where friendship and esteem, that ought to be

The tenants of men's hearts, lodge in their looks
And tongues alone. Where little virtue, with
A costly keeper, passes for a heap;

A heap for none that has a homely one!
Where Fashion makes the law-your umpire which
You bow to, whether it has brains or not;
Where Folly taketh off his cap and bells,
To clap on Wisdom, which must bear the jest!
Where, to pass current, you must seem the thing,
The passive thing that others think, and not
Your simple, honest, independent self!

Hel. Aye: so says Master Walter. See I not
What you can find in Master Walter, Julia,

To be so fond of him!

Jul. He's fond of me.

I've known him since I was a child. E'en then
The week I thought a weary, heavy one,
That brought not Master Walter. I had those
About me then, that made a fool of me,
As children oft are fooled; but more I loved
Good Master Walter's lesson, than the play
With which they'd surfeit me.
As I grew up,
More frequent Master Walter came, and more
I loved to see him. I had tutors then,

Men of great skill and learning, but not one
That taught like Master Walter.

What they'd show me,

And I, dull as I was, but doubtful saw,

A word from Master Walter made as clear

As daylight! When my schooling days were o'er,--
That's now good three years past-three years-i vow

I'm twenty, Helen !-well, as I was saying,

When I had done with school, and all were gone,
Still Master Walter came; and still he comes,
Summer or winter-frost or rain.

I've seen

The snow upon a level with the hedge.
Yet there was Master Walter !

Hel. Who comes here?

A carriage, and a gay one,-who alights?
Pshaw! Only Master Walter! What see you,
Which thus repairs the arch of the fair brow,
A frown was like to spoil?-A gentleman!
One of our town kings! Mark-how say you no v ?
Would'st be a town queen, Julia? Which of us,
I wonder, comes he for?

Jul. For neither of us;

He's Master Walter's clerk, most like.

Hel. Most like!

Mark him as he comes up the avenue;
So looks a clerk! A clerk has such a gait!
So does a clerk dress, Julia,-mind his hose-
They 're very like a clerk's! A diamond loop
And button, note you, for his clerkship's hat—
O, certainly a clěrk! A velvet cloak,
Jerkin of silk, and doublet of the same;
For all the world a clerk! See, Julia, see
How Master Walter bows, and yields him place,
That he may first go in,-a very clěrk!

I'll learn of thee, love, when I'd know a clěrk!
Jul. I wonder who he is.

Hel. Would'st like to know?

Would'st, for a fancy, ride to town with hím?
I prophesy he comes to take thee thither.

Jul. He ne'er takes me to town. No Hélen, nò;
To town who will-a country life for me!

Hel. We'll see!

QUESTIONS.-1. What rules for the inflections as marked in the 3d paragraph? 2. Why is the circumflex employed in the 5th paragraph from the last! See Rule I., page 32. What adage does Julia refer to, on page 211, fourth line from top? Ans.—

"'Tis Education forms the human mind;

Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined'

EXERCISE LXXII.

SONG OF THE SHIRT.

1. With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread,-

2.

3.

4.

Stitch! stitch! stitch!

In poverty, hunger, and dirt,

THOMAS HOD.

And still, with a voice of dolorous pitch,
She sang the "Song of the Shirt."

"Work! work! work!

While the cock is crowing aloof!

And work-work-work,

Till the stars shine through the roof!
It's oh! to be a slave

Along with the barbarous Turk,

Where woman has never a soul to save,
If this is Christian work!

"Work-work--work

Till the brain begins to swim,
Work-work-work,

Till the eyes are heavy and dim!

⚫ Seam, and gusset, and band,
Band, and gusset, and seam,

Till over the buttons I fall asleep,
And sew them on in a dream!

"Oh! men, with sisters dear!

Oh! men, with mothers and wives !
It is not linen you 're wearing out,
But human creatures' lives!

Stitch-stitch-stitch,

In poverty, hunger, and dirt,

Sewing at once, with a double thread,
A shroud as well as a shirt.

5. "But why do I talk of Death,

That Phantom of grisly bone,
I hardly fear his terrible shape,
It seems so like my own-
It seems so like my own,
Because of the fasts I keep,

Oh God! that bread should be so dear,
And flesh and blood so cheap!

7.

6.

8.

"Work-work-work!

My labor never flags;

And what are its wages? A bed of straw,
A crust of bread,—and rags,—

That shatter'd roof-and this naked floor-
A table-a broken chair-

And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank
For sometimes falling there!

"Work-work-work!

From weary chime to chime!
Work-work-work,

As prisoners work for crime!
Band, and gusset, and seam,

Seam, and gusset, and band,

Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb'd,
As well as the weary hand.

"Work-work-work!

In the dull December light,

And work-work-work,

When the weather is warm and bright—

While underneath the eaves

The brooding swallows cling,

As if to show me their sunny baaks,

And twit me with the Spring.