^•W T A =f 1 3 ftiSlO BOOK. e<\ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES N E D F A I! M E II ' S SCRAP BOOK. m;i> i'akmkk's scrap book ; BEING A SELKl PION OF POEMS, SONGS, SCRAPS, ETC. KNLARGED AND REVISED. . LIKE M \N IM, I that BLIFP'D THEO CRACKS and zigzags or tmf nr. I II IUD EDITION. LONDON W. MACINTOSH, 24, PATERN08TEB Row. DERBY 6niercb at Stationers' fall. | | ', \li PI III I8BID r.>H TIM ,,,.,.. • || I I 1 si. v VI. 1.1 I I r R E FA C R. [n the v< iar L846, I had the temerity to publish a i aall i, a very small — collection of Poems, Songs, Scraps, & then, as now, under the title of "Ned Farm Book;" all of which, as the immortal Sairey Gamp would ., "is well beknown." The very kind manner in wbi the diminutive tome alluded to, was received by my frier and the amiable forbearance evinced by the few reviev who condesa Qded to uotice it, have mainly actuated me in thus daring again to meet the public gaze. Further th . il may just b( the fe\s ' ht the infliction on the many ; for, travelling as f do very much, I have often been asked, whether in • the inquir i\ know, where my Scrap B aid In obtained ; and being induced to look over "th.< and corners of old England" — meaning my boxes, drawi writing I ..-.- -1 discovered among many other qu crudities of the brain, the varied contents of the Little work now offered, with the most profound respect, P i ral perusal ; the chameleon-like nature of which will prove under what varied they b: bad their birth, For 1 ben the But, ai .-. C immon S admitting all this to b< why nol be cout< at, of fur b( tter writer "• VI 1 1 FACE. been, to keep within the healthy compass of unpretending manuscript, this " mad material of the mind?" To all such inquiry, albeit most judiciously and forcibly put, I merely reply, " What should I get by that?" Again, if bettei: writers than myself are deterred by prudential, or other and worthier motives, from publishing " their brilliant confiscations," must it not be clearly in favour of myself and "such small deer," who have had the bad taste to trouble a publisher 1 Why, I say Yes to that. Well, well, a wilful man must have his way, says the old adage ; and were it not so, this, the Third Edition of " Ned Farmer's Scrap Book " had never met the enraptured gaze of an admiring world! (Rather fine writing that, I flatter myself.) For it is simply wonderful what an amount of trouble some of my quondam friends and acquaintances have been at in endeavouring to dissuade me from what they, in the exuberance of their zeal, have kindly designated "making a fool of myself." Well, nous verrons. Others there are, who, as a deterrent, have narrated for my special behoof, a list of glorious names, among whom were enumerated such giants of the pen as Robert Burns, Tom Moore, and — though last, not least in our dear love, — "Tom Hood ;" and, putting it to me in tones of mingled contempt and derision, if I really had the astounding impu- dence to dare — aye, marry, dare was the word — to publish the lame and limping offspring of my muse, in the same country, and in the same language. To all of which I give for H One lend, emphatic Yc3 ! Why, what on earth have I, poor poetaster as I am, to do with those proud names, or the myriads of mental diamonds PRE] M l\ which they m their abundance have - ttcxjred broach o'er the Land, beyond the high, and I trusl duly appreciated privilege of being permitted to peruse those bright undying records of their genius — the works they left us '. \ -in, is it by any means an unusual circumstance, that a dwarf and a giant are exhibited in the same town, nay. sometimes in the selfsame caravan? Ts my simple fife to be unheard because other and better performers play upon ophicleides and trombones) Am I not to vend my spr i, forsooth, there happens to be salmon in the marketl Because I possess not the fleetness of a Decrfoot, am I therefore to sit ingloriously still IN e! in mild L subdued tones, bul with a decided amount of firmness, I repei t. Nbnsen 1),, me, cou £ lader, I conjure ye, the justice to believe me, when I most solemnly assert that, in bringi out the Third Edition of my Scrap Book, I was perfectly free from any wild and ambitious expectancies as to wl likely to accrue therefrom. 1 anticipated noproudniche in Westminster Abbey j and, as "I am a tall man and a tleman," I Qgle moment had it in my mind from his well-filled throne the Poet Laureate, or tch from his magic hand the well-earned sceptre he so worthily grasj 3. I had uo futile hope of thereby immortal- izing the humble name I bear ; I entertained no insane idea of amassing I : fori une. Beyond this I feel bound to state, thai no pea-son breath- ing, can by any possibility be more thoroughly alive to the aumbei and defects of tnj Scrap Book th myself; but what was I to do? People would 1.- PRE] For it. I had a lot of pieces of ouc kind or other stowed away, and lying about in drawers, cupboards, and boxes, and it was quite a certainty that if I did not publish them, no one else ever would; and it just became a question with me, whether I should burn them or print them. I decided on the latter course, and June illce lachrymce. This also did I take into account : that having, miserable vitrlet as I am, no fond and devoted wife to be pained by the eccentricities of her husband — no loving children (the more of misery mine) to be taunted with their father's follies — I decided upon the present course of action ; and, as a friend of mine would say, " I 've been and gone and done it ! " Had I more of time than my present avocation allows me, 1 am free to confess that I would have endeavoured to have licked into somewhat better shape these rough and uncouth "bear cubs" of my brain. True it is, that mi than one kindly-disposed individual lias volunteered to parse and otherwise alter and amend the varied contents of my book ; but such offers I have ever declined firmly, yet, I trust, respectfully: for had I permitted such all ations as doubtless better taste and higher learning had suggested, the book would have ceased to have been my production, and would have been written by that well-known . . respected firm of " Me, Somebodyelse & Co." As it is, 1 ''an, if not proudly, at leasl very truth fully, ass that— ''alone I did it ;" and 1 am, furthermore, fully jus fied in asserting that not one word is TRANSLATED PROW TH1 ' II. |. lue to myself, to observe thai eaoh andeverj ,11, ,n of the Scrap Book grew oul of >'>uu- " I md PR] - nt impress of the mind." instance, the Additional be National Anthem was written when, aa ia th( nation's custom, England's brighl sword was drawn, and the scabbard laid aside, on the dec] war with Russia. "Up with the Standard of England' 1 about the sami time. " The Battle of the Alma" on receipt of the news of that 1 ious passage of arms. The song of "Florence Nightingale" was written when, now, a whole world loved her for her gentle deeds. Thi of the " Blue I ." "-lack Anchor, " "The British Volunteers," &c, &c, about the same exciting period. " I 'd rather he an Englishman," was written, with a b fully realized that a free and happy nation would ghv endorse the .sentiments it contained. The 1'oem of "Little Jim' 1 grew out of a melancholy bereavement in the mining districts, which came under my own immediate notice. It is, I presume, quite unneces arj to state when or why I wrote the Royal Marriage S eeing that an entire popu- lation are as yel 1 from a national hoar ness, consequent upon the loyal and vociferous shoutii the great occasion that gave rise to it. I c i i; it the presenl opportunity to pass wi1 thanking, which I most sincer ad those who h with great kindness, pi ntroduction into m\ Sera]. Book, word ags, the I < which I i sold to 1 lie i parties. This, I think, is all — in fan, perhaps more than I i have said to my immediate friends, i -Ml • PREFACE. indulgent public. And now for the Critics. What shall I say to them: or, rather, what will they say to me? "Aye, there's the rub." Humbly, then, and with most deferential respect, 0, most learned Thebans, I crave your mercy. Take not, I beseech ye, "a kitchen poker to kill a mouse." Treat me, I conjure ye, with the contempt I merit. Don't deign to notice me at all — it will serve me right ; and I, oh glorious escape, shall creep out easy. But if, in terrorum, it is essential that I should be immolated on the shrine of your well-engendered ire, then let me ask, as a special favour, that you "lay on heavy and dispatch mo quick." " You bear a mighty scourge, I pray you spare it, But should ye not, why I must grin and bear it." Then bethink ye, dread beings, how far nobler it would be, passing by all such pigmies as myself, if you were to set lance in rest against some worthier mark ; or, in common parlance, just to hit one of your own size. Do this, and 0, gentle Sirs, deign to leave alone one who has the honour to subscribe himself, Your own and the Public's Very respectful, obedient, and humble servant, EDWARD FARMER. Derby, August, 1863. Royal Marri ] Little Jim, or the Collier's Ho Thi >liivy bb oi the Miser M • ! b. foi the Brave Song of the Soldier's Wife. . . Word impromptu Old Vauxhall, Birmu A I Lines, or A Challeng 1 rarden IS The I »eep Blue Ocean •_-] Old Monarch The Standard of i '•■•. Ask the In- .-._•. - _!o Subscription Pack In Humble Reliance . Th( Lofl The Jackdaw am ' i - I . Colliery King Steam Old M •■•• Millei The M I 'd I Eflon II . I Nuptial Soug x;v iixts. Page Mark Mansfield, Two Ricks of Hay 48 Prepare 45 Too Shi irt for the Service 16 The Lunatic's Foresight 48 An Appeal to the Rats, by One of Themselves 49 Tis Wonderful What We Can Do If We Try •",] By a Victim 53 The Blue Jackets 54 Song on the Marriage of Lady Caroline Leveson Gower with the Marquis of Kildare 56 'Tis Lovely May 57 Cheer Dp ! and Keep On Never Minding 58 David Dobson A Capital Run with the Unit* d Pack 60 Kate of Norton Vale 62 The Promise 63 The Scorpion 64 Impromptu — Too Good to Come Off 65 Flowers and "Weeds ,; 7 Come, Come, Merry Hearts 68 The Rifleman's Song The Manor House 71 The Old Laburnum Tree 72 The Bee and the Butterfly 73 Up, Up, Dearest Sister 7 i The Retired Tradesman '<■> The I tissembler Jack Anchor 78 The Angel of Pity eh. a 81 Hurrah for the Red and the Blue 82 t On [mpromptu On the Death of a Mother and Infant The Battle of the Alma Thi slave's Belief Hon >( Painful Facte w The Morninj I icing P The Light of Oth i Days " .... 92 The Reward Op with the Standard of England ... 94 My Old Wife is a Good Old Cratur Lines to My Bull l 97 Old Morton the Mil] r 98 The King of Terrors lini .. l"" The Q | .. M th r 1"] end of Nettleford L02 \ Sam uitan" Ode 11 I Monody on the Death of Tom Cribb Monody on Gi we Darling .117 Sue I bee, Old England 118 Tli ! Passing Bell 119 Thej Found a Friend . Gold, Mighty Gold 1-1 The Norton Elm 122 The Alarm L23 Wife of My Bosom Oldd ed Times 125 Ah. rm . The Ranger \ I ursing Song Gore . . 132 The i The I ion 13 1 i to 1844 Impromptu— On Viewing the Body oi V :. tiling First Throb < I The I hit your Shoulder to the Wheel ..110 A Verj High I I Bird Pound 1 1 1 Ivocal fHarrtagr Song. WRITTEN ON Th [ON OF \ I.S OF ALBERT EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALKS, WITH THE PRINCESS ALKXA NMAltK. Hail! Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, a glorious tit! thine, Thou brightesl star of England's hope, and Brunswick's mighty lii ration happy 'neath the rule of thy dear Mother, pr Thai God may hlo.>s and prosper thee throughout thy future d^ lighter of Denmark, Royal Maid, without one doubl or fear, ke thy proud place among us — wo bid thee Welcome la I All pomp and pageant shall attend, due hom paid, Old England gladly ratifies the choice our Prince hath made. And now ring oul the merry peal, bid brazen trump .ml, Let cannons roar, from shore to while mirth and joy abound ; 2 NED FARMERS SCRAP BOOK. Reign, bliss triumphant, rich and poor, both old and young be gay ; Tims celebrating, as we ought, our Prince's Wedding-Day. See, proudly waving, England's flag, on steeple, dome, and tower, Unsullied lends its graceful folds, to deck the nuptial hour. Music sends forth its dulcet tones, while oft dotli Echo ring, As from the crowd, bursts high and loud, " God bless our future King!!!" Oh, these are pleasant sights to see, and grateful sounds to hear, While prayers are heard, whose every word, is heartfelt and sincere. If love and loyalty may serve to turn all ills aside, A sunny path awaits thee, Prince, and thy young lovely Bride ! And now again with music's strains, with dance, and jocund song, Bestrew with flowers, the passing hours, and happiness prolong ; "While hearts are bounding merrily, and eyes arc Learning bright, Let all be gay, and make this day replete with fond delight. While joy-lights shine, fill sparkling wine, and drink with love and pride, Health! and God's blessings on "The Queen!" "Tho Bridegroom ! !" and " The Bride ! ! !" t < K E D F A II M V. II S SCRAP li K . ILtttlr 3tm," or tljr Collier's 2l?omc. MAN MAY EDUCATE THE HEAD, NATURE ALONE CAN TEACH THE HEART. The cottage was a thatched one, the out Id and mi Yet everything within that cot was wondrous neat and cl an ; The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling wild, A patient mother sal beside the d 1 of her child — A little worn-out creature, whose once bright eyes were dim — It was a collier's only child, they called him " Little . .." And, oh! to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her cheek, As she offered up a prayer, in thought, she was afr to speak, I -' she might waken one she loved Far dearer than hi r life, she had all a mother's heart, had that poor c llier's wife. With hands uplifted, see she kneels beside the suffen bed. And j i He will ild and take hi rself 1 : She gets her r from the b , I fall the words from him — >thcr, the angels do so smile and I Jim, 4 N E D FARM K K 3 SCRAP BOOK. I have no pain, dear mother, now, but oh ! I am so dry, Just moisten poor Jim's lips once more, and mother don't you cry." With gentle trembling haste she holds a tea-cup to his lips, He smiles to thank her, then he takes three little tiny sips ; " Tell father, when he comes from work, I said ' Good Night' to him ; And, mother, now I'll go to sleep." Alas! poor little Jim. She sees that he is dying, that the child she loves so dear I I us uttered the last words that she may ever hope to hear, The cottage door is opened, the collier's step is heard, The father and the mother meet, yet neither speak a word ; He feels that all is over, he knows his child is dead, He takes the candle in his hand and walks towards the bed; His quivering lip gives token of the grief he'd fain conceal, And, see! the mother joins him, the stricken couple kneel, With hearts "bowed down with sorrow," they humbly ask of Him, In Heaven once more to meet again their own poor " Little Jim." D FAR U ER'S SCRAP BOO 5 r kind-hi rid true, Bad he ! ten( d al all to my womanish f( Or neglected hie duty through m\ selfish tears. 10 NED FARMER'S SCRAP BOOK. I remember, with feelings of pleasure and pride, How gently, yet firmly, my wish was denied ; Saying, " Dearest, I love you — you know that I do — And all, save my honour, I 'd forfeit for you ; But now, when my regiment is thus called away, You would not — you could not — desire me to stay." " No, dearest," I answered, " I feel that you're right, With a woman's best blessing go forth to the fight, And join as you should the brave spirits that go, To curb the pretensions of Albion's proud foe. On, on, to the conquest, and should T repine, I deserve not to have an affection like thine." " Adieu !" cried the soldier — the war trumpet's blare, With the tramp of the war-steed, rang loud thro' the air, He's away to the battle, and lost to her view — He, loyal and tender j she, faithful and true. £fje Best picture. In search of a Matsys' why wander — After Claude, Cuyp, and Rembrandt why roam — Our time and our money why squander, When we've far better Pictures at Home 1 ? For alike when the joy-lights are gleaming In palace, gay castle, or hall, Or the cotter's bright ingle is gleaming, Tis the "Shadow of Friends on the Wall!" NED FARMER'S SCRAP BOOK. 11 Oh '. bi lii . .■ me, I would not speak 1 Of one so name, Which serves to illumine so brightly The undying volume of Fame. Still, still, when both Claude and Teniers Indistinct on the memory tall, We shall fondly look back through the vista of years To the "Shadow of Friends on the Wall!" Z\)t Hast CHorti. A GREY-HEADED COUple WCl'C Bitting One night in their chimney nook, The "Id dame was engaged with her knitting, Whilst he bowed his head o'er a book. The kettle, a "steam tune" was singing, The cat purred a song to herself, And the fire its bright glimmer was flineine O'er the old | plates on the shelf. Said he, "Hire's a sentence worth hecdii what makes life unshine or cloud," A.nd i bi ii the old man began readi Tlic following passage aloud : " 'Ti8 no! v. ben dai k I n mble is round up, < >]• Misery's i our <\<»<\\ Or the deepest misfortune hath found us, Thai the t< mper is apt to boil o'er. 12 NED farmer's scrap book. " But it is in the absence of sadness, When there's nought to occasion our tears, When our hearts should be bounding with gladness, That this demon of discord appears. Oh! beware the first word that is spoken At all to unkindness akin; For I've known hearts grow cold, aye, and broken, Through what in mere jest might begin. "I've known hoiises made wretched and lonely, Do you ask how all this has occurred \ From this simple cause, and this only, The trying to have the last word ! " Said the old dame, '"Tis sadly too true, 'Tis the parent of trouble and pain ; And I'll tell you, love, what you shall do, Turn that leaf down, we'll read it again.'" Impromptu* WRITTEN IS ONE OF THE ALCOVES AT OLD VAI NIIAI.r., BIRMINGHAM, MARCH 6, 1S50. Each passing day doth filch away Some joy for which it stands our debtor, And on we range, from change to change, Not always, mark ye, tor the better. NED Fi OK. 13 The time draws near -another year Shall see the work e>f c 3 fall ; For d — sad news indi To do away with Old Vauxhall ! irce a heart that will not start, No matl r what its rank or station, A.nd hi ave a si *b « h a they destroy This favourite place of recreati [f we look back on Memory's track, What joyous scenes we can recall, 'if happy hours in its gay bowers, And friends we met in Old Vauxhall. There, fine old trees, the passing I Bath kiss'd for many a long, 1 ar ; Doomed to come down, and di ir ! Beneath their shade fond vows were m A e'er "Virginia"' heard from "Paul," For Cupid held an annual court For years and in Old VauxhalL 1 !i, 'tis maudlin -tuli', 1 think I heai- my readers Eousi - ai ■• far than I And ' lid Vauxhall has had its da The pride and pli asurc of the town It long hath 1 n, it now i 11 ; [mprovemenl wills it, so prepare To bid ailieu Vauxhall. 14 NED FARMER'S SCRAP BOOK. Then let the fete, the dance, the song, Be ga} 7 er now than e'er before ; Let young and aged swell the throng, To view what soon shall be no more. Let its last season be the best ; One blaze of triumph at its fall ; Let farewell visits be the test Of what we feel for Old Vauxliall ! "& fcfo jnsljtng Hints, or a Challenge to ^ntjlcrs," As the following highly pretentious effusion was written some years ago, solely to oblige, and at the earn* here alluded to. J A very killing bait manufactured bj him ut Worcester. ;) farmer's scrap book. 17 I'll bottom fish, or troll for pi Or whip a trou m, which they like; I '11 spin a minnow, «lili with drake, r fifty pounds aside, and Bta ; i any piscatorial Wh me enough to back himself. resume to speak Of mighty ormed at Leek:.* 1 fear them not, alike I take From ri md, from pool, or lake. The .scaly tribe; and as for roach, caught enough to load a coach ; With paste and gentles, malt that's stewed, How I ! tinned that "red-finned" brood! Aye, ai proud I feel Of the mode in which I bait for eeL 'I he Barbel mj sterj 1 '11 unravel, Who poke their I iuts in gra . With bullocks' pith, their favourite grub, e killed some hundred-weights of "Chub." For "Carp" and "Tench," when weal". Wind in the south, and "wheat in ear,'' Of suri >ut, And I '11 li" bound to out. In fact, 1 '11 meet the ch.i'l sugi gaily, < >f any man " Baili v ;" t rs addr Pi -t < >fnce, Hull, Will find me always M. T. Ski i r,. • .\ 18 NED FARMER'S SCRAP BOOK. i&2 not a planet in the sky But lighteth where " the Spirit " lives ; There's not a zephyr murmurs by But whispers of the peace He gives ; There 's nothing in the heavens or earth, The mighty ocean or the air, Or aught from either has its birth, But His Omnipotence declare ! Then, Christian, kneel, bow low thy head, And think on what the savage said. -- — mtc CCOO tf — ■-- A FLATTERER'S tongue is oiled by bad intention, and in motion by deceit. N EDI .VUG K . 35 it iLoUc? Wished by tb of Mr.W. T. I , and where t! W Bet! sing hey, and hi sing oh ! what's the reason Kv 80 low I Powers al »w, is it love now < 'pon my word, I '■] I 1 i know ! Once her merry laugh went ringing, making i the house ; Now sir's gloomy, sad and moping, and as silent as ;i iuse. rt tim . a smile was ever on those pouting I of I now in nooks, with d ks, she pensh an i sc Idi in .- ; Hey down deny ! ho down deny ! what's the n merry '. now, is it love n'>v. .' it looke uuc immon I it — ver-y ! Here's u clatter ! — whal r? — why this rushing up ami down ' Halloa, you, hi-: wh " Captain I" I ., k from town ' Look Ht I. ow ! -hear ber prate dow, I r little :-, sighii r, think* -ill dulm 2G NED farmer's scrap book. Beam and rafter ring with laughter, eyes are glist'ning as before ; Beyond all doubt the secret's out, for Katey is herself once more. Hey down derry ! ho down deny ! what 's the reason Kate 's so merry ? Powers above now, is it love now ] it looks uncommon like it — ver-y ! Ei)c Subscription $3acli. [The Conclusion of the Season, with an account of certain matters connected therewith.] The season is over ! no more shall we hear The music of hounds, or the huntsman's glad cheer ; No longer on wings of the breeze shall be borne The crack of the whip or a sound of the horn. Sly Reynard may now take his foraging prowl In search of a rabbit, a duck, or a fowl ; Or, prompted by love, he may wander about, Without the leasl danger of being stopped out. The kennels, how altered ! the flesh-pol is cold ; The oatmeal, though clean, is by no means so old As that on which daily the pack had been mess'd; It is finer, yet cheaper, and lias not been press'd; When made into paste (but perhaps 1 may wrong it), I fancied I saw some "mashed tetters" among it. d farmer's scrap book. 2 7 ' its, caps, whips and spurs, are put carefully by, The saddles are covered, and hung in the dry; And, fearful thai stirrups and bits should gel spoiled, They are first nicely cleai d then properly oiled. There's a draff from the stud, all the lame and the old, With a few (ju re senl to I" 1 sold ; The resl in "loose boxes;" o'er fetlocks in clay, Are fed upon oats (that are "kibbled") and hay. As the weather gets warmer i haven't a doubt They'll be most of them "blistered" or "fired," and turned out! There 's a strong smell of whitewash around and about, Tiny are clearing the ticks and the cobwebs all out. The committee arc here, it's surprising to see, Now the hunting is over, how "stingy" they be. All is turned into i les and the dun- ; The hounds have been "weeded," some sold and some hung : And the "Management" know what each item is booked at — Economy now, is the only thing I it. They've been holdh lay, what the Macks call "a talk" As to where they shall send oul some puppies to walk. And letters are written, beginning with " Di Mi-;, r 'blank), we have senl you a Fox-hound to rear. Who is told by the whip 'tis a favour to gel him, And is begg'd nol to feed bim too fat nor to pel him ; Thai tin- I. grief of the 1 i dead un', That hi ipital bred un'. So the huntsman felt anxious to have the pup ni ar him, Nor could think of a person so likely t" r< ir him ' 28 N E D FARM E R'S SCRAP BOOK. He was out of old " Bountiful," gotten by " Chorister," Quiet at nights, and they'd christened him "Forester;" And by way of just gently watering his back, Said the last one he reared is the pride of the pack. And I feel pretty certain and greatly afraid, There is nowhere such "tricks upon travellers" played, As with us! and the reader may think we abuse 'em — But it's seldom indeed that the Farmers refuse 'em ; And then it is only with " hairy-heeled coves," For around us are living "good woolled uns '' by droves, Who have no hesitation in standing their pound Towards kennel expenses and keeping a hound. To such, and preservers of foxes, long life, A home blessed with plenty, a good temper'd wife, A nag that can carry him twice in a week, For I love a good fellow, and hate every sneak. When I make you aware that I once lived at Meyuell's, You won't be "supprised" I know something of kennels. I am glad I have written, for I quite set my heart on it, Though I 'm bound to admit our first whip* did a part on it* If it were as difficult to make a promise as a "pig-trough," what an awful diminution of the article in question would accrue! It might even have a deleterious effect upon the law courts — Eh? * Pat i, Pu<;pi.ky, now 1 1 untsman to tho celebrated "Catch 'em- 1 Paclc of Foxbon .v f. d farmer's scrap bodk. 29 En f&umfcU lUltanrr. When the cold hand of Death shall be laid on this heart, And this now throbbing pulse shall be still, When the soul, tired of clay, shall with rapture depart, To wherever my Maker shall will. Great God, in Thy mercy ami wondrous power, Sustain and support my lasl breath, And i" my spirit, in that fearful hour, A trustful submission to death. rig, strong in the faith of Thy Imly blood spilt on Calvary's Mount for our sins, h, teach me, <> Lord (for Thou canst if Thou wilt), That 'tis only in Death Lii ins. ions of bliss hid my soul take jht, Through Thy blood be my sins all forgiven, \nd with angels all beautiful, holy, and bright, me resl with i iour in he ivi a. i with my Saviour in heaven. not proud —is not ah.- their circumstance a be v. ! 30 NED farmer's scrap book. Ztyz tfatr iHatti of iCrentjjam. WRITTEN ON THE MARRIAGE OF LADY EVELYN GOWER YvITU LORD BLANTYRE. Let the cannon's loud roar to the bells' tuneful peal Tell forth, in glad chorus, the joy that we feel ; Let echo, with notes of delight, swell the choir, For the " Fair Maid of Trentham" is " Lady Blautyre." See! Scotia's famed land of the mountain and wave. At the shrine of our fairest hath yielded her brave : Far blest above others be ever that hour "When the blood of the Stewart was blent with the Gower. All hail to thee, Trentham ! beneath whose proud dome Meek Pity and Charity both find a home ; Where Cupid hath lit Hymen's holiest fire, Forging fetters of love for the Lord of Blantyre. Daughter of Sutherland, bright be thy brow, By sorrow unclouded, and sunny as now, Thy grief never greater than 'tis a1 this hour : God bless thee! thou beautiful child of the Gower. Come, fill up the wine cup, fill, fill to the brim — On its surface let prayers for their happiness swim! May heaven's protection and best gifts conspire To bless the young Lord and the Lady Blantyre. NED FARMER'S SCRAP BOOK. 31 CIjc Sacntiafo antJ tljc Starling. [Written expressly fur a little boy to learn and sin ' and he « 1 1< 1 learn and sing it too - famously ! -as may any other little boy, or "child of riper growth," if he so will it.] There was once a little Starli Lived ill a hollow tree, A.s pretty a little Starling As you'd ever hope to Si Be bad everything he wished for; 1' r sitting by his side, Was another little Starling, And that Starling was his bride. o Ee bad lots of wool and horsehair To build his summer's n And you'd think if ever Starling i That Starling would l„ Bui Envy was the Starling's bane, i \ - 'tis of many people — ) And all because two old Jackd V. ere building in a le I "Over my head," the Starling said, They fly with outstr< t< bed \\ i Nor notice me, in this poor tree, The proud, co 32 x r: p farhek's s c r a r book. Oh, how I hate my lowly fate !" These were his foolish words ; Nor are these envious feelings all Monopolized by birds. One day the wind was blowing hard, Be sat with upturned eyes, When out the Jackdaw's nest was blown, And through the air it ilies. AH the poor throng of uniicdged young Were dashed upon the ground; And then, and not till then, the truth Of this "old saw " he found — "Which tells alike of men and birds, Of great as well as small, The higher up we build our nests, The further we 've to fall ! N ED FARM'EB V HOG K. 33 impromptu. [Written on the subject of that i fearfu Accident, at II " ' t i< -] i horrid catastrophe Two Hir.: were hurried into Eternity.] a loud cry of anguish rends the air, And none are silent, save where mute despair Hath choked all utterance — where, with pallid cheek, A wife or mother vainly tries to speak ! there, in agony, look on, V* h ise son or iwu that dread shaft have gono ; And all is misery, gi lismay At Bai illiery on that mournful day. paralysed. a are tl. Who, spite of danger and (he dread foul air, Work on in willin and day, 1 1 ing in earnest all that mortals m To dr l the i tws of Death their comrades — brave If any yet might live in th Mat id nan hearts, In that "sad drama" bravely played th. ir parts. i, but 'twas terrible, 1 Fri zing I he 1 Liumbin Til!, fr ir, \\ : LUght with livid fear, F< H I h ici — A:,:. AR] Tli n<> W< I ;o, 'Twere well in pity, perha] en c 34 NED farmer's scrap book. O'er frenzied feelings, and the mad despair That all, or nearly all, that stricken district share. God, in Thy mercy hear our humble prayer, Teach these bereft ones their great loss to bear — Learn them to bow 'neath Thy Almighty will ; Be to the fatherless, a Father still — Soothe in her hour of woe, the widow's heart — Snatch from her bosom, Pain's relentless dart: Give peace, Lord, to every tortured breast — Help Thou the weak, and succour the distress'd. And now for England : What will England say, Or rather do, to keep despair away ? Who, that knows England, has a moment's dread That these lone sufferers shall have daily bread, And all such help as their sad ease demands 1 England has tender hearts, and helpful, willing hands ; And as, on startled ears, the direful tidings fall, One common feeling will pervade them all. On to the rescue ! England to the fore ! And " Hartley Colliery " rings from shore to shore ! Our Queen ! God bless her, 'mid her own vast grief, Shall listen to her heart, and send relief, One glorious rivalry : 'tween rich and poor, Shall drive stern want from every Bufferer's door. As prussic acid acts upon the body - doth pride upon the soul. Avid both. N I D F \ i: M E R'a SCRAP BOOK. 35 &ttuj Steam. Hurrab for the rail '. for the stout iron rail, A boon to both country and town, From the very first day that the permanent-way, And the far-famed fish-joint were laid down. destined, you'll find, to befriend all mankind, To strew blessings all over the world. Man's science, tiny say, gave it birth one fine day, And the flag of King Steam was unfurled. Then hurrah for King Steam, whose wild whistle and scream. (Jives notice to friends and to foi he makes the dusi By, and goes thundering by, So stand clear and make room for King Steam. Aye ! a monarch, I say. hath he been from the day He was born ; on that glad happy hour, Until now, when we know the vast debt that we owe To his daring, his I, and his power ! th behind, as he outstrips the wind, By i be aid i»f* key, s!> ind metal. Gn v i I little thought what a giant he 'd caught, When the infant was boiling a kel I le. Then hurrah for Kin-- Steam They may tell, if they will, that our monarch can kill. o fact, I admit, and well known, Bui t'airh inquire, and 1 1' I dmire, The fault is but bari m Ins own. 3G ned farmer's scrap book. With the high and the low, he 's his failings we know, And his moments of weakness, no doubt. Since the world first begun there were specks on the sun, Then why should Ring Steam be without 1 Then hurrah for King Steam, &c. €>iU Morgan tlje jHillcr. A JUDGMENT. Old Morgan got up, and old Morgan sat down, And he got up again in a flurry, Struck the dog, kicked the cat, then laid hold of his hat, And left home in a deuce of a hurry. Whato'er can it be that has vexed tho old man, And so put him about as all this ? The secret I '11 tell, he saw Rob, at tho well, Give his niece, gentle Mabel, a kiss ! Well, well, you inquire, is that just cause fur ire ? For young folks will be young folks still : It perhaps may be so, but old Morgan, you know, Won't have such goings on at the mill. Old Morgan has hastened across the long mead, Old Morgan has turned up the la Old Morgan is looking so angry, indeed, As he ne'er would look pleasant again. N i: D F A R M E R'S E I i: A I* BO OK. 37 He has reached the farm-house of his neighbour Rob Dean, He has shouted his name at the door, And has asked young Rob's father what such doings mean, Such work us he ne'er saw bei " Hold ! hold !" cried his neighbour, "come in and sit down Such matters are easy to euro ; ive us a smile, and get rid of that frown, For it all will coma right I 'm quite sure. " I 've something to tell you. 1 know you'll be glad — " " If 'twill please me," said Morgan " why, speak !" "Then, sweet Mabel, thy niece, and my good-looking lad, Have been married for more than a week." " The deuce '" shouted Morgan, " if that be the case, Though they 've acted both foolish and wroi Yet the matter shall rest, for I once did my best To do ditto when I was as young. But the maiden was stupid, or else it. was I, For she went and she married my brother, And the maiden with whom I once acte 1 so sly (Tis a judgment !) was Mabel's own mother.'' I A K M B b's SCRAP BOO K . 5 'D Eatfjer ijc an (Ewjlisljman. . and may bi- I Mr. J. Sh N ti Street, London.] I 'd rather be an Englishman, Whatever may betide, And boast the proud possession Of an Englishman's fireside — I'd rather have old England, As the land that gave me birth, With all the faults they charge her with, Than any place on earth. The rabid voice of anarchy May rave 'bout other climes, But have they more of freedom there ? Or have tin y bel ter I Is liberty of kinder growth — Oppression quite unknown — Or are the blessings they enjoy Superior to our own I The answer's No 1 a thousand times repeated — No! and then A world's wide echo takes it up, and thunders No ! again ; May no rile, frantic love of change, destroy or set a Those fine old Institutions for which our fathers die I. Sedition is, and ever was, a nation's greatesl And only has the tendency of making bad things worse; Convinced of this, i loyal band, Ami die for (if we 're called upon) our Queen and Native Land. I 'd rather bo an Englishman, &c. 40 n e d f a n m i: r' s s c hap book. Florence Nightingale. [Music may be had of Messrs. D'Almaine, London.] A prater for Florence Nightingale, and the goodly little band Of tender hearts, who, mercy-bound, have left their native land, To nurse our Buffering heroes, who have nobly fought, and bled— To soothe them in their hour of pain, and tend the sick man's bed. Oh, woman ! gentle woman ! thy high mission is to bless, Alike when we arc happy, or when sunk in deep distress, This act of self-devotion should make, and so it will, Woman, to every manly heart, more dear and cherish'd still. It needs no stimulus, we know, to make our brave men fight ; It is enough they arc at war for Freedom, Truth, an 1 Right ; But yet methinks, 'twill nerve each arm, and make each heart beat high, To think, if they arc wounded, there are English nurses nigh ! Then, bless thee ! Florence Nightingale — thou true and gi title maid, And all who in pure loyalty shall lend to thee their aid. And when no longer shall be heard the angry cannon's roar, We'll welcome thee, with grateful hearts, to England's happy shore. ned farmer's scrap book. 41 lijabc jTattlj, anti jfrar not. Behold the sunset '.— ; I — o'er laml and sea a flood of li Like burnished gold. To other lands he wends his way, Tis eve to us, to them young day His gates unfold. Say, who can view, without delight, You glorious, grand, and solemn sight ? The sun departs ! So when deep grief a scar hath m And sin and error casl a shade On human hearts. When liv< s are darkened by regi Our sun of happiness is s> t, Y« t hope lives still. And banish'd sorrow, grief, and pain, The sun of joy may rise again, II'. will. Then bid defiance to Despair, To dark Despondem >, ' ! Care, And all their crew. Be sure that He who - light, Who rules the sun, with all its n Would ne'er condemn to endl< bs nighl Myself or you. 42 m; i) v a rme r's scrap book. Ihipttal -Song. WRITTEN OX THE OCCASION - OP THE MARRIAGE OF LORD GROSVENOR WITH THE LADY CONSTANCE GOWF.U. Dunrobin the Pibroch is sounding on high, Which Lilleshall echoes with fervour and joy ; Whilst Erin, famed Isle of warm hearts, tunes the strings Of Leinster's sweet harp, and wild melody flings To England's gay shore, where, with joyful acclaim, Are mingled the Granville and Grosvenor's name ; Argyle's loyal clan meets without cross of fire, And pleasure rings loud in the halls of Blantyre. See, nobles assembled in bridal array, For the fair Lady Constance is married to-day ! And there at the altar, just objects of pride To the parents of each, are the bridegroom and bride ; And many a fervent and soul-whispered prayer Is wafted to Heaven to bless the young pair — For by all who arc present 'tis easily seen, 'Tis but giving the hand where the heart long hath been. On, on to the banquet, bid Sorrow take flight, This day is devoted to purest delight ! Not a trouble or grief, or a sigh must there be, From Sutherland House, Noble Eaton,-' to thee ; Not a tear but is mirth-born must glisten to-day, But pleasure triumphant make each bosom g * The seat of the Marquis of We I m oster. NED FARMERS 8 CRAP BOOK. 13 Who would mar with one care the delights of this hour, Is not true to the I Jrosvi nor or friend of the < fowi r. Xnwrai.se every goblet filled high with choice wine, The honour of giving the I tasl shall be mine : "The Glorious Chain of Nobility" drink, To which Grosvenor and Granville this day add a link ! ftfnrfc ftfansfidti or tlje (Tina &tcks of 1i?ao. a MODI RN PASTORAL. M irk Mansfield, the mower, was merry and hlythe, As the lark thai sung over his h And he joked with his mates as he whetted his scythe, And gaily he laughed as he said, '• I remember this leasow when 1 was a lad, And the young master hi re quite a child : There was such a swath, and the mowing ad, And it druv' my poor feyther half wild ; himself and .1 I I As had tak< b, At so much per acre, to do — And to find their own drink — so you'll ea ily think i deuce of a job for t hem t wo ! 44 NED V A R M B R'S SCRAP BOOK. " And the old master came on his pony and smiled, And unto the mowyers did say, 'Stick to it like bricks, it '11 make two good ricks — When it's made, lads— of capita] hay.' Then my feyther spoke up, and said, ' Muster, I know You're a very good master, indeed ; In fact, both myself and my Cutty here say, You' m the best master ever we seed ! We don't mean to shirk it, but, master, look here, We 've worked like two Niggers all day, So, master, God bless you, just stand us some beer, And you shall have two ricks of good hay.' " Then the master he gi'd the old pony a kick, And he said, as he canter' d along, 1 I '11 stand you a gallon for each of the ricks !' And he did, and he sent it 'urn strong ! My heart, how they leather 'd away at, their job, My feyther, poor mon, and old Joey, And at night when the master came round on his cob, They 'd both got as drunk, lads, as Cloey. I well recollect, I 'd to help my dad whum, And Griffis's wife fcuped her cua 'Twas the talk of the village and v\ery one said, That no bottles or scythes e'er wen! faster !" Conscience is the soul's " safety-valve *' — that attended to, all is well ! -" N ED PAR] SCRAP BOOK. 45 Again in the distance the war I re growling, Dense clouds black as Erebua darken the air ! The vulture's wild scream to thew »lf's dismal howling 'Mid cry of the i bids Europe — ; i Dear England ! thy duty lies plainly before thee ; 'Tis due tn thy children, as faithful as free — 'Tis due to the Que n, who so mildly reigns o'er thee, To prepare for whatever the I Yi t ha ■. in_: pr( pare !. m iy no sense oi honour [nduce thee to join in a c uot thine own ; liould d s insult upon her, En mode of returning an insult — is known ! No longer she heeds w i r il may cost her (All feelings save honour at once sel — What true son of hi r's, if that feeling wei Would look on her Longer with love or with prii at nation, :ts that thou may', t noi control ; ■eful maintain thy proud station, While happily by thi i !1 ; But if, in di m, le war i ' on thee in spi Whoevt r thy foes, di i —To : 46 NED farmer's scrap book. Eoo Sjjort for tijc Serbtce. 1 'll sing you a song of a cobbler, Wbo lived in the Town of Tralee ; His name it was Anthony Dobbler, And a very smart fellow was he. He worked at his stall all so gaily, He whistled and sung like a bird, Till, poor fellow, he saw Judy Bailey, Which altered the case, on my word. dear ! dear ! When Cupid ouce gets in the way, Be it Dustman or Duke, Lord, Coachman or Cook, The urchin they 're bound to obey. For now he sits glumpish and moody, Never a whistle or song ; Can it be all Mistress Judy 1 Or what upon earth can be wrong 1 some folks will say that he waited On Judy to ask might he woo ] When sad on his ears these words grated, " No, Anthony, that will not do." dear ! dear ! &c. " For I love a lad who is fighting In foreign lands, far, far away, Who the wrongs of his country is righting, So don't you slay Longer, I pray." NED PARME K ' ' BO K. -17 I '11 B] ik to your fathe r," i ". 3 I >obbl " 1 '11 speak to your mother, likewise ; > soldier instead of a cobbler, If they do not object to my size." dear ! dear ! Then he hastened away to the li Lion," Where the drum and the fife he heard played, Bis fate and his fortune to try on, For he meant to make warfare his trade. shilling he got in a minute, And the standard they reached, when, my ' It was clear there could nothing he in it, He high ! dear! dear! &c. '• Too sh iys the t t, " by gorry '." '• 1 '11 put on my e the snob : " That wonM do," Bays the si , " 1 'm But you're rather I 10 short for the job." Dobbler (however unwilling), I must give up all thoughts of the wench ;" Sot! nit and he spent the shilling, And tli" cobbler still it his b nch. () drai- ! di ar ! is comn ble ! if the ng it be above r< pro ich — m 48 NED FA R M E R S SCRAP BO B . Z\)t SLimatic'g jTorcstgfjt. One morning in May, a fair maiden so gay, Came tripping it over the moor, And if truth, sirs, I tell, this same charming young helle, Had been there several mornings before. The heather was blooming — that might be the cause, Wild strawberries were ripe to the hand, Whilst the views round about were right lovely, no doubt, And they might induce her to pause, And they might induce her to pause. Yet she stoops not to gather the sweet blooming heather, Nor strawberries, ripe though they be, Nor for beautiful sight turns to left or to right, Till she reaches the old hawthorn tree. And, see in the distance, a youth wends his way To that very identical spot ! Now, it really seems strange that two persons should range So soon on the moor — does it not 1 So soon on the moor — does it not 1 The murder is out, there '11 be anger and ire (Mark my words) very soon in that quarter, When the Squire comes to know that the keeper's son, Joe, Is presumptuously courting his daughter. Love ! but for thee this fair maiden would be In bed, I've no doubt, and a sleeper ; But by Love driven mad, see the foresight she had, To provide herself thus with a keeper '. To provide herself thus with a keeper! D FARM El RAP BOOK. 49 3n Appeal to tfje Uats— uu ©nc of {Efjcmsclbrs. "On Tuesday night, at Shaw's, Bunhill Row, his littli weigh iii_: only kilied two hundred rats in fifty-six minute fifty secoi [Kindly inserted in BelVi Life.] Ye rat- gland — if there still remains That love of idleness, of dirt, and drains, Which your bold ancestors from Norway brought, When 3 sea-girt isle they sought — Brown, black, or white, large, middle-sized, or small, I i a to a patriot's call ! No matter where your residence may lie, If by the water-side or hollow tree, ye lie contented in some moss-lined nook, And calmly i to the murmuring brook ; Whether in lordly pile or cottage bred, In well stored barn or under pigstye bed ; If bean rick hold you, or you fix your seat In barley staddle, or in thatch of wheat, lind a wainscoat, or beneath a 11" I ask your presence, and I ask no more. ye but ready, and ne'er heed bovi rough, Though bred and nurtured in " a common sough," Wrongs ye have suffer ma ly borne — The timi is come ! discard the yoke you 've worn ! 11 all thing rith liberty be bles !. And rat.s alone have <■•, ils unredi 5l • nedfarmer'ssc b A p BO K . Forbid it, injuries too long sustained ! Forbid it, rights long lost to be regained ! Come from your holes, concentrate all your powers. And justice, liberty, and revenge are ours. Shall that fell despot, man, with tyrant power, Heap wrong on wrong, increasing every hour The huge indignities, and we submit 1 No ! rather let Sedition's fire be lit, And all the consequences of internal strife — The loss of blood, of credit, and of life. And the reaction which we know succeeds, When the best interests of a country bleeds. Regardless of all this, divine and human laws, Up rats and arm ! get ready teeth and claws ; Be this our war-cry, " Down with men and buffers ' ' Tis all for freedom ! so ne'er heed who suffers ' 'Tis not enough that ferrets, Hob and Jill, Are taught to hunt us out, and dogs to kill In honest warfare, but by traps we're caught, And (hear it all of ye) in bags are brought. Huddled together — nay, suspend your rage — And foully murdered in a cockpit caj Go, search the columns of last Sunday's Bell's, ~ And note the horrid butchery it tells. One Shaw, of Bunhill-row, hath got a tyke (Sure mortal ears ne'er listened to the like), Who did — oh, sickening and appalling sight — Destroy two hundred rats on Tuesday night I And dogs did yelp, and men did shout and laugh, While this small canine, five pounds uikI 1 Trained by his owner this vile deed to do, Made many a widowed rat and orphan too. Further I shall not say, except with tooth and claw, Pitch into all your foes, i sp icially old Shaw ; And do if rats at once, for you in e, of con The little good that's go1 by merely moral force. One brief short sentence more — Be hold! and verbum sat, A small subscription* raise for yours, An Old Buck Hat. * There that's exactly what I i spi cted; the old rat i just like all tl •■ resl of the e would be patriots, with a hint about him It's a nation strange thing they never can, -■ mel er than their brei hes ' ' Tl y're all alikt that l'i ntj it's 1 1 '£ts aEontJerftil foijat foe ran Do if foe Cru. [Published by the pi ofW.T.] E [., Birmin whom the , and where the Music may bi had.] 1 'm fond of old maxims, they serve to convey, A vast deal of truth in a very brief waj ; for instance, take this our, which none can deny. It's wonderful what we can do if we try ' What a beacon of hope in this sentence we find! What a spur I • LOO ii hauls to the mind ! Neglected full half of our i in Oh, it 's wonderful what we can do if we try ! 52 NED FARMERS SCRAP BOOK. Whatever our station in life, but look round, Some object of pity is easily found, The aged, distress'd, or the young let astray, Are by no means uncommon, I 'ni sorry to say. To banish cold Want from the sufferer's door; O'er the spirit that 's wounded, soft pity to pour The tears of the widow and orphan to dry ; Oh, it 's wonderful what we can do if we try ! How sad to imagine the fault may be ours, That many are weeds that were meant to be flowers There are plenty (God, help them !) now guilty ami bad, Had been better if different teaching they'd had. And where, in (his strange, bus}' world, would I ask. Is so glorious a labour, so grateful a task, As to cheer up the hearts of the wretched with joy ! And it's wonderful what we can do if we try ! N K [i F A I; M I By a Victim. | Kindly inserted in B Mime, Mr. Editor, is no I heme I m, For ['ve been humbugged, midd • -i mi, Dropped in the holi . sir, flummoxed, done, and cheated In fact, L've been ''picked up," and vilely treated. Sir, you must know, myself and Philip Frazer — \ pal of mine, a plumber and a glazier (I feel that from the bag the cat I'm h tl Are now (and always have been) fon : I do not mean we go and put the pot on; But when a "sov" or "fiver" can be got on, We're gam it, and the fault 's not 01 It' hunting after sweets we na The picking out a horse to win, you mark, [s something like snipe shooting in the dark ; The very shol and powder, mind, would blu< A man must shool so long before hi 'd do it ; But preaching '8 all my eye —there 's nothing in it, We know that then 's a flat born everj minu And they are wisely sent, sir, never doul figure sharps would cut with But i" my story : Philip, t'other night, (as it proved) a " wide-awake" young wight— < me .tip ii burnt And capacious breeches, that i . Philip havili: I a id with gold, by the lilt le downy villain i « * 1 * 1 54 NED farmer's scrap book. • That he was willing, and, moreover, able, To tell the secrets of each trainer's stable ; He said, for instance, Bowe's Springy Jack Was nothing better than a common hack ; That Surplice was a " book horse," nothing more, And said, in fact, that he had heard him roar ; "You bet against him," were the words he said, " And don't be frightened, he's as good as dead !" I've not a moment's doubt he was a " bonnet," But be that as it may, we acted on it, And I conceive a perfect right we've got To be for evermore among Green's lot !" J. Nui.i. Late of Droppet Hall, \ ow of Skinner Street, London. &lje Blue Sacftrts, [Set to Music, and may be had of D'Almainc, London, to whom the copyright belongs.] What! a Sailor hang back when there 's war on his tack ! Why, what blessed moonshine good laws ! Let the foe fire a gun, .lack would fight him for fun, Let alone our mos1 glorious cause, Let alone our must glorious cause. N E I) I \ B M i: H s SCSi P I Then what folly to pra some folks have of late), Bi it this Czar and bis millions of men, 'Mid the battle's loud roar we have conquer'd before, And we 're able to do it again jolly heaj Aii'l we 're aide to do it again. What matters t<> him, where his vessel may swim. This bas 1 n and will be his plan, With his friend, the Marine, .lack will fight for his < v >i Nor ask "bout the size of his man. He blesses h - when he bears with surpr Thai all hope of I' not gom Vet sees such wild work between Russian ami Turk, And longs in bis heart to i e, jolly bearta .lack longs in his bear! to make one. Jack will ne'er disobey, hut he will have his say, Anil he mutters, Why all this 'ere fu We can safely depend upon Fram friend, Then why not jut leave it to us ! Every man is prepar'd, lot bul War be declar'd, 1 the Banner of Battle unfurl'd, Bur colour, nor sizi , and All fully a match for the world, jolly In \\ e are fully a match tor the world. 56 NED farmer's scrap book Song. [written on the occasion of the marriage op the lad? caroline leveson gower with the marquis of kildare.] Gay banners hang npon the wall, And pleasure reigns through Trenthara Hall ; While every breeze that floats around Comes laden with some joyous sound ; In dulcet notes distinct and clear, The Harp of Erin's tones we hear ; And lords there are, and ladies fair To greet the Marquis of Kildare. And see ! fond blushing by his side, Is Lady Caroline — the Bride ! For they to ; ' Holy Church" have gone, And spoken words have made them one. Full many a fervent heartfelt prayer Was uttered for that noble pair, That Heaven with choicest gifts would bless, And grant them health and happiness. Great Chief of Sutherland ! we view with pride Thy ooble branches spreading wide ; Long may the "Star of Trentham" shine, And blessings wait on thee and thine! Now fill with sparkling wine each -lass. While gaily round the toasl shall pa Drink with sincerity as I propose — The Shamrock and the English Rose ! S E H I A R M B R*S SCRAP BOOK. ."'7 '(Lis iLobrlu {Bag. ilished by the kind permission of W. T. I ham, to whom the copyright b( ay be had of IT AJ mail Ion.] 'Tis lovely May, all natun The violet blue is flinging I around, and joyful sound The notes of wild birds sinuimr. The primrose pale perfumi jale, The hawthorn Lends assistance, While through tin' dells the village bells Are riuging in I b While through the dells, the village bells Are ringing in the distance. Then d mce and play, drive Care away, Nor lei its shade com us, Our path "- nol clear, yei never fear, There 's sunshine on before us. Th unshine on before us. Shall birds and flowers have happy hours, And man alone be 3ad, A if kind Nature had nol lenl Enough to make him glad ' There A nol a creal are b irn on earth, to the small, Bui whal b for thankfuln ! man above them all. N K D K A R M E It' 8 S B A P BOOK. Then dance and play, drive care away, Nor let its shade come o'er us, Our path 's not clear, yet never fear, There \s sunshine on before us. There 's sunshine on before us. Cfjccr up ! anlj ftceu on jjkuer frlmtjtug. | Published by the permission of W. T. Belcher, Esq., Birmingham, to whom the copyright belongs, ami where the Music may bo had. Let sages rave, with visage grave, To prove this world's beyond all bearing, But ne'er forget, some warm hearts yet Are left, which make it worth the wearing. If clouds should lour and friends look sour, 'Tis only neighbours' fare you're audio One maxim still cures every ill — Cheer up ! and keep on never minding. One thing's quite clear — no mortal here Hath happiness without some sorrow ; And though to-day, joy flies away, It may come back again to-morrow. No hour so drear, but in its rear Some warmer, brighter tint is winding ; Then come what may, play oui the play — Cheer up ! and keep on never minding N I D F A R HER S -'RAT BOOK. Dabto Oolison. A i .1.1. 1 Iavid Dob.<«»\ and his mi Lived a \ ery happy life, Bad their Bhare of worldly blis Little knew of worldly b1 i We tlth they M aone, nor did they need it, 1 1 alth they had, an 1 bo were blest, If great folks frowned, they did not heed it. ivy never marred their rest. They'd a little house, and garden Which David till'd with his own har D nl did nol i • farden " For the richest in the land. They'd a little cow and dairy, They 'd a little pig and sty, They'd a daughter like a fairy, With auburn hair and mild blue eye. Proud was David of his daughter, Prouder still v. ?ood bride, Till, Bad to tell, Con umption caught her, And their genl li Bess died .' k ye, li >v, the picl r'd, In t he garden, weeds grow w ild, [f aeighbours noticed, I >avid falter'd, It 'a ni> use now I \ lost my child ' r,il N B U F A l; M !'. R'S B C B a I' BOO K. & (Capital Eun foitf) tijc SBtaiteti 13acfc. [Kindly inserted in Bell's J. Mr. Editor: Sir, — As your columns abound Wiih .",11 soi'ts of sports, from the racehorse and hound To a show of canaries, permit me a space To describe an unusual, but excellent chase, That came oft* near our village a few days ago, And was well worth the seeing, as quickly I 1! show. A pig (Nay, don't start, Sir !) — a grunter, I say, Who had got (as pigs oft have) a very bad way Of " rooting" (that 's proper, as every child knows) The bricks from the floor of his '' sty" with his nose ; So offended his owner by conduct like this, That he sent for the blacksmith to shove through the gris Tie (or cartilage rather, for that 's the just phrase), \ ring that should teach this vile pig better ways. The morning and Vulcan are duly arrived, And he who in similar ingoes had strived Wiih porkers before, got the waggoner's lad To lay hold of his tail, and the notion warn'1 bad! 'Tis by no means essential, 1 fancy, to tell How tin' la 1 got upset, m- the noseborer fell, 'Tis enough thai it was so ; the pig, a real boar, Made a put at the closed, but yet ill fastened door, And away, like blue blazes, the varmint was seen. Going straight as a dart over Faddlemore Gre in D I \ R M E r'b SCRAP BOOK, Gl To rise and to whistle, and halloa like mad For the sheepdog and Pincher and order the lad run and gel round him — quite proper to do ; But the swine had gol four legs, the lad had but I vo - Was the work of a mom< at, every dog in the pi Men, women, and children, all join in the rai There was plenty of racket, as you may i I . | the pace n re, and the " field ' — The "Snieder" has cul it, the "Cobbler," his friend, With Miss Marklew's fal footman, have "bellows to mend." First 1' o alone had a chance it was clear, play all they knew to keep Dear. This prince of all p full two miles had goi Yet still ful of running >urse he held on ; Tlic pig, t hi uds "ii like the wind, tiers" and slow-mis " behind. Hold hard ! there's a check ! but not long did it las ll< s viewed in the orchard, the fatal die I — A mastiff of Haydon's had chanced to be loos Which rendered his dodging and game of no use; I [e pursues him, and into a ditch, Knocked him head over hi els, when a broken-haired latch • >f Rati I led on tin _ r. i ack, With murderous in a 1 he | r porl i j 1 rack ; Oh, had you bul hearJ how they made the place rin though ; - llullah" bad tutored i ach canine to sin Till tin;. be worry, when sad to r< I Tiny •■ si ttled his hash" against Latimi r's ate. M\ jell and two others, Jo his friend, Were all thai unluckily witnessed the end ; 62 NED F A K M B R' S SCRAP BOOK. But his owner arriving, just at the last push, Gave me the pig's bristles to make me a brush. Say why should our nobles abroad ever roam In search of wild boars when we 've such pigs at home ? 3&ate of Norton Fair. [Published by the kind permission of Mr. B. Williams, London, to whom the copyright belong?, and where the Music may be had.] The birds were singing sweetly, Wild flowers were blooming gay, When I lost my heart completely In the merry month of May. 'Twas morn when thirsty Nature Was busy drinking dew, When fair in form and feature, Dear Kate first met my view. Her steps had fairy lightness, Her hair was raven dark, And from her eyes of brightness, Shone forth the soublit spark. From this cold world thou 'rt vanished, Yet memory's self must fail Ere thy lov'd form be banished, Sweet Kate of Norton Vale. Sweet Kate, Sweet Kate of Norton Vale. N I. n I \ R u i r's CRAP BO «> K. 63 Thrice cruel Death to sever Two hearts by love made one; Though Kate, thou'rt gone for ever, I still love fondly on. But, oh ! 'tis useless grieving, My only joy shall be The bright hope of believing Thai I u\*\ come to thee. From this cold world thou'rt vanished, Yet memory's self must fail, 1 1,;, dear form be banished, Sweet Kate of Norton Vale. Sweel Kate, Sweet Kate of Norton Vale. Z\)t promise. [Published by tl ssion "f W. T. B Ichi I I , to whom the copyright and when the Mu be had.] II' iw well I rememl er, when 1 wa - a child, I jmile of my mothi i sntle and mild, \ I knelt at hi v feet in au '". ening to p In words that dear mother had taught me to Baj lold ln'i', v> il li soul bea \ with finger uplifted sh . V\ ben we ha\ I throu >f pain, It is tli. ih. I II meet I liei lis i here, dearesl Edit h, I il meet i hi e again. 64 N ED F A. R M E R'S SCRAP BOOK. Years, years have flown by, since her spirit departed, To realms where such spirits arc destined to go, For the good and the faithful, the kind and true hearted, Can ne'er be intended for torment and woe. How often through life, when dark clouds have hung o'er me Those words have brought comfort, and banish'd all pain, And hope, blessed hope held this promise before me — 'Tis there, dearest Edith, I '11 meet thee again. 'Tis there, dearest Edith, I '11 meet thee again. Erje Scorpion. [Printed by the kind permission of Robert Paget, Esq., the owner of the copyright.] Once more, once more we 're away from the shore, On the ocean's wild waters to roam, And gay as a bride doth the Scorpion ride, As she scuds through the dancing foam. With a captain and crew, as daring and true As e'er were afloat on the sea, The saucy old jade is pursuing a trade Only fit for the dauntless and free. And now on the chase we are gaining ap Quick ! on toward our victim we Down, down from its height comes the streamer white, And the blood r< d Bag we show ' N I. I) I \ R SCRAP BO K. 65 See! see! on her Bhrouds all her canvas Bhe crowds, Tlir Trader p his mistake, From the red flag he knows that the worst of all foes — The old Scorpion — lies in his wake In vain do they fly, thej must strike or musl die, No mercy from ns will they find ; As well may they think the huge ocean to drink, As to leave the gay rover behind. We near her ! the shoul of the battle breaks out ! W e board ! all her gold is our own ! 'Neath the fathomless wave they have met with a grave, The old Scorpion is sailing alone. Impromptu. I. in GOOD I" COME OFF. L\ a half-timber'd cottage, in some quiel nook, With Borne Bfl I acres of land, With a spinney for rabbits, Borne troul in a brook, A small garden and orchard at hand, A snug kitchen corner for cold winter nights, A. glass d ale for a friend, One dear Bmiling face to pul all th rights, Would i" g Iness kind Fortune would Bond. GG NED FARMER'S SCRAP BOOK. Grant these, and a fig for the town and its joys, Its constant excitement and riot ! Far more country places and customs I prize ; ( Jive me their pursuits and their quiet ! Go ! Luxury, far from my humble abode ; Conteut ! deign to enter my door ; Pride ! take back thy soul-killing heart-breaking load, I am free i and I '11 bear it no more ! Sweet Peace ! with thy presence enlighten my cot ; Blessed Health ! make my chamber thy home, Mild Happiness ! come and complete my proud lot, Then never again will I roam. Unruffled and calm will I thus end my days, Till my head is laid under the sod, My parting horn* gilded by Hope's gentle rays, In the goodness and mercy of God ! I A R U :];'•• SCRAP BO K. jFIoforrs an& Klrrtis. [Inserted by the kind permission of J. B. Willi R .v, London, to whom the copyright b Tin .in; is no lack of bliss in a bright world like this, Though midsl the sm ' that abound, A weed here and there in our path should appear, A Btray nettle or thistle be found. There is no joy on earth but by cont] 3 birth, Then why Bhould we By kind Nature 'tis shown that both must I ?n, .lust to show us th od from the I a ! . Then come og while we may. And prove to the world by our Though small merit b when taken as floi We are no kin at all to the weeds. ture also known, by the ,n, The bL 'd wish us t Nor 1 that one bL red with Or ( 1 row and c And so if you find a p ud Of misfortune hath brokeu and I more ! A flower thai Th. I or bappii join the glad throng in tl And leave all tin 68 ned farmer's scrap book. Come, Come, fflerrg !U carts* Come, coine, merry hearts, nor play sadly your parts, In the drama of Life we 've assigned us, Let us sing and be gay, as the wild birds in May, Leaving Care, the old varlet, behind us. Let the goblet and bowl chase all grief from the soul, Be good humour the guest of to-night, While in bumpers we toast the dear girl we love most, And by singing put Sorrow to flight. For the grape was designed for the good of mankind, And the juice of its berry we know, By Dame Nature was sent with the kindest intent, To lessen the world of its woe ! Then be not ungrateful, refuse not to taste This antidote sent to our pain, Bright hours like the present were not sent us to waste, Once gone boys, they '11 ne'er come again. Old Time in his might as he urges their flight, When lie sees us so merry and blythe, In his trembling hand, though he carries the sand, May forget the sad use of his scythe. For the grape was designed, &c. Never judge by outward appearances. Who would ever imagine there was milk in a cocoa nut / N I n F.\ RME B'S 8C i: A P BOO K. 69 Cljr Rifleman's Song. [Published by the kiml permission of Joseph Williams, Esq., 123, < M-le, London, to whom the copyright beloDgs, and from whom the music may be had.] IT. Hark ! hark .' hark ! 'tis the sound of the bugle ! List! list! list! 'tis the beal <>t' the diiim, As with hearts lighl and gay as the wild birds in May, The Volunteer Riflemen come ' So'. John Bull, he looks glum, for wild rumours are come, Which engender suspicion and doubt; John prepares for the storm, and bids Riflemen form, And all true sons of his to turn out, And all true suns of his to turn out : And lie hums to himself, as he jingles his pelf, "Invasion, the though! I can'1 bear it ; But it' they come here, there's one thing quite clear : The} musl win it before they can wear it." I BORl -. For Johnny's as bold and as true as ol There 's Paddy with wi apon so hand} ; Brave Taffy will I i -_r J i t , either morn, noon or night, And I always can reckon on Sandy. 70 NED farmer's scrap book. John Bull, we all know, is remarkably slow Ere he pulls off his coat, or he fights ; But when once he begins, mind he dies or he wins, In defence of his Queen and his rights. Then hurrah ! for the band, who with rifle in hand Are prepared to keep foemen at bay ; And God only knows who arc England's foes, So hurrah ! for the green and the grey. How glorious to see, thus united and free, The sons of old England prepare, Who for sweethearts and wives would hold cheaply their lives, Nor their blood nor their treasure would spare, Nor their blood nor their treasure would spare. Should the war cannon roar on our dear native shore (Tho' they'd hail the occasion with sorrow), There is not a soul in that brave muster-roll Cut would die for old England to-morrow ; There is not a soul in that brave muster-roll But would die for old England to-morrow. How frequently a man in furnishing his heart and his house, selects both his wife and furniture less for use than ornament ; the auctioneer can settle the one, while death alone ^<>r worse) puts an end to the other ill advised arrange- ment. ned parmer's s c r a p b o o k . 71 ftfjc fHanor H?ouse. [Written expressly for E. P. Add i- Music by H. W. I>u Lang, and may be had at T. Barrison's Music Warehouse, Birmingham.] The Manor House was standing here a many years ago, When from its gate in martial state, they marched to meet the foe. With banners flaunting gaily, and retainers true and bold ; In those rude times a man must fight for what he meant to hold ; And later still, when civil wars were raging through the land, "The Chief" of this Old Manor House led forth a loyal band ; While from its earliest date till now, I've one proud thi That none who ever asked relief went unrelieved away. And as it was, so shall it be, for firm our motto stand-. Which we have borne for centuries — "Warm hearts and ready hands." For, oh ! how sad a thing it is that we should e'er reftu \ trifle to the oee ly, when \ ore than we can u true happin merry, thru, and blythe ; There's nothing like a cheerful hearl to blunl Time's fatal he ; And whi n al lasl we come to die,agains1 our faults 't will weigh, That cone who ever asked relief went unri lievi d away. 7'2 NED farmer's scrap book. £fjc (Dlti laburnum Eree. [Published by the permission of Thomas Harrison, Esq., of 30, Colmore Row, Birmingham, to whom the copyright belongs, and where the Music may be had.] Come sit thee, dearest, by my side, and listen while I tell The reason why I love this old Laburnum Tree so well ; 'Twas here in childhood's happy time we used to meet and play, And memory tells of blissful scenes on many an after day ; Oft busy fancy conjures up the groups that used to meet And chat, and wile away the hours upon this very seat : 'Tis wonderful how many things of good and ill there be, That seem as 'twere to link themselves with this Laburnum Tree. And oft in summer's heat I seek its dear and welcome shade, And think how like the flowers it bears our brightest hopes must fade, Or when stern winter's chilling blasts have stripped its branches bare, E'en then the tree hath charms for me, it bids me not despair. For though misfortune (winter-like) some present ills may bring, Bright hours shall follow certain, as Old Winter beckons spring, 'Twas planted by a mother's hand, a mother dear to me, Then can you wonder I should love this old Laburnum Tree. NED PARM1 l: a S C BAP BOOK. Cljr 13cc antJ trjc l$uttcrflu. [Published by permission of W. S. Belcher, Esq., Birmingham, the o of the copyright, and from whom the Music may bo obtain' d. | A e-ee and a butterfly, settled one «lay, By chance on a rosebud together, The one was at work, and the other at play, Twas morning, and bright sunny weather. "How do I" said the butterfly, •■may I inquire Why bees all seem destined to labour?" "We think of our borne, when dark winter shall come," R< plii '1 his industrious neighbour. "0 fiddle-de-dee, leave off work, come with me, And spend a pay life mid the flowers, There is summer and Bpring," Baid thegay thoughl less I bing, " To say nothing of autumn's glad hours." But the bee shook his bead, and with honey he fled Ti i thi • v. li"iii he l"\ ed, while his friend I atimied his flight, sipping swi ets left ami right, Little thinking how soon it would end. But a tnontl gone by, when this proud butterfly Was ii.' t by the bee in dis Eis coal col y, as w lien firsl seen in May, and his consequence li The sunshine was gone, "I" brighl flowi i were n And passed were both autumn and spring, Bui unlike the poor b i provision had bo, So lie di( '1 a | r heai i broken thii 74 neu farmer's scrap book. , up, ©car est Sister, Up, up, dearest sister, by first dawn of day, Ere Sol's gentle rays chase the dew-drop away, Where the grasshopper chirps, and the merry wild bee Hums a note full of gladness, when birds from eacli tree Their matin songs carol to welcome the morn, And green fields bid welcome to flowret's fresh born, Where the murmuring brook dances gaily along, come, gentle sister, and join the glad throng, come, gentle sister, and join the glad throng. Let those that may chose it make cities their home, Be it our happy lot through the wild woods to roam, Where trees in their majesty wave over head, And the wild thyme and violet make their sweet bed, While the zephyrs sing music that angels might hear. And the blue vault of heaven shines brightly and clear, In suppliant posture, dear sister, we'll fall, And offer a prayer to the Maker of all, And offer a prayer to the Maker of all. Never form a friendship with a man that children will not go to, and dogs will not wag their tails at. There's more in it than you'd fancy. NED FARMi:u*s SCRAP BOOK. 75 €i)c lUttrrti vTraKcsman. "AN OWRE TRUE TALE." — Hunts. Mr Mortimer Maxwell had given up trade, For this excel] son: his fortune was made; He hath freehold and leasehold, and copyhold too, Maxwell bethinks him of what he shall do ; He no longer will stay, But at once cut away From the vile smoky town, To a "Cottage OraeeV' Now Mortimer Maxwell hath found a retreat, A nol over Large one, ^\\f monstrous neat ; It hath little green shutters, a little green do But I'm telling too much, I shall mention no m A paper was stuck up, On which it was told The ( lottage would eil Let," or "Be Sold."' Be has taken and furnished the " < !rib " verj He w. nt for the nobby, he heeded uot ]»rice; chairs, and his tables, and carpi uew, second hand, but that's uothing to you ; While the doings o'er h< From the mask i To the meanest utensil, V, . re good, people said. 76 ned farmer's scrap book. There's one thing it grieves me uncommon to say — To the gloom of his path he'd provided no ray ; As a palpable " Hedge " to a dull country life He should (so the ladies said) take him a wife ; And the truth shall be known, For the fault was his own, That he'd no " flesh of his flesh," Or "bone of his bone." For mothers were constantly bringing their daughters, Who "painted on velvet," and "played," from all quarters; But, with grief be it said, that to happiness dead, He hinted "at present" he should n't get wed : He don't know what to do, And the devils so blue Come to visit him oft, And torment him a few. At last a near neighbour, a fox hunting squire, Who Maxwell's "pale brandy" and weed did admire, Said he'd send him a horse to Spottleback Gorse, And Maxwell accepted his offer, of course ; He look'd quite the "cheese," From his " heel " to his " nob." As he rode to the " meet " On his bonesctting cob. *o But it's one thing to meet them, another to go, As poor Maxwell's exploits in the sequel will show ; They arc thrown into "covert," they have found, and aregon "Hark! forward! they're running, and Maxwell makes one; N i: D I \ B UER8 Si R A P BOO K . , , [nstead of the rein Be lavs hold of the mane, Ami he holdeth Ins bi'eath, For he's frighten'd to death Oh ! why did he mount him, alas .' for the day ; See, the horse lays his ears down, he's running away ; On! en! 'mong the "ruck," over hedge, ditch, and stile, By dint of the pummel he holds on a mile ; Til! they came to ;i bullfinch, When, sad thing to say, A "purler" went Maxwell, And there .Maxwell lay. Much bruised was his body, all torn were his clothes, He has knocked his front teeth out. and flattened his nose, So that not his best friends would be able to know, sir, That they saw Mr. Mortimer Maxwell the grocer. A man named < reorge Smart Took him home in his cart, Thus ] .laying a country Samaritan's part. Of "hunting" our grocer has had quite enough ; By the Bquire he's been christen'd a "Jolly old Muff;" Iteiiremciit to him has broughl nothing but pain, So he Bays he shall go into business again. 78 NED FARMER'S 8 CIl A!' BOOK. Efjc ©tssrm&lrr. She may dissemble, and the world may give Her credit for a mastery yet unperformed O'er feelings that entwine her heart, and live By latent love and fond remembrance warmed. The gaiety assumed to aid disguise, By pride engendered, badly plays its part ; Serves but to herald on a hundred sighs, Sad native language of a broken heart. Is it not maddening that a heart should fall A prey to Pride's base mandate, yet Feel while it bows beneath the baneful thrall A love it would not, if it amid, forget. Sacft &nri)or. [Published by the permission of John Shepherd, Esq., '-' s . Newgate Street, London, to whom the copyright belongs, and where the Mxisic may be had.] Jack Anchor was leaving to plough the salt wave, Not a soul 'mong his nv 3 more gallant, or brave, Ashe stepp'd in the boat as they pull'd from the shore, To go where guns rattle, and luiid cannons roar. NED l \ i: U BR S SCRAP BOOK, i V He went -with a smile, m ' dimm'd his eye, Though his poll and his little ones where standing close by. "For my Queen," said bold Jack, " I will peril my life, For I know they'll take care of my children and wife." Once more to his friends upon shore wav'd his hand, And departed to fight for I r native land ; The vessel he sail'd in has vanish'd from sight, He is gone in the cause of the injured to fight ; And 'tis ours, while he 's absent in danger's career, To help and to comfort tho •' ick holds so d< arj So from highest to lowest, let eai rous heart In this good work before us take kindly a part. Then up and be doing, the dark hour is come, Our warriors are Bummon'd by trumpet and drum, And while soldiers and sailors for us risk their lives, Be it ours to take care of their children and wi\ ut for all that is present and past. God grant that good feeling may last, And confusion to he, whomsoe'er he may be, Who the first stone of warfare shall cast Still hurrah ! for the Red and the Blue, &C., &i (Trot on. [Published by permission of Messrs. D'Almaine & Co., Loudon. whom the Copyright belongs, and where the Music may be had.] Oh! waste not in grieving and sorrow A life i hal is merely ■< -pan, Nfor dream ye too much of to-morrow ; Making sure of to-day is the plan ; There's enough in this world to amuse us, There's plenty of good to be done ; And if Fortune, I he jade, Bhould abu I. i as merrily Bing ami t rot on. Trot on then, I charge you, and gaily. Whether h r light I id ; '1 rol on, for tin.- truth we learu daily, That cheerfulness shortens tin' road Chorus — Trot on, I r il on, I n 1 he Ru I a blot. All heedless were those warriors ' in, Though brighl sw im'd like li r'd >wn like rain. dder to shoulder on they went, i their deadly work, mly cry of : m Alma The route they M ta'en was strew'd v, er with blood, illant hear It tain t hi ir country's honour on t hi Oh ! the B I e Alma, 8G NED farmer's scrap book m)t goimjj Slave's Belief. What you term stars in yonder skies Are lovelier far — they 're angels' eyes ; And when looks dim that glorious throng, They weep that those they love do wrong : The soft and murmuring winds you hear • Are sighs that preoedc the coming tear : My mother 's 'mong them ; oft in showers I 'vo knelt me down and prayed for hours, Hoping a tear from her bright eye Might fall upon her orphan boy. You 've heard the thunder's awful crash, And seen the lightnings vivid (lash : 'Tis "Him" in anger, "He" who gave Life to the white man and the slave ; Who will demand the reason why You thus enslave His Indian boy ; "Will judge us by the heart within, Nor heed the colour of the skin." Who, in the possession of happiness, would be mad enough to prefer an hour to a day ; a day to a week ; a week to a month; or a month to a year? yet is lime preferred to rnity ! N E I» P A It HEB 8 P BOOK. honest 3arfc. a ( t>lo endeavour to expi T. II., Esq., at th • dog, whir!:, followil huntii tion of vermin an I His kind master other- ill that could it mineral, but wit] under a pear true in his sorrowing ; I TAPII. W] nol dogs, 1 bid th tand free ! A black tanned terrier re 1 3 beni ath thi I could Bave This besl of canines from a cavil al and blame my grief, Holding that love for And perl, ool the term old appl Bui I when pi And murk, I blush nol ; cynics may Could I ; '• bad □ My dog v. si, faithful, and true ; v I, kind reader, say th i same of you 1 -. 1 cannol call thei And bo farewell i ir i ver, boi ck ! poil the button up your br month' •Hid thi I 88 NED farmer's scrap book. &!)e lleto^orn gear. WRITTEN JAN. 1, 1862. Hail! new-born Year, in whose glad face A thousand promises we trace, Of worldly blessings, Nature's gifts, When from the earth the Storm King lifts His icy hand, and bids appear Sweet Spring, with visage mild and clear ; Whose birth the balmy violets tell To primroses in mead and dell ; Let every human voice be raised In one loud anthem — God be praised ! Anon the Summer flowers advance, As Nature wakes from out her trance ; Rich Plenty, with an open hand, Scatters abundance through the land ; The new mown hay its perfume i Ids, And corn in blossom decks the fields ; Fruits ripe and luscious meet the eye, Telling of Autumn by-and-bye. Let every human voice be rai In one loud em— God be praised ! Sun-burnt and laden, Autumn ne Tanning with brown the wheat -n ear The thankful grain low bows its land To passing breezes, quickly fled ; D I" \ l: M E i;'s s c R a P BO i The pimpernel (its hour of pri Dares the blue corn le, i While twittering swallows o'i To Look a ; brighl and gay as him. Lei every human \ In one loud anthem — God be prais< d. Then comes stern Winl tin, And follow in his hois, rain iseFogs, and Frost, wh th doth freeze The fading leaves on shrubs and tre< And | i he round do1 h cr< To all that need it, p ; I ntil at Nature once m They ris i a id re. Let every human voice be In one loud anthem — God be praised ! One of tljosc gainful JFacts. WRITTEN AT THE K \ : ••has i When i tvi dinners and choice old wine, ty of \ mine \ and wines wei I looked for my li David Dunni p, I Lati of < 'ra h Hall, ni 90 NED farmer's scrap cook. ftfje (Horning is Breaking. HUNTING SONG. Dedicated to all lovers of Fox Hunting. Set to Music by Charles Coote, I The morning is breaking, the fog clears away ; The wind's Mowing soft, it's a fine hunting day ; Capp'd, booted, and spurr'd, and the breakfast well o'er, The groom leads your cover hack up to the door ; In health and in spirits you mount on his back, And canter away to some favourite pack. Arrived at the "meet," friendly greetings arc there ; Such praising this horse, and admiring that marc ; Discuss' d are the merits of pig-skin and bit ; Pocket pistols are primed, and Savannas arc lit, Till the Master (glad sound) says it's time to begin, When it's "Heigh into cover ! hark over ! yeu in !" Now, down with cigars, take a pull at your girth, We 're sure of a "find" if there's no open earth ; Hold hard ! there, you youngster, keep out of that ride, When hounds are in cover your place is outside. All is silent as death, save the covert resounds With the crack of a whip, or a cheer to the hounds. Loo' in there ! have at him ! yoi, wind him, good lads ! Are sounds very fatal to brushes and pads. " Hark to, Monarch ! yoi, Fatal ! get to him !" the cry ; "Hi, Bounty ! yoi, Tell Tale ! have at him, old boy ! Be steady, it's right, boj uro as we're horn. Tally-ho ! tally ho ! hark ! there go is the to NED FARMER'S SORAP HOOK. 'J\ A dog fox is running his hardest to find A place to be safe in ; the pack is behind, With their heads in the air and their "stems" drooping down. At a rate that will soon do the cocktails all brown. No bullfinch can frighten or timber appal ; We heed not a damper, nor care for a fall. The pace is terrific, and burning the scent, The pact cease their music by common consent, and then a stray chal heard, Tin' leading hound streaming away like a bird ; The tailing is awful, as you may exp I with "purling" and "pumping" the field iod fifty minutes, yet still lie's not d Pinks call for their second to finish the run ; Poor Reynard just now, though, has nothing to brag on, His brush h d, and put him the drag on ; ill he knows, but they rare him in vl And he dies in the open, as "good 'uns" should do. Tli!' huntsman is ratin Turk, II.' 's off and among them, his whip is at work ; He 's lifted poor Charley above his head high, And "whoo-hoop!" mid the baying of hounds rends the The "bell pull," as trophy, is kepi to pr ' I tin- houn Is eal I he f is I i rve. Whoo-hoop ! whoo hoop ! wh hoo-hoop ' And the hounds eal the fox I 92 ked farmer's scrap BOOK. " THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS." 'Tis past ! the maddening dream is o'er, That withering word, " Farewell," is spoken, Whose icy touch hath reached the core Of this fond heart — and it is broken. Henceforth this world is one dark void, Yet unkind memory lingers on, Showing that with my peace destroy'd, The sunshine of my life is gone. The potent lightning's vivid stroke, By which the "forest monarch" fell, Was not more fatal to the oak, Than to my heart was that Farewell! And oh ! what torture 'tis to bear, When every gleam of hope is gone, With soul o'ershadowed by despair, To feel the curse of loving on ! To-morrow is the food on which procrastination lives: dso the day on which idle men work and fools reform! NED PARUER'8 SCRAP BOOK. £Ije Ecfoarti. WRITTEN' ON THE DEATH OF A VERY DEAR AND VALUED ! RIEND WHO DIED RICH IN THE FAITH OF "HIM" WHO . CAN The soul hath burst i And left its home of clay, ! journeys on, amid the stars, To its glad home aws Bright angels come in hrongs, : on its track, < !heeri way with j js ; Oli ! who would wish it bad Forgotten uow the grief and woi It may ha 1 r'd her< On to its i Nor harbours doubt or fear; Firm in the faith of God's dear Son, (All competent to sa\ The soul its blest reward hath gain'd ; The body's in the Our actions Bhould be Buch only as our enemies would illudo to ! Oi NED FARMER'S SCR AT BOOK. ®p fottij tfje StantrarU of (England [Inserted by the kind permission of Mr. G. Emery, 408, Oxford Street, London, to whom tho Copyright belongs, and where the Music may be had.] Hark ! hark ! where the lion is roaring ; List ! list ! 'tis the growl of the bear, Above the proud Eagle is soaring, The Crescent waves high in the air. The steed with impatience is neighing, The flag of rude War is unfurled, The Trumpet its wild note is braying, And threatens the peace of the World. Then up with the Standard of England, Our watchword alone be " Advance ! " Up, up with the Standard of England And raise the brave Banner of France. ; Tis fearful that Life should be wasted, 'Tis dreadful that Blood should be shed, That the Horrors of war should be tasted, And that Ravens and Wolves should be fed. All that honour permits has been borne, Every mild art of peace lias been tried, .Mediation been met with proud scorn, Ami now "War to the knife" must decide. Then up with the Standard of England, &c. N E D V A I: M i: R S SCRAP D O i> K . Then onward by Sea and by 1. Since there's no other coi Let old England and France hand in hand, Show the world what, combined, they can do; Let our scabbardless swords meet the light, Down, down with the Tyrant ! our cry, 'Tis lor honour and justice we fight, So forward ! to conquer or die. Then up with the Standard of England, a". approaching me a 1 in which v dy, healthy-looking old couple, that it di eart good to I efore we met, the old n bravely with (I ma ; ' e-rpiartei over the o in the act of I 96 ned farmer's scrap book. when, oh ! if you had seen the kindly look the old man gave her as he siid to me, in his strong Derbyshire dialect, " Hey, maister, my old wife's a good old cratur." The words rang upon my e;ir until I reached the town of the warped steeple, and there, procuring writing materials, I concocted the following song, which has been set to music by G. Simpson, Sen., and may be had of Messrs. D'Almaine & Co., London. My old wife is a good old cratur, Never was a kinder born, Never did nothing to make me hate her, Since the wedding ring she 's worn. And every morning for my breakfast She gives me good toast and roll My old wife's a good old cratur, My old wife 's a good old soul. Then at night when work is over, She brings my bacca and my beer, So you see, I lives in clover, Ain't my wife a good old dear ? And every morning for my breakfast, died of the gout, On which murniurers said, With a I : "Blair's gout pills were fine, but they 'd nol cure the dead." The oldest inhabitant, nicknamed " Deaf Daniel," Remembered a man with his legs wrapped in flannel, Who once lived at the G aid farther remember That he died \ md he died in December. It v, that was plain, And he M come back again, To Look after some gold thai be hid in a drain. The Grange now stood empty, and had done for years ; Some deterrd by high rental, and some by thi ir Its last tenant, Job Spinks, L i >, it was said, the ghost, when at once in wild terror h A d Qxious was he From the That he in 'er paid his rent — bul thai nx 104 NED FARMER'S SCRAP BOOK. The matter at length grew decidedly serious, It frightened Mark Mobbs till he went quite delirious, Though some people say, and a many folks think, That it was not so much the alarm as the drink ! But the bravest and best Who by daylight would jest. After dark were as timid and alarmed as the rest. And so it became quite the country's talk, For no end of people had seen the ghost walk ; There were Rogers and Martin, Bill Gibbs and George Gore, Besides Philip Parslow, who 'd seen it before ! So the villagers met To see how they might get Out of what hurt them worse than the National Debt. Now whoever knows Nettleford knows the "Three Crowns," Nearly opposite Frampton's, and next door to Brown's ; And just round the corner, three doors from the pump, Lives the pride of old Nettleford, Anthony Crump ; In stature but small, But that's nothing at all, For the greatest hearts often to little folks fall. The meeting was crowded, and Anthony there ; Bob Belthard, the blacksmith, was called to the chair, • took it, and stated for why they'd assembled, At which more than one in the company trembled ; Says Belthard, says he, " If 1 might make so free, I consider all ghosts as mere fiddle-de-doe." NIL) FARMER'S SCRAP ROOK. 105 " What are taken," saya Belthard, "for spirits and ghosts, For the most part turn out either dor or postSj Or some fool with a sheet on; this Grange ghost you '11 s Is all "bosh," as L '11 prove, if you'll leave it to me." Lut the villagers said, A > they listen'd with dread, They didn't think Belthard was right in his head. Still Belthard continued, "Is any one here Whose heart, like my own, is a stranger to fear '. Let him hold his right hand up." Cried Crump, "Look at me ! And the man you inquire for at ones you shall see." " Hurrah !" cried the smith, " He 's a real bit of pith, And precisely the man J should like to go with." The meeting was frantic with joy as they gaz 1 On these two noble spirits, but most were amazed At the courage evinced by brave Anthony Crump, Who lived round the corner, three doors from the pump; 1 1 -, maj -tic and stern, Sai I to Belthard, "I burn With desire to watch singly; come, give me first turn." "You're on!" said the blacksmith ; "this evening, alone, To the ghost and the village your pluck shall be shown." " I don't know aboul ! brave Crump; ••how's the mo Don't you fancy to-night would be i:\tui.i: TOO . I" Bui the meeting cried, " NTo ' 1 1 's i he righl time to And you're certain to see him." Crump merely i I ' Oh!" 10G ned farmer's scrap book. The party broke up, and the village was glad, And said what a nice pleasant meeting they 'd had ; That Crump was a "brick," and they always had known it ; And as to " white feather," he never had shown it. While this clamour went on, Where is Anthony gone 1 Towards home to think over the blacksmith's "You're on!" How many a man, in the heat of debate, Has uttered some words he repented too late; So Anthony now, when his spirit got cool, Had a kind of a notion he 'd acted the fool. He felt sorely dismay 'd At the promise he 'd made, And, if truth must be spoken, was rather afraid. The wild excitement of the hour Was losing fast its hold and power ; And Crump now thought That village honours, local fame, And even Valour's courted name, Were dearly bought By reckless deeds and bold exploits, (As meeting ghosts on moonlight nights), And he could see That lots of people could be found, Who dwelt within the church bells' sound, More fit than he NED FARMERS SCRAP ROOK. 101 For such encounters ; and 'twas plain The meeting should be call'd again, To reconsider His proposition : " For," said he, " My children fatherless may be — My wife a 'widder.' " Thus did his martial soul recoil ; But only, mark ye, for a while ; For Courage now Came to the rescue, and exclaimed, "Shall Crump of Nettleford be shamed, Or break his vow ! " "Rather than that,*' brave Crump replies, "Come all the ghosts before my eyes That ever haunted This wicked world since it was made ; I say again, Let all parade, I'll not be daunted." To the wife of his bosom, he next wends his way, With a kind of misgiving as to whal she might say, For Matilda, his uxor, as often we find, Had a way, as she railed it, of " speaking her mind!" When with affright, Thi husband looked white, She said, "Anthony Crump, you have been and go1 'tight'" 108 NED farmer's scrap book. " Matilda," he said, in a dolorous tone, " 1 am going to the Grange, love, and going alone, To dispose of the question, and that on the spot, Whether what haunts the Grange is a real ghost or not." His wife, with asperity, answered him thus, " I don't see at all that it matters to us If the ghost that you speak of is false or is true, Though it 's haunting the Grange, man, it doesn't haunt you." " What you say, my Matilda, no doubt is a fact, But I 've given my word, and I cannot retract. Should I Ml, as I may do — for Fate has no rule— Send Ann to her aunt's, and let Bob go to school. Now, leave me my darling," he said, with a smile, I wish to think o'er my affairs for awhile ; Oh, Matilda, remember, I 've not made my will, But it doesn't much matter, as my property 's nil." Wives are obedient creatures ever, Contradicting husbands never. So his rib went off, as she was told, Saying, " Ah ! you '11 catch a pretty cold." Crump, to his thoughts thus left alone, (What those thoughts were shall ne'er be known), Did what I think you'll all admire, Lighted his pipe, and raked the fire ; Ensconced him in his old arm chair, Drew his lean fingers through his hair, Took at the glowing bars a stare, And hoped the ghost would not be there. NED FARMER'S SCRAP BOOK. L< >9 Ho muses, sleeps, and dreams that he Nine mortal ghosts a1 once can see, Some tall, some short, some stout, some slim, Ami all with sticks, approaching him ; They strike, and loud doth hold Crump scream, And wakes to find it was a dream ; His wife calls out, "Why, Crump, \s that y Come up to bed, you stupid, do!" But part, from out the old church tower, The clock tells forth the midnight hour : 'Tis twelve o'clock, Which hearing, Anthony did start, And 'gainst his ribs his noble heart Did bump and knock : As to the door his neighbours came, Calling the valiant Crump by nan "'Tis time for starting !" List to that wild exulting shout ! The noble Anthony turns out ; And now they're parting. Said Anthony, "My valued friends, Eowe'er this night's adventure ends, Which perhaps may Bever Myself and you for evermore, 5 n will not follow, 1 implore ;" They all Baid, " Never!" 110 NED FARMER'S SCRAP BOOK. To each of this devoted band He bids farewell, and gives his hand, Then wends his way ; And as his form fades from their sight, Towards the Grange, they shout "Good-night!" And then, " Hooray !" Not Quixote, when knighted, or Sancho, his squire, E'er felt for adventure their hearts beating higher Than did Anthony now, save alack ! and alack ! A burning desire to turn round and go back. And a man must be bold AVho turns out in the cold, To look out for a ghost which he 's bound to behold. One Curtius, a Roman, at least so 'tis said, Jumped down a vast chasm, which closed o'er his head ; But the leap that he took down that yawning alyss, (As a daring exploit), was as nothing to this. For no ono would dare, 1 should think, to compare The Roman's rash jump To the daring of Crump ; Besides people say, And maintain to this day, * "Twas no credit to Curtius; for his horse ran away." A man 's not expected to go his best pace When he has to meet danger, and that face to face ; And the ghost Crump might meet would, for all he knew, take him, N i: D I A l; M SB'S 8 K A P BOOK. Ill And double him up, and anothi c make him ; S • lie walked rat : .v ; el and i And quite ready, if called on, to "right about" Thus with care he ap] range, when he bears, < >r fancies he does (for 'tis strange how men's fears Lend an echo to nothing), a strai f noise, Which rather made Anthony open his eyes ; And distinct on his ear iunds of footsteps draw near, 1 hold Anthony listens, and trembles with tear. The object approaches, whatever it be ; Crump shivers and shakes, and goes weak in the knee ; plainer, th teps come on ; ( Irump "s bolted — the Bero of Nettleford 's gone ! We've heard aboul I we've read about others, :n "Hamlet's papa," to the "Corsican Brothers;" But ■■<: all i irty, J firmly suspect, Not one e'er produced such a startling effect. uy runs till he's clean out of breath ; "fis useless disguising, he's frighten'd to death! And the villagers all, in a body, turn out, Having heard in the distance Crump's maniac shout, imp was bours drew aear ; Which beholding, they fled, leaviu ip in the rear. 112 NED FARMER'S SCRAP BOOK. The village affrighted, uprose as one man, Got the fire engine out, a most praiseworthy plan ; And rung the bells backwards, which I don't admire, As it led to the notion the church was on fire. In the midst of the row Came up Belthard, I vow, Saying, " I 've seen the ghost — it 's Joe Pilkixgton's Cow ! And so it turned out ; the old cow's back was sore From a hurt she received at Bob Repton's barn door, And the Cow Leech had plastered the place up quite neat With some wool, and some pitch, and a piece of old sheet ; And she, beyond doubt, It was, wandering about, Who believers in ghosts had thus put to the rout. But where is bold Anthony Crump all this while ? He lies knock'd out of time against Calloway's stile; They shake him, and pinch him, but Crump never stirr'd, Till the blacksmith said, "Crump, it was me that you heard ;" Then he opened his eyes With a look of surprise, Saying, "Honour, now, Belthard ; you're not telling fibs?" "Far from it, my friend," replied Belthard ; " I went Just to see if you really had said what you meant, And was coming to say so, when, ' Murder !' you cried, And went off like a racehorse ; that can't be denied." Neighbotir kindness displayed ; Crump to bed was convey'd, But I shall not repeat the remarks his wife made. N ED FARMER'S SCRAP BOOK. 113 The joy of the natives was past all belief; The tidings they heard gave them perfeel relief; The ghost was a COW ! and, Oh ! glorious reality ! No phamtom infested that charming locality. But they'll never have d< Who in earnest, or fun II chaff Crump with "There's footsteps; now, Anthony, run !" MORA I,. Dear Reader, if ever you hear ol a ghost, (And nursemaids and imbeciles talk 'bout them most), Nip such stories at once in the bud, for you '11 find . lay terrible hold on the juvenile mind ; Nor, when tiny get older, can Reason quite clear The brain of the poison thus planted by Fear ; And 'tis strange with what fondness the memory clings To the morbid enjoyment of unexplained things. Then, if true, as folks talk, That a ghost can but walk, One has only to 1. Their intention to balk ; While there's not upon record, (For all they assert), The name of one A ghost ever hurt ! 114: NED FARMERS SCRAP BOOK. % "Samaritan" ©Ue, ADDRESSED TO EVERYBODY. [" We regret to learn that poor old Tom Cribb is extremely ill at tho house of his son, at Woolwich."— Vide Bell's Life, Jan. 30, 1843.] Go, gaze on the Champion ! look at him now, With that pale sunken cheek, and the damp on his brow ; Compare what he was with what now meets your view — It will show what "old age " and long illness can do. Where now is the "giant-like" power of his arm, That fill'd all the men of his day with alarm ? Where, where is the muscle that gave that arm strength To make the huge Molineux measure his length < All, all are departed ; the spirit alone Survives all his physical energies, gone. There, beaten at last, lies the gamest and best That ever the "fistic arena" possess' d — Tom Cribb (for 'tis you), there 's a charm in thy name, If true British courage and unsullied fame Be passport to old English sympathy — then Not useless shall prove this appeal from my pen. Neglect shall not chill, nor stern Want ever come, With their with'ring effect, to the poor "old man's home." Shall we suffer an honest, brave creature like this One essential to need, or one comfort, to miss I No ! with hands ever open, and hearts prone to feel, All true men their shoulders will put to the wheel. X ED P A R HBB'e LP BOOK. 1 1 - r > What is it among us I There are lots will be found, Who, though not in position to fork out a pound, Will loose with much pleasure a "bull," or n "bob," Ora "tizzy," fur 'tis hut just "bilking" the "gob"j On'' gl two loss, or some frisk s.-t asidi Some little odd pleasure we think of, denied, Vml there are at once all the funds v.,' require For doing an art which e'en angels admire. So now, lei 's be "bricks," and at one,.- set about We ran — and, remember, he can't — do without it. each "cadge" a trifle, which by post let him Bend • Bell,"* who is ever the fighting man's friend. ! an act the old Champion will never forg And one we shall never have cause to regret. bus to ;t dose my long missive I bring, \nd am gentle sirs, an old Farmer from Trine. * Tlio Editor of Bell's Life. It is fervently to be de wed that mankind were obliged to make int., parcels all, or most of tic un : ' advice they give. Without doubt - md string, with the troubl i of stop to its indulgence. 11G NED PARMER'S SCRAP BOOK. fftouotm on tfje ©eanj of Eom Crioo. The struggle 's over, and he sleeps at last ; His pains, his pleasures, and his sorrow 's past. Like some huge oak, uprooted by the storm, Lies the old Champion's cold and senseless form. Insatiate Death ! throughout thy conquests grim Thou ne'er didst beat a braver man than him. Ask those who kuew, him if a nobler heart Was ever " cast " to play a manly part In this life's drama 1 Mark his vigorous prime, Ere fell Disease, or more relentless Time Had laid their heavy hands upon Ins head, And his activity and strength were fled ; How marked by deeds loud heralded by Fame, Which gave Tom Cribb the envied Champion's name ! He " fought and conquered ;" but how oft and well, Let the true page of " Fistiana " tell ; Only observing, that his laurels gained, Cowardice ne'er tarnished, nor dishonour stained. His life was chequered, and the latter part Bore no comparison to its brighter start ! And but for filial kindness, and a few Of kindred spirits 'mong the staunch and true, The fine old man (an undeserved doom) Had breathed his last 'midst penury's sad gloom. A shield was formed of good and feeling hearts, N ED F A i; M BR'S BOBAP BOOK. 117 Which warded off Misfortune's stints ami dart- . Mild gentle Pity Bought the hero And smoothed the pillow for his aching head. His last hard fight with Death was just i\ir same As all his others — showed unflinching game ; Till Nature, who had backed him, went up to him, (Seeing all chance was gone), and kindly drew him. And now let's rear a tablet o'er his grave, To show how Englishmen respect the brave. No costly marble, nor letter-gilded stone — Leave such distinction to the rich alone ! : me plain slab record his age and name, And leave the rest to History and Fame. fUonotirj on (Srace Darling. 'Twere impious to weep, the gentle maiden dead : Let not one tear of selfish love be shed, Nor dare repine that Providence denies A longer absence from her native skies. It was a might} n, which com] I Her happy spirit takes it- well-earned seal At Bis right hand, who pracl ises aloi An. tended mercy i ban her own. Happy iir, lot, dear Grace, for whom it, was deci To crowd a life of virtue inl le immortal di 118 NED FARMER'S SCRAP BOOK. Success to Efjee, ©to England Here 's success to thee, Old England, Success to thee, and then A health to those brave sons of thine, The gallant Englishmen. For warmer hearts have never throbb'd, Nor braver ever been, Than those who form, in phalanx warm, The bulwark of thy Queen. Then success to thee, Old England, For whate'er thy errors be, Thou still art known from zone to zone, As the dauntless and the free. And who but thee, Old England, Thou merciful as brave, Performed that heavenly mission Which gave freedom to the slave 1 So success to thee, Old England, Who 'mong thy blessings rare, Gives as a toast (proud Briton's boast), Thy "bright-eyed daughters fair !" And should oppressive foemen dare 'Gainst thee to lift a hand, Thy sons shall show the love they owe To thee, their native land ? NED FARMERS SCRAP HOOK. 110 Eljr gagging BcIL II \ i; k ! where the Passing Bell, with mournful tone, Tells thai again the tyrant's work is done : Another victim to stern Fate's decree, His met a doom fast hurrying on towards ti Prepare to meet it, for no earthly power May set aside that doom for one brief hour: Slowly, perchaDce, but surely, on it comes, Beckoning creation to their long, last homes! Yet conns undreaded by the well-schooled soul, Who holds it harbinger of thai blesl goal, The glad abode of Him whose perfeel love Awaits the souls of faithful ones above. Strong in belief of Him who died to save, The trusting Christian smiling meets his gr Turn, then, Oh ! turn to Him who alone hath power to give An angel's courage when you die, and peace while yel you live. In meekness bend thy knee ; commence the needful task ; Beg heaven's p irdon I'"!- your sins, while you save stri I ASK '. II ... frequently in marriage, as in the game oi "blind - buff," a totally different person is caughl to what was either expected or desired : while in' neith (unfor tunately) is the bandage remov* ' until il is too late to repair the error committed. 120 NED farmer's scrap book. &{jeg founti a jfttrntu The north wind chaunts his wildest song, The leafless forest boughs among, Dark night hath drawn her mantle o'er The barren waste and trackless moor, There wandering, shivering, side by side Stern Want their sad and only guide, Without one earthly friend or home, The children of the pauper roam. The boy, with gentle accents, said, (Patting his little sister's head) — " Don't cry, dear Anna ; dry that tear ; None but the wicked need to fear ; Bright morn will soon be here, and then We 're sure to meet some friend again ! " Each word prophetic that he said, Bright morning came — it found them dead ! Their earthly troubles at an end ; The child was right — they found a Friend. Unpretended love, disinterested friendship, political honesty, and tortoiseshell torn cats, arc four things rarely to be met with. \ E D I \ R M I. i; S SO R a P BO OK. 1 L' I (Sfoto, ffltgijtg 6olti ! Hurrah ! for the most potenl monarch on earth, Who hath reigned in his might since the hem- of his birth ; Whose standard is followed where'er 'tis unfurled, And whose empire extendeth all over the world : All, all are his subjects, the young and the old — And the monarch 1 sing of is Gold, mighty Gold ! The soldier, when fighting for honour and fame, Will strike yet the fiercer at sound of his name ; While the love-smile of woman (to all justly dear), Beams brighter by far if the Monarch draws near: I u the heart of the miser, though flinty and cold, Will warm into rapture at sight of King Gold. Alike are his vassals — the wise man and fool — Each bows and submits with delighl to bis rule ; In his ranks, too, are number'd the Blave and the fn Then say — Are there any as potent as he 1 < >bi y'd are his mandates in hot climes as cold ; Then hurrah ! for the ruler of monarchs — King Gold ' The friends of a prosper I be leaves of the Bummer tree, are many. Anon the winter of misfortune comes, and In ' the I 122 NED FARMER'S SCRAP HOOK. ftlje Norton (Sim. [Upon the Green, in the centre of the town of Chipping Norton, for two centuries at least, had stood a wide-spreading colossal Kim Tree ; a market Ti ill being held desirable, it was, by the "powers that be," decided to have the old tree cut down, and the present glorious structure erected on the spot where it stood.] Two hundred years at least, had seen That Monarch Elm on Norton Green ; The noisy rooks, its boughs among, Had built their nests, and rear'd their young ; The sparrows claimed a vested right To chirrup on its topmost height ; The starling, in its hollow arm, Had built for years its nest so warm. (Though, lying useless, all around Was lots of fitting vacant ground), The poor old tree was doomed to fall, And rooks and starlings banished all. It was a pity, for that fine old tree Formed part of Norton's history. Grey-headed men would speak, with glee, Of boyhood's sports beneath that tree : And crones, grown garrulous, would tell How early swains had tried to spell Their rude initials on its bark, And show, or try to show, the mark. Could it have told — that Nature's child, S'EB F.' CRAP BOO 1 23 Tli. ads wild ; The many changes, bad and good, That had occurred, since there it stood, 'Twould form ;i chronicle to read, Strange, very, very Btrange indeed. The spoiler came in evil hour, Who lacking taste, and having power, < i monstrous ad ! decrei '1 its fall, And built the present Market Ball. Z\)t 3larm. Starting from troubled sleep, in wild affright, What piercing screams disturb the peaceful night i List; 'tis a smother'd cry salutes min i And now a stifled groan begets new fear : I hear strange voices, and the hurrying tread Of many people: hark ! they say " Be 'e dead !" The _!■ m:i of crackling fire, with glare around, Adds to the horror of each dreadful .-omul. They call for water ! — I can bear no moi 1 ild perspiration starts from ev< ! With frenzied haste the win low up I threw ; A half-scorched body mel iu\ sickening view. The truth revealing; quick I turned away — Our neighbour Perkins killed his pig that day llM NED FARMER'S SCRAP BOOK SHtfe of mu Bosom. [the mariner's song.] Wife of my bosom ! my soul's dearest treasure, Star of my dwelling-place, listen to me ; Know that when absent, my only true pleasure Is thinking, dear Alary, of home and of thee ! And when in his fury the Storm King was ridin The wild waves that foamed as he hurried them on, And the thunder, awoke in his anger, was chiding And all light, save the vivid forked lightning, was gone. When Despair laid his hand on the heart of the boldest, Stern Misery whispered her tale in each car ; When Hope scarcely spoke, and in tones of the coldest, And each one on board was the vassal of fear. I had, in that hour of dark peril, a feeling, Which never forsakes me, where'er I may be, The glow of affection around my heart stealing, Fondly telling, dear Mary, of home and of thee. Ki'iTAPH on a Drunkard. — Here lieth the body of one, who for many years waged an unequal contesl with the wine cup, until Nature — his best friend and backer — seeing lit' only stood up to be punished, without a chance to win, kindly threw up the sponge. N ED PARMER' 8 SCRAP BOOK. 1 25 Olrj JFasfjionrU £ tmrs. I.\ old fashioned times, when the old fashioned folk, With their friends and relations around, Would welcome old Christmas with < : ong, and joke, And the fiddle's good old fashioned sound. The old paneled parlour was pul in request, The holly and ivy were there : And ' -iir met neighbour, d out in their best. To partake of the old fashioned tare. No cards wi a printed, with formal invite, Nor pink sc nted paper, with some Expression of Mamma's or P^ light j They asked you, and .meant you to come. i the old fashioned shake of the hand whir!) they gave, With the welcome that shone in their Bmile, And the honesl ' how are yon 1 I hope you are bra 1 For that was the old fashion While the old fashioned country dance would enlist The young to enjoy il ht, The old folks e it down to a rubber at w I I the old Christinas night. The mi tl toe bough to the ceiling was hung, ( >ld excuse for the innocent 1, Nor Prudery's self would pronounce it as wn On a joyous o ! like this. 126 X E I) farmer's scrap book. Each house had its party, each party was gay ; Good Nature aud Cheerfulness lent Their aid to induce you to lengthen your stay, And Regret only came when you went. Those, those were the times, let them talk as they may, When folks met to be happy and free ! 'Tis a pity such customs should e'er pass away, However old fashioned tiiey be ! & ©ag at Button's JFarm. [It were no book of mine did it not contain some allusion to tho noble art of "rat catching." The subjoined effusion being in as mild a form as any thing I have ever penned on that subject, I am induced to insert it.] Farmer Binton had written Ned Perkins to say That he purposed on Friday to thrash out a bay • That he 'd seut to George Hayncs about ferrets, and so They expected on Friday to have a gi*and go. The morning is come, the machine got in motion, (Which rather beats thrashing by hand, T 've a notion ) ; The chaff in a simoom of dust floats alone, And the team do their work to the wagoner's soiv. George's outposts well guarded, the shindy begins, At the expense of rats' lives and the countrymen's shins. " Don't trample the wheat out," says Binton, " I pray ; There's no sort of hurry — they can't get away." D I \ i: M E l; - SCRAP BOOK. 127 •■There 's one where that dog is — he's shifted — ne'er mind . They'll all be crept into one corner, you'll find. Halloo! there '8 a great "un! hie, Tartar ' id lad — He 's got him. Look yonder — they 're bolting like mad." My soul, there's a seutlle. " Be careful, I begs — You'll have those fork-tines into somebody's li { "Lookout, Mr. Binton; ther ur back, On the top of the chaff-hole — just give him a crack.'' '•.Mind, mind wh ire you're bitting — there's i up the wall," "Oh ! I thought it a mouse by its being so small.'' c ' No, ii", it's a rat, look — and here are the rest — There's eight or nine more of em down in this nest." They are Hearing the bottom — each sheaf they displace Yields a rat, which produces a kill or a race. •■ Good Tartar ! hie Nettle ! dead, dead ! — Pincher, drop it." '•There's one up the wall again— Petipl p it." "Now, clumsy ! — he's miss'd hit Oh, he's safe enough ; Wi'r, popp'd through that air-hole and into the sough." "Bill Hawkins, run round, lad, and look out a hit — They 're all sure to make for the ' : kid pile "' or " pit." The hay is alive with them — hark ! what a row, sirs ; A young one has crepl up Jack Morris's trowsers, Who pale with affright, and exerting his muscle, Belabours the place where a maid ties, her hustle. And thus they kept shouting and whacking away, Till at last they got down to the floor of the h. V. here full thirty old ones — 'tis true, on my soul — Were found (as is oi iu our l And t lie,,, such an up/- ar whi "i out, Such shouting and barking, and runn nit ; 128 ned farmer's scrap book. All, all, save an old one, were fated to die, Bill Stokes caught Joe Foster a whack on the eye. Thus ended the warfare ! Full ninety had died, Without counting seven they'd topper'd outside : When, findiug no others were left them to munch, They left off, and went into Binton's to lunch. [This song is an attempt to describe a few of the leading points in the character of the late Mr. John Penson, Park-keeper, at Trentham Hall, Staffordshire, whose family have had the honour of serving in that capacity since the reign of Elizabeth.] TUNE "THE FIXE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN." I'll try to paint a portrait, if you'll listen to my lay, Of a fine old English specimen, whose locks are silvery grey ; Yet still as young at heart he is — that heart's as free from gall, And he 's fond of sport of any sort — as the youngest 'niong them all ; He's a fine old English Forester, one of the olden time. In days of old, when " Lkvison," the noble and the brave, An Admiral, bore the British flag triumphant o'er the wave ; As faithful follower was found ;i " Penson " in his pay, From whom descends " the Forester " we sing about to-day. lie \s a fine old English Forester, one of the olden time. D FA R M E R'S BC R A P BO K. 129 The tuneful lark's gay matin song his early summons sou Thru lustily he wends his way o'er Trentham's spacio is jroui Or mounted, or on foot, he hies around its princ< ly park, . every person thai he m< some unique remark From this fine old English Forester, one of the olden time. Hark ! the unerring rifle's ring, the fatal bullet's sped ; The P ntler'd monarch dies — a hole drill'd through his head. In all pertains to woodcraft's art inferior he's to none ; F \v. few can kill a buck like In', or carve him when 'tis 'I. tie, He's a fine old English Fort ster, one of the olden time. i. for orders at the Hall, "the Ranger" may be se A- spruce as modern dandy, in his suit of Lincoln green ; d should his noble "3d lepart the place that d He proudb; ide into the Qua n's highway. 1 [e "- a fine old English Forester, one of the old, mi time. And when the boundary is gain'd the Ranger makes his how, A very ranger-like "salaam," coi j ago ; Then Mows that note peculiar (a proof his Iu re g 1). And this ev( rgreen trots hack again to his "cottage near the WOi a fine old English Forester, one of the olden tii There are v., • poinl irl him thai prove him th bred : lofty hairli . and hi fin old chiselled lead ; I fai I on his "R I him now ! 1 1 long m Death leave his warm hear! i i 130 ned farmer's scrap book. & Coursing Sontj. RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO ALL TRUE LOVERS OF THE LEASH. Let dukes keep their racers, ray lord have his stud, And the squire sport his pack, and his prime bit of blood, Give me a good kennel of greyhounds, and let The best dog always win, when for coursing we 're met. Singing, gently, so ho ! halloo ! let 'em go, There 's no better sport than good coursing can show. See ! stripped of their clothing, look, look ! what a treat ; What muscular haunches, what small cat-like feet ; With a tail like a rat, and an eye like gazelle, Long necked and deep chested, they're safe to run well. Singing gently, etc. Come, where is your starter? Your judge, where is he? Put a brace into slips, and some sporl you shall e Hold hard! there, you horsemen! don't ride o'er the ground; I ne'er saw this beaten but "pussy" was found. Singing gently, &c. So ho ! there ! I told you j now, give her fair play j It shall all be fair coursing ; no murder to-day ; The hares, perhaps in weight may have lost half an ounce, But after this frost you'll just see how they'll bounce. Singing gontly, &c. NED FARMER'S SCRAP BOOK. 131 They're running like wildfire ; the black dog's a turn ; lie 'tin's a go-by — she's off for the fern ; has thrown, ami 1. 'd In r ; the black dog is in; He's a mortal good judge that can tell which will win. inging gently, ie. Ti: the blue dog a nose ; \ for the sj.iniu'y — my heart, how she goes; Th • black dog a thousand ! A-done, sir — a-done ! II has her ! he hasn't ! my soul, what a run ! ng gently, Arc. 're getting ti.'' >1<>ws on, they're all of them beat ; I • ' .-. ' Lj mi in ciij ys such a treat. . Topper! now, Bugle '. they'll kill her! — they won't ; ; '.- — they haven't ! — .-I - 'em — she don't ! Si. ;ently, &c. . the judge takes his hat off, as he sits on his hor I .-i UNDECIDED'S this wonderful COUT Th> all, I si I away; My gun — (1 had been sho day — ■Would it had been ten thousand miles away), I i \.rried loaded ! oh, most dire mishap, That e'er I made in Foden's fence a jap. To make the distance less, my way I took Over the fields, by way of Brockley's brook; When crossing Vincent' , before 1 ribbet Lane and Wadley's wood, The figure of a man '. — his outstretched arms To intercept me, raised my worst alarms. Beh id me, too, quick hurryii me on, I felt all hope of an escape ne; Wh [impelled — what i : .t? to tell — the fatal gun I caught, Raised to my shoulder, and- 'nails start — I fired the murderous cha seabt! As I supposed ; but truth demau — It • ow, set to frighten bird The coming steps I'«l heard, with I must confess, Were Allen's drun in's — neither more nor less, Who havingjoined me, said, as homeward we were walking, ''I say, wh • at Mr. \ it's mawkin?" 1 3G XtU F A H 11 E It' S SCRAP BOOK. Stotm to 1844* WRITTEN DECEMBER 31 ST, AT ELEVEN O' CLOCK, P.M. And thou art off, old Forty-four, With all thy good and ill attending, To join thy kindred gone before, And add to the eternal blending. What varied scenes of grief and joy Hast thou, old year, been at the making ; What myriads sent to sleep, old boy, To 'bide the last trump's awful waking ? What thousands thou hast usher'd in To this sad world of guilt and sorrow ; But whatsoe'er thy faults have been, Thy reign, old boy, will end to-morrow. So part we friends, for thou hast dried The tear from many a weeping eye ; And thy successor, when he's tried May perhaps be worse — and so, good-bye ! Significant; — Anybody will lend you an umbrella when it doesn't rain. Tin;v do things well, who never try ; Bight clever folks, those standers-by ! D FARM] It's SCi: A P HOU It. 137 impromptu, WRITTEN ON VIEWING THE BOD? OF A \<>{SC, MAN WHO WAS KILLED LV LIGHTNING, AT I HARLB1 BY, • 19, L844. And he is dead ; aye, dead and cold, and motionless, who but an hour agone was full of lusty life, of youth and vigour; whose warm heart's blood ran gaily dancing through a giant frame; whose stalwart build might almosl mock ai Til I, in its seeming strength, del;. e. And now, behold '. a few brief moments gone, a clammy, ghastly corpse aains ! Look on, 1 pray you all, and ponder well, this '•stern monument" of life's l v ertainty ! There are some dispositions so palpably and i upe- rior to others, as to induee the belief, thai Nature, in her manufacture "I' them, had thrown in a dash of the ang< I by way of a finish; while, in contradistinction, others th are, which seem to be made up of the mere sweepings and : thi manufactory. Virtue in a woman, as the kern< 1 to the nut, due, without which both are worth) 138 NED FARMERS SCRAP BOOK. iFirst ffljnrii of 5Lobe* TnE first throb of love this fond heart ever knew, Was implanted, dear Mary, by thee ; And time serves to show me how lasting and true That first love, dear Mary, shall be. Though distance may part ns, thy memory still I '11 treasure as miser his gold ; Nor e'er for a moment forget thee, until This now beating heart shall be cold. Whatever awaits me through life's changing scene, Wherever on earth I may range, My constant companion throughout will have been A feeling that never can change. And so will I love thee, unalter'd, till death Shall bid me the passion resign ; One name, fondly whisper d, shall claim my last breath, And, Mary, that name shall be thine ! A blackguard is a living syringe, filled with dirty water, with which he ever and anon doth defile his betters. A man should never think once ere ho performs a good action ; but a thousand times before he docs a bad one 1 K E D F A B M E E'a SCRAT It O K . 1 '-'>0 vlIjc 13ritt5lj Volunteers. [Written on the Evo of the Russian War, wh glor; 1 at 's, Bull ui.] I' ■■: a time I 'vc losl lad ] love, Bui I '11 dry th ise selfish tears, For this swain of mine is gone to join The British volunteers. A.nd where 's a maiden in th With soul so cold an 1 mean, Th l1 1 not part with th h sr h iart In t he of the Qui i G Then sound the trumpet, beat the drum, d let ns give nine i For each brave sonl in the mu ter roll Of the British Volunteer . And when at length he shall return, 1 these dreadful wars are I shall 3il by his le, \,i 1 he'll wan I i »re. I i : pr »u 1 of my g »od m in I'll When the neighbour Of the brave de ids done, and th swon, I' . tish Volunteer. 140 NED farmer's scrap book. In quietude we '11 end oui' days, In some nice pleasant cot, On the glory that my hero 's gained, And the money he has got ; And when at last his hair turns grey, I '11 cherish my old dear, And I'll think of the time when he fought in his prime, As a British Volunteer. Then sound the trumpet, etc. Put viottr Sljoutocr to tlje SEHjcci. [Set to Music by George Simpson, and published by Messrs. D'Almaine and Co., 20, Soho Square, London, to whom the Copyright belongs.] They tell us times arc very bad, they say there's great distress, But think ye that to talk about will ever make it less; Oh, no! 'twere far the better plan, the wiser course a deal, To leave off grumbling, and to put your shoulder to the wheel. Few evils that this country knows but what would soon give place, If men would only calmly meet and look them in the face ; Self brought about, as I contend, they are, there's little doubt That we who caus'd their growth possess the power to put them out. NED FARMER'S SCRAP BOOK. Ml Then up at once, and to the task, no longer idly .sit Waiting till greater folks begin, the least can help a bit, Let high and Low together go, what Englishman would pau Throughout the land to lend a hand and work in such a cause ; There's not a wound in England found but what her sons can heal, And all that's wanted is to put your shoulder to the wheel. travagance (nay do not frown), extravagance, I say, Among us all too long hath held its deleterious sway, Let each adopt this golden rule, which yet may mill us through, If little 1 ur comings in, to make that little d Like clever mariners ai sea, who, on their voyage you'll find, Take in th 3, or crowd each spar according to the wind ; 3 is tic secret of success, the cure of all our woe . And God forbid old England's sons should pr iveold England's foes. Then up at once, and to the task, no longer idly sit, &,& 3 bcrrj liHrj!) ihTSSurr Cmpromptiu Mi Rei d, once the I • T - all they ever ba I ich lent her aid in I a maid, An I, lovcli t, thou art that uue ! 142 ned farmer's scrap book. The grove is silent, and alone is heard The pious mourning of a widowed bird, Who weeps unceasingly her mate at rest, Her offspring nestled to her throbbing breast. O'erwhelmed in woe, her faithful heart she steeps In sorrow's font, and mournful vigil keeps, Becoming grief. Yet, certain seasons past, It is decreed the dark hour may not last. The heart's warm blood, with gentle joy elate, At Nature's bidding, asks another mate ; (Wise dispensation for the common good — A feeling never to be long withstood). Love lives on memory till time soften' d hoars Into another source its fondness pours. Soon as the feather'd choir began to sing Their hymn of gratitude to welcome Spring, Each innate feeling, thus by music stirr'd, Its genial influence reached the Widowed Bird. Unerring Nature wills that every kind, Alike, iii feeling, character and mind, Consort together, and neglecting this, II, small indeed, the chance of wedded bliss. The lovely Philomel, with instinct rife, Takes none save Nightingale to be his wife: Thrush will to Thrush, as Lark to bark repairs, From fellow feeling known each others cares ; n farmer's scrap book. 113 Each joy divi 1 each sorrow known, 1 met with kindred feeling all its own. tim • wor yet no bird had come ( a 1 pari ner of her heart and home. A dreary void her "bosom's lord" b A life is hi jhs and vain re At last, in h ippy hour, one draweth i. Whi se warl tes fall sweetly on her ear, With fluttering plurnaj he gains her side, And once again the Wid .wed Bird's a bri Impromptu. [On intention of marrying a gentleman, rod the i j man, good-lookinj c income is clear and fifty pounds sterling a year, tr ( 'harlol te without any fear, But he must have four hundred and fifty a year. ands queer, All d four hui a year, I if a 1 1 lily I'..;; ar, It makes a hole in four hundred a a year. Provi 1 mted us hi i inubial at all ti It' i 144 NED farmer's scrap book. That the heart's warmest throb, or affection's fond tear Are as nought to four hundred and fifty a year ; Through the ocean of life no fond couple can steer Save the freight is four hundred and fifty a year. Now, I rather imagine a woman's heart dear That is bought by four hundred and fifty a year ; Possessors of incomes, I pray you don't see her, Or God help your four hundreds and fifties a year. Yet, faith ! I'll be candid, take courage ; draw near — She's well worth four hundred and fifty a year : I love her myself, but I cannot tell where To get hold of four hundred and fifty a year. So my chance is over, as thinga now appear, And all through four hundred and fifty a year ! Still heaven await her ; tho', mind you, Up There They heed not four hundreds and fifties a year. Stoottional Urrse to tijc National &ntljcm\ And when in Freedom's cause England's bright Sword she draws, O grant Thine aid ; On each dread battle field Make her proud foemen yield ; Be thou her help and shield: God the Qui :> BT 11E1IROKK & BOSS, DERBY. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. REMINGTON RAND INC. 20 213 ( 533) THE LIBRAKT uTtrwuciTV r»F CM IFORIlIi . r.rr-inilM I IRRARY FACILITY AA 000 365 437 PR U699 F173n 1863 . i I ! i