i \mm tmmtmmmttim iii!kiiiiiuiii£ ^^ ^oim viN^"^^^ \' ;.■'/-' \/:-m u m ^x I . Ki ;■—:/» ■ ',Vi. .■■'/^;<^':i S'S^ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES l/J Ov ' v^ ^>^^^^/ Cr i^^-- OLD EZRA ARC. See page 107. AIT TIIUR OF "WAV.SIUi: PICTURES, HV.MXS AND I'UE.M.S," ETC. WnU AX AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE AUTHOR. LONDON : IIamiltox, Adams, and Co. Falmouth : The Author. EXETER : F. Clai'p, 4 4, Magdalen Street. Oi: THROUGH IHE BOOKSELLER.S. 187S. r% PRINTED BV J. GILL AND SOX, MACHINE PRINTERS, P E N R V N , C O R N ^\■ A L L . DEDICATION. TO THE EIGHT IIONOT^RABLE THE EARL NORTHBROOK, AS A HUMBLE YET FILIAL TOKEN OF ESTEEM AND GRATITUDE FOR HIS VALUED FRIENDSHIP FOR MANY YEARS, THIS LITTLE VOLUME ENTITLED "THE TWO GIANTS," IS BY PERMISSION RESPECTFULLY AND THANKFULLY INSCRIBED BY HIS GRATEFUL COUNTRYMAN, JOHN HAERIS. DEDICATOEY STANZAS. I. The hues of sunset fluslied the solemn mount, And hung upon the grasses of the glen, :Aiid song swelled round me like a gushing fount. Heard not amid t'le busy walks of men: It trickled slowly through tlie reedy fen, And murmured downward by the peasant's door : "When lo ! a vision met my anxious ken, Amid the bracken of the bouldered moor. And well I knew 'twas one with will to lift the poor. Vi DF.niCATOnY STAXZAS. 11. I tuned my harp among the bright hare-bells, Beside the lone rocks of mj" native hill. And, wondering, mused through Fancy's airy cells, Where Music wooed rae witii her jiastoral quill : And even with the pick and mining-drill. And echoing mallet, hymns were in mine ear. Where Poverty sits sighing en the sill. Or cowers in wards whose very walls are drear, And sighs are rising still, the sounds of psalm I hear. III. But nevermore that vision met mine eye, Till Noi;i'HBi;ooK came with humbleness of soul, W^hose faithful friendship bade tlie shadows fly, And cheered me onward to the final goal, Where fragrant winds and clearest waters roll : And well I knew 'twas he whom then I scanned Where fays along the mossy moor-tracks stole, And silvery echoes tilled the listening land, Which he who pauses now may hear and understand. IV. The tiniest helper is the m,an of peace. Whose sword is sheathed, whose spear is idly pent, Who strives that war and wi'etchedness may cease. The gun be hushed, and the last bullet spent ; To save, not waste, his Banctitied intent : Who cheers his brother on life's rude highway, Whose feeble steps are slowly homeward bent. And such is Northbkook, with no false display, So gladly I to him inscribe my simple lay. 6, KiLLiGi'.Ew Terrace, Falmouth, Cornwall, November, 1878. This is the ;'utIior"s thirteenth volume of prose and verse, which he lias published on his own respon- sibility. Nearly all the jiresent collection was written, and the copy prepared for the printer, between the months of December, 1877, and April, 1878, when affliction fell upon the writer. Having an Autobiography attached to the ] resent publication, his preface will necessarily be brief. It will be obvious to the reader that the two huge overgrown monsters herein personified, and giving the book its title, arc none other than Giant Drink and Giant War, whose terrible deeds so desolate the earth. They both destroy their thousands and their tens of thousands of all ages : and the writer trusts that these simple lyrics, which are chiefly scenes of rural life, and pictures from the toiling peasantry of the realm, may be welcomed by his philanthrophic countrymen, and serve, in some small measure, to accelerate the overthrow of intemperance and the sword. Has not song some- times accomplished what sterner philosophy could not achieve ? So he has been irresistibly drawn to attempt vni PKEFACE. to wound these strong destroyers of mankind with the wild-wood warblings of his muse. The same feeling has also prompted him to write the section entitled Kindness to Animals, which he would humbl}- commend to the lovinghearted and humane. He has aimed at simplicity in these poems, as he is desirous they should be more especially appreciated by the young. The wood engravings are the productions of the author's invalid son, which surely show a manifest improvement from his former attempts. He cordially thanks his friends and patrons for their cheerful aid once more, and trusts they will not be disappointed in his thirteenth volume, and that his Two Giants may receive the due reward of their deeds. KiLLiGREW Terrace, Falmouth, November, 1878. N T^ AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE AUTHOK THE TWO GIANTS. .... GIANT DEINK llACHEL- RENAXD AMANDA LEVI AUB RUTH ZELEXA " the fox and the ciioav little samson . mary mackear joe's clock peggy porter runaway jack ned's fate . little ben bell susan sardeal fred symons jenifer jay charity cheer ferdinand forest joe wright jack wilson ^vnd rob martha maynine little meg mand jeremy jeer timothy teel zebedee zog n.vncy nacoo dickey' mills . robinson rue freddy' and renare ALVINA PAGK. 1 31 . 34 35 . 37 37 . 38 39 . 40 41 . 41 42 . 43 44 . 44 45 . 46 46 . 47 47 . 48 49 . 49 50 . 50 51 . 51 52 . 53 53 . 54 X CONTEXTS. GIANT AVAE. OLD ROBIX BESS BLEW EUGENE TAMSOX TURXEAT , WIDOW AVAXEASE TRUE GREATNESS . SAMMY SAROUL . RELAXDA I'lIILLIS FARROLD JOE MARKS . WILL WAKE CAROLINE FYLE JEREMIAH HOAR UNCLE WILL . RAIL NOT . THE soldier's HOUSEHOLD FLITCHER JACKSON' TOMMY TURNOO JOHXXY RAY IF MEN WERE AVISE WIXIFEED DATE . WILLIE AXD EMMA AXXA POPE PETER METHERWELL JOXATH.USr BLOCK F.VXNY ^US'D FREDDY THE soldier's FATHER KINDNESS ^^'THONY BURR MOLLY, THE COCKLE SELLER ROBLN-SON GRAY A MAN" I KNEW . ABSALOM WAIT ALICE WAYMOXT WATTY ALLUM NELL MOSS ZEB KXIGHT . WEATHEP.STON SAGE . KITTY COPE . WILLEY AXD THE WHIP DAVID HARLOW TO ANIMALS. 56 57 58 58 59 60 61 61 62 63 6,3 65 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 77 80 81 81 82 83 84 85 85 86 86 87 88 88 CONTENTS. • XI GOD MADE THE BIRDS .... 89 EBENEZER BEET . 90 FRANCISCO AND MAX 91 ROSALINE VINE ...... . 92 EZEKIEL WARD 93 THE CHILD OF ROO . . . . . . 95 HAL IIAWFER 96 EXODUS VANE ...... . 97 JOB TREWILTON 98 THE BOY AND THE DOVE .... . 99 MATTY MC COOL ...... 99 THE MOONLIGHT SOUND ..... . 100 I HAVE SUNG AFORETIME .... . 101 NORAH NILL ....... . 102 roOR BOBBY ...... 103 EZRA ARC BLANK VERSE POEM. MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. THE TRUE FOLD JOHNNY AND NELLY THIRTY POUNDS A YEAR THE WAYSIDE SEAT ZEBEDEE AND HIS SONS R. A. GRAY, ESQ. . THINGS I HAVE SEEN . friends' new MEETING HOUSE CLARA LUCAS BALFOUR 105 113 • • . 114 116 • • . 118 120 . , . 122 124 . , . 125 127 "And when the daylight dies, And the great sun sinks on lii§ golden throne, My mother, witli the clear drops in her eyes, Says we must love God's own." The Child of Roo. See page 95. AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE AUTHOR. SIX CHIMNEYS. ^^ T wa.s -Tjimps Hogg, t ]i «j Ettrick Shqi- h f Y (I . w li o .''^'' s () 111 e \\- h (i t /yy Ji umor o u^slj' *''^ sai.l, "I like to write about myself. In fact, there are few things wliich I like better ; it is so delightful to call iqi old reniiiiiscences." »So I have sat down to write about iu}self, and to enjoy some of the deliglit of whicL he speaks, in rambling in thouglit over long-forsaken tracts, and jil^asanth- luusing through the dim aislq^s of the Past. If tlio simple record of my life-struggle should fail to interest the general reader, it mav excite tlie attention of niv patrons and frientU, and stimulate tlio cliild of geniu.s to patient perseverance ; and its (onipilatiou -\\ ill liring comfort to my own heart. I was {)i>> chb'st child of my jiai'ciits. wlio, like th<' .smitten patriarcli in the laud of I'/., ^\■ere blest with seven sons and three daughters. Oiu- (if my earliest recollections is a little white cofli>i. iji whi'h inv tddct^t sister ^^ as carried to th'; gra\c. Tii" ['la-" of my laitli. B 2 AUTOBIOGRAPHY as intimated in a former sketch piiblislied with my "Story of Caru Brea," was a boukler-built cottage, witli reedy roof, bare rafters, and clay floor, locally known as the "Six Chimuej-s," on the top of Bolennowe Hill, Camborne, Cornwall, where I first saw the light on Saturday-, October 14tli, 1820. Nothing but the ruins of the old dwelling are now seen ; for it fell in one of the winter storms about thirty years ago. The eastern AAall was much injured in my grandmother's time, through the explosion of a bag of gunpowder, which my uncle Matthew was foolislily drying before the fire. But the house now left standing beside it, however, is but a fair counterpart of itself. ]\Iy father's name was John, after whom I -was called ; and my mother was commonly designated Kitty, though 1 believe her proper name was Christianna. She was the daughter of a farmer, named Smith, in the neighbouiing village of Beacon, who kept his guineas on his bed-tester, and died before I was born. But my grandmother Smith I well remember, and believe her to be a godly woman. For a long time we visited the farm-house at Beacon annuall}', at the parish feast, when we generally dined off roast goose ; and it was a woiulcrful luxur}' to me to turn the spit in the old parlour. At such times my uncles would tell stories, as we clustered around the November log ; ami one of them, whose name was Bill, and who had been in the French wars, much amused me with his accounts of sieges and shipwrecks. I have a dim recollection of finding on m\ grandmother Smith's shelf a very old book with the quaintest pictures ; and I cannot divest myself of the thought that it was Dante's "Inferno." We continued to go to the farm-house, on tiie annual feast day, until my brothers and sisters became too numerous for my grandmother's table. In addition to a small farm of seven or eitt'i;j:<\ and tea( hiii^' a small class of boys in a f?unday school. < >\\ iji;:^ to tlie precarious nature of his employment in the Tuine, having only a certain portifjn of the mineral he di.scovercd as his own share, his earnings were sometimes almost next to nothing, so that it was difticidt to }>rocure food for his household. During thes(> times of solemn dearth I never heard him or my mollier comjilain. She would often cheer him in the evi'uings, as we sat around the family board, with some won! of eiicoura!'vment, savin"; it woiild be better next week, or next month; and fliough I remained -with niv parents for tweutv-tive vears, 1 never heard them speak disrespectfully, or even look angry at each other. They liumbly walked in the fear of the Lord; and their gentle intliicnic was sen.sibly felt bj' their household, all their children becoming members of Christian churches, and live of their .sons preachers of the Go.spel. When just entering on my teens, my father, for what cause I cannot now remember, liad to use sevei'ity with me. No one knows how poignantly I felt it ; and I resolved that he should never have an occasion to repeat it, and he never did. Although our house was so situated that we could see the North and South ChaniK'ls from tlie highest point of the hill, yet I was nearly ten years ohl before I was near the sea. Then, f)n a holiday, my fatlun* toidc me and my brother William to the sands of Gwithian, travelling on foot forth and back. I shall never forget the impression made upon my mind when I first drew near the great ocean, beheld the huge cliffs and rocks, and heard the thunder of the ItiUows upon the shore. I saw it after- Avards in my dreiinis, and heard its eternal roll among the daisies and lark-bursts of my mountain meads. The littlo farm which my father reutrd mi Holeu- nowe IIill waii one which my grandfather, IJcu Harris, 4 AUTOBIOGRAPHY had redeemed fruiu the wild. He iiiiist have laboured liard to do this, as the huge houlders in the rude Avide hedg-cs testify. These hedges were a great deliglit to lue in my ho^diood. covered with moss and ivy, where ferns held forth their beautiful fronds, whortleberries throve abundantly, and the golden bells of the gorsp made d(dieious music. 1 was soon confirmed in the belief that fays and fairies thronged there in the moon- liglit, and strangely-tinselled genii dwelt among the stones. The siminier Avinds that gently floated along brought }ioetry to my ears ; and even the hurricane of winter taught my muse to sing. Young as I was, I could hear the nuigic of music everywhere; and I plaA-ed among the lioulders Avith the angel of song at my side. I cannot recollect ever seeing my grandfather but once, and then death took him inva}'. My brother William and I were building a little twig-house in a corner of the garden, Avhen mother gently came and told us that he Avas dead. He was a tall old man, wearing a Aride-rimmed hat ; and I still seem to see the buckles on his shoes, and the shining buttons on his Quaker-cut coat. It is not at all probable that he ever indulged much in poetry or the poets, or kneAV that such a man as William Shakespere had ever existed. It is said that a neighbour lent him Milton's *' Paradise Lost." On returning it, he was asked hoAV lie liked it; and his reply is characteristic of his non-accjuaintance Avith this iinex.'iuipled production — " The man that wrote that book ought to be hanged ! " Yv'hat he Avould ha\'e said of his grandson and his rustic rhymes I cannot tell ; ])Pi-h!i])s lie wuuhl have doomed him to imprison- ment for life. In all my boy-searches over my grand- mother's dwelling, I do not remember discovering any books ; so I conclude that my grandfather contrived to grope along his darksome Avay prettA' much without tliem. One of his sa\'iugs, howcA^er, contains such a fair sliare of moral jihilosophy tiuit it should not be omitted. When gently eJiidi'd for some strange act of sup})Osed indifference, he calmly gazed into his accuser's face and deliberately replied, "Thee sIioav me a man without a fault, and I w ill shoAA' tlu^e a man Avithout a head." 1 liave tried, l>ut cannot trace back oar ancestry any OF THE AT'TnOK. 5 fartlier, and know not A\liotlu'i- my gTandlathov was a Saxon ov a Pelt. Tliis I know, that wlicn tlift fann, wliich ho enelosod from the common, on the death of my father fell into the lord'^; hands, the steward refncame very fond of books. My father presented me with a j)enn3' "Robinson Crusoe," with a rude frontispiece, which I carried to my bedchamber with me every night. About this time a i-agged copy of Burns's "Cottar's 8at\irday Night" fell into my hands, which 1 found on an old shelf in my mother's kitchen, and which I read with great avidity over and over and over again, imtil I could pretty well understand its meaiung. Otlier books of rhyme helped to kindle within me the love of song, which Nature fostered amid the brakes and bcnilders of my native hill. I did not continue very long under the tuition of Dame Trezona, but entered a similiar institution kept by a woman named Penpraze, Avhich was held in Troon Chapel. She, and several of her scholars, were much alarmed on one occasion during a hail- stf)rm in summer, accompanied with lightning and thunder, when some of the glass was broken, though I felt but little fear. Leaving her and the old edifice, I was placed under the care of a harsh pedagogue, whose name, I believe, was Eeed. He had a great number of boys under his charge, some of whom. I suppose, Avere unruly enough. But his discipline was singularly severe. After seeing him strike my com- panion's jialm with a flat piece of hard wood studded tliickjy with sharp nails, so that every point brought the blood, I felt disheartened, and begged to be sent to some other academy. He was a genuine counter- pai-t of old Squeers, whom Dickens has described so graphically. Is it any wonder that the pupils of such ungainl}- punchers should leave the dreaded enclosure dunces and blockheads ? A few days under his OV THP: AI'TIIOlt. M savagi'1-y sufficinl i'ur me ; mihI 1 lia\i' (juitf I'orgottcH his appi araiiee, except that lu' liml a hnkl head, small eyes, aiul wove jj^lassei^ over a \rry wide r((l nose. ^ly next teaclior -was a iiiiiitT. a mild pious man, of the name of Eoherts. lie had nut witli an accident in liis work iiudergTound, dcjtriAing- him of a lej:-. which was badly s\ipplied hy a Avooden stump. In those daj's any shattered being wrecked in the mill or the mine, if he could read John l^unyan. count liftv backwards, and scribblp the squire's name, was considered good enough for a j)edagogue ; and when he eoidd do notliing else, was established ln'liluledgt^ of the saving power of the Gospel of Jesus f'hrist. His daily instrnctions began and ended with extempore ])rayer. Tliis intiu- ence for good could not fail t(j have been ft-lt by his pupils ; and it yet lives in reedy hamlets and smoky cities to brighten the moral world. My first attempts at rhyme were made whilst I was a scholar \mder my miner-master ; and my verses were written on the blank spaces of my first ciphering book. For years this was treasured up as an inter- esting trophy where the coy 3k[uses set their earliest mark, until its fate was sealed by neglect and the damps and decays of time. What became of it I cannot tell, unless it was made into boats by my brothers, and ferried across the earn pool. Having- 10 AUTOBIOGRAPHY (liscovt'ipd tlio secret of rliyinp, and the mysteiy of iiiveiitiiig- rouplets, I found it impossible to stop. Pajier was a scarce commodity, and so I used the ck-an side of tea-pajiers -which my mother had In-ought from tlie shop ; and sometimes ink from tlie l)lackl)erries of the hedges. Yery often my juvenile attempts were destroyed with my own hands ; but wh^'7l I concluded that my performances were more happily conceived, I read them to my brothers and plaA-fellows, who declared they were g-randeur itself. At nine years of age I was taken from school and put to work in the fields, to drive the horses in the plough to Uncle George Harris. I was then barely able to read and write and cast up figures. My master was a tall bony man, who had more faith in the ghosts of the beacon than in the virtue of books. His two horses were called Bob and Fl}-, which were animals really worth a photograph. Bob was grey, and Fly was red.; and a constant utterance of Uncle George's was, as I held the whip in one hand and the halter of the nearest horse in the other, '• Smither, Bob, Fh'." He had no wife, but a wide- backed dumpy housekeeper, named Eosy, who would never walk more than two or three steps l)efore she turned to look around her. I was quite interested in the bright pewter plates on her dresser-shelves, and not less so in tlu- cold meat which we regularly had for dinner on Mondays, with the lujt potatoes roasted in the peat ashes on the hearth. I do not recollect writing any I'hymes whilst with Uncle George, partly because I wa.s kept so busy, and partly Itecause I was only with him for a few months ; nor do I remember whether I had any })ayment in the shape of wages for the long day's work, save the dinner of cobl meat and roasted potatoes. 1 tlieu went to work with an old tiu-strearner of the name of AN'aters, who gave me threepence a day to throw sand from the river in Forest Moor. Here I stood with bare feet in the running water, and ate my dinner in a peat-built rush-covered hut. The tinkle of the crystal brooks, the sigh of the or THK AUTHOlt. 11 wind tlirouf^li the wliitt'-tiit'ttd ruslics, tlic Llvds sinji- in^ on tlif witlic-livaiiclit's, or lloatinctt*d the sheep from tlie down, or drove the cow to ■\vat(>ring', my mind ^vas ever active with my verse-making' as the oni' ohjcct of my life. ^[y hrotlier AVilliani and 1 shpt in oni' hed in a ('orner of the great chamber. Tlie rafters and beams Avere all Aisible ; and often as I lay awake in the moonlight I used to count them, and fancy I saw litth; horsemen galloping along- their edges, or green-coated musicians harping by the curious joints. The wind rnslung o^-er the thatch, or thundering' in the ii'reat chimiiev, was to me the lyre of wonders intoneil by the fing(a's of mystery'. My thoughts wonld, almost unwooed, resolve themselves into num- bers ; and as 1 slept nearest the wall, I often scribbled them upon the plaster, so as to be able to coi)y them at leisure. And my leisure A\'as very little, much less than that possessed by A'ery many of the same ag-e and station around me ; for Avhen disengaged fn f^ )ni tlif mine, my father often ke})t mc in the fields ae long as daylight lasted, and sometimes in the barn by candlelight. Ibit I Ixiught up every shred of (opportunity, -wasting not a single hour, improving every spare moment, hearing the ringing of i)salnis every- where. AMien digging the meadow-ditch, 1 used to })ut pencil and paper on the grass a few feet in advance of me, then hoe away, nuiking' my poetry at every hack, and Avhen I came u]) to tlie sheet write down my verses. And though thus diligent in tlie pursuit of poetry, from boyhood, until tlie keepers of the house are beginning to tremble, I can con- s(;ientiouslv atlirm that I have not neglected for it one single social duty. From first to last the majority of my poems have been written in the oj^en air — in lanes and leas, by old stiles and farm-gates, rocks, and rivers, and mossy moors. AMien al)out tJiirteen or fourteen, I purchased a small hfe for a few pence, on which I learnt to play several tunes. lint the most interesting fc^ature in c(jnuecti(jn with it was. perhaps, my sitting alone am(jng the furze-bushes and 16 ArTOBIOGRAPnV thvmc'-ljanks fifing my verses into existence. After playing- them over and over again, I -wrote them down on paper ^^■ith my well-worn pencil, and at leisnre transferred them to my scrap-book. All my ]uil)lislied vohunes, tracts, pamplilets, periodical ai-ticles, and letters, liave been copied or written whilst sitting np in my iliair, liolding tho slieet in my hand. Our old red horse, Goll}-, had, I tliink, much more knowledge than his '(^mpeers. When I drove him in the plough, ho looked at me so sagely as if he knew I yyas writing verses to the regidarity of his tread. A\Tien I mounted his hack, and rode him to water- ing on the downs, he kept on so steadily as if he knew there was a juvenile jingh>r astride his glossy coat. When I held him in tlie paddock, he gathered his moutlifids so deliberatel}', and munched the grasses so contentedly, as if he were aware that a new poem was concocting in his presence to gladden the won- dering v.-orld. In the wain, or the harrow, or the roller, he acted so judiciously as if he were conscious that a tiny peasant-iiiper was at his side. But when we went to Connor Bar for sand in the newly-painted cart, how he jogged av.ay tlirough long long miles of jiarrow lanes, where the birds sang on the bushes, and the gossamer hung in the brakes, needing not a single chiiTup, or gee ho, or crack of -\^hip, as if his 2:enuine instinct revealed to liim tliat a mountain- bred muser was writing poetry to the sound of his hoofs. Dear, def imct old Golly ! it is pleasant, even noA\-, to recall his memory, though his bones have long mouldered into dust, and the fields and lanes which once kne^^■ him know him no more. The rhythm of manv a n"W-l)orn Ivric has been murmured in his ears. The first essay of mine ever steei)ed in 2>rinter'6 ink was a dirge on the death of soiue miners who were killed in Carn Brea. These verses were given to a pcjor Idiml man; and I remember with what intense joy I listened in tlie crov.d as lie sang them up and clown the market at Camborne. ''An Address to the Boltiu " came next, in ow of the Weslevan mayru/ines, wliich OF THE AVTHOR. 17 was followod liy " TliP I'^irst Vrimrosp," and "The Story (if I^oliin RiHlbrpast." 'I'lir two InttPi* piffps wen' iiiuili jiraist'd In" the i-ditov. which ciicouraj^'f'd me to ^o on. A tailor at ( 'aiulioriif iioav lent me Robfrt l zest with wliiili I jicr- used it. it is inipossihhi to portray. I h(>gan to save niy jienee ; and tlie first hooks I Itouglit were a Bildc and a hynui-))ook. and tlien Sliakespere. My evenings were devoted to study, chiefly out of • hjors, wandering about the wilds with a ])ook in my pocket, or nn' pencil and paper in my liand. Nothing could discourage jue or divert me from my purpose. If my fingers tingled with cold, I rubbed uu' hands together, or beat them on my shoulders, as I had seen my father do in the fields. If my feet ached and felt benumbed, 1 ran along the sheep-paths, or scampered over the moss on the lee side of the hedge, until relief came, and the blood coursed freely through my veins. This was done in my hours of leisure, which many around me worse than wasted. Once only I entered a beer-house alone with tlie intent of drink- ing, ^lany youths of my own age and occupation A\-ere sitting there, smoking and chatting over their (iqis. I looked around me for a few minutes, and concluded that if I continued t(j visit the alehouse I should grow up like these people, and not advance one single step beyond my }»resent position. My resolve was (^uickh' made, tliat, with the help of Him whom I desired to serve, I would never alone enter such a place again — and I never did. Summers and winters passed by, I struggled on in rain and sun- shine, cold and heat, tlie h>v(> of books inci'easing more ami more, the enkindled passion for poetry burning in my breast, which all the heavy luirdships of my lot could not suppress, keeping my back per- petually on the beer-house door. Thus year was added to year with no abatement in my daily toil or in my ]uirsuance of poetry, until love fouml mi' in the liel(l>, and I became the grate- ful possessor of my good wife .Tane. I was theP twenty-five, and uj) to twenty-three had carried all my earnings to my mother. Our first place of residencj 18 Al TOBIOGRAPHY •was a two-roomed dwelling in the village of Troon. I was tht'u a tributcr in tlie mine; and for the first ten months of our married life fortune was against me, so that my earnings amounted to no more than ten pence a day. How we contrived to exist on this small pittance, without going into debt, I cannot tell ; yet so it was. Then the tide turned, mineral was dis- covered, Providence blest my labours, and I soon became the owner of two hundred pounds. With this sum I built a house by the river, where we lived hait])ily for numy years. Still I had no study, no room to call my own, where I might sit in quiet with my books and the Muses. How much I longed for it I cannot tell, or how many tears I shed. In hours of leisure, on holidays, and intervals of release from the drudgery of the mine, I often had recourse to my old haunts on the hill, writing my poems among the rocks, in sheltered corners where the mosses were plentiful, by gorse-bushes fragrant with yellow flowers, or in the shallow mine-pits overhung with brambles and heather. Here I remained in blissful meditation, far away from the busy multitude, sometimes writing on the crown of my hat, or the face of a lichened boulder, while the mystery of the mighty moors tilled my fancy, and the larks soared and sang in the blue ether. A study of four walls might not, after aU, have been more propitious. Soon after our man-iage, the Eev. Gr. T. Bull, of Treslothan, seeing I was fond of poetry, lent me a vive b?en so exhausted as to lie down and sleep on the sharp tlints, and sometimes so thirsty that I have drunk stale water from the keg, closing my teeth to keep back the Morms. 20 AUTOBIOGRAPHY Sometimes I liad wages to receive at tlie end of the mouth, and soiiictimes I liad none. But I despaired not, nor turned the nj'mph of 8ong from my side. 8he luurniurcMl among the tinctured shihs, cheered me in the hot air of tlie closest cell, when panting under the mallet or tlie sledge, the i)ick or the levering- Itiir, wheeling the harrow, pushing the waggon, tilling tlu' hucket, or lifting the severed stones, bringing down into the dense darkness the scent of flowers, green leaves and clover meadows, whilst the lark's shrill car(d rang in my soul. My verses have heen written on smooth ])ieces of liouse-slate, roof-tile, irtui wedges undtn'grouud, and even on my tliumlj-nails, tlie ])rineipal delineations lieing tliose of my own county. Ill this way the angel of music strove to cheat the tyranny of lahovir, and kept me company in the gloom. "Take care of yourself," said one of the mine-iigents when I was very weak and poorly, and left me breaking rocks ill the po^^'der-smoke witli an enormous sledge that I could scarcely lift higher than my chin. It was pleasant, on one occasion, to be called into the account h(juse at Dolcoath, and to be presented by the agents with half-a-sovereign, for my "sobriety and good con- duct." After the fatigue of the day below, when my bones ached and my heart was heavy, I had to climb the long ladders, one after another, to reach tlie surface of the e£irtli and home ; f(jr this was l)efore the mau-engiiie was adojjtod, a laudable invention for the comfort of miners by the late Charles Fox, Esfj. By this time I was often so weary that I c(juld scarcely drag myself along. It was full two miles to 1113' house; and in the winter season it was impiently rain, through which I had to ti'udge witliout cape or overcoat, so that by the time 1 reacheil my dwelling I was wet to the skin. Ye who have pictured parlours, aiul well-tilled li])raries, with everv other accessory to study, may Avell ask what spirit I liad for reading and writing then ? Thougli my luinds were jiai'deiied with tlie tool-haiulle and scarred with the caHous Hints, notliing could daunt the desire within me. or suppi'<'ss tlie longings of my soul; and every Mionieiil of leisure was devested to the one object I had in view. Often have J rocked ni\- -entle rivulets and liij>h rocks, they t(t feather ferns and Howers, and I to write heeause my heart was full. < >ne of these scenes perpetually haunts nie. W'e had climhed a rushy hillock, and near its suiumit sat in the sun. lielow us was a clear river sliiniui'' and tumhling over tlie pidtliles ; heliind us, and on each side was the wide moorland stretcliint;" away wider and vet wider still ; a iV'W thatched cotta^^es were scattered here and there, from the open doors of which siuitches of household song' floated up to lis in our green Lower; whilst over head the great mysterious sky spread out its magnificence. A daughter sat on each side of me : and in deep silence we watched this glowing scene. Thus my children became my com])auions. Tliev were never happier than when with me, nor 1 than when with them. They were with me when 1 wrote my "War-Fiend'' at the head of the lieens, uiuhn- the young fir-trees by the brook. They knew when I was thoughtful, and seldom disturbed me, })laying al)out the banks till J rose to go. Tliey shared in our humbleness, content with what IVividence sent lis, filling- our wayside home with light, and gladdening- our hearts more than the clink of silver or the "litter of gold. All day long I strug-g-led and strove far ])elow the sound of the river, or the sight of the sun ; yet the remembrance of their dear faces cheered me in the conflict, and I shook otf the liands of lassitude and hastent^d to meet them with sunshine in luy soul. Ami when any little unexjiected comfort came, how ni}' heart throblied to meet them at the hearth, that we might share it togetlier ! and my Idis^: was surely then a shadow of that which angels feel in heaven. In adve'rsi- times, too, when my month's earnings would si-arcely purchase br<'ad, on its recei])t 1 have walked sadly through the fields and lanes, wiping- (jfi' the tears because I touM not aft'ord to 22 Al'TOBIOGRAPHY piirdiase anytliiiig nice for my cliildren. On such oppressive seasons I have often filh-d nriy outside pocket with bhickberries from the hedges, that they miglit not he altogether disappointed. They would watch for me through the window as I came up tlie garden, lifting their hands, their bright eyes shining with delight ; and the possession of the wild berries of tlie brake filled them with the greatest joj-. I felt I was poor no longer, and wiped my eyes in thankfiilness, even as I wipe them now ; and we sallied forth to seek for poems among the bushes. We were at supper one evening in Troon-Moor house, our two daughters in the window, I at the end of the kitchen table, and Jane sitting on a chair beside it. AVe had fried onions, and the flavour was very agreeable. I was hungry, having just rettirned from a long day's labour in the mine. Suddenly we heard a step in the garden, and then a knock at the door. My wife opened it, and I heard a gruff voice say, " Does the young Milton live here?" My wife asked the ])Ossessor of the gruff voice to walk in ; and we soon discovered that it was the Eev. G. Collins. "We invited him to partake of our meal, to which he at once assented, eating the onions with a spoon, exclaim- ing almost at every mouthful, ' ' I like these fried leeks." He asked for my latest production, and I gave him "The Child's First Prayer," in MS. He quietly read it ; and before he had finished I coidd see the tears running down his face. Besides the two daughters, Jane and I^ucretia, already named, we were afterwards blest witli two sons, Howard and Alfred. Through the appearance of m}- "First Primrose" in the Magazine, Doctor George Smith, of Camborne, came to know me, and kindly invited me to his house at Trevu. After one or two calls, I told him I should like to make an attempt at publishing, but I scarcely knew how tatiently and cheerf ullj- submit ; and soon relief came. Throughout my mining-life I liave had several narrow escapes from suddcMi death. Once, when at OK TIIK AI'IIIOI!. 25 the Itottoin nf tlio iiiiiic, tlif luickcl-cliuiii suddcrilv scvci't'il. and caiiK^ I'oMriii;^' down the sliat't with rocks and nild)isli. I and my i-oinradi' liad sc'ii'ccl\- time to escape; and one of the suialh-r t'l'a^^iueiits of stone cut open my foreliead, h-avinj^- a visil)h' scar to this da}'. Tlieii the man-eu<;'ine acci(h'ntally l)roke, Imrlinj^- twenty men lieadlonji' into tin- jiit. and I amon^-st them. A few sears and bruises were my oidy injuries. Stand- ing- before a tin-stope on the smallest footliold. a tliin piece of flint, air-impelled, struek me on the faee, cuttinrr my lips and breaking- some of my front teeth. Had I fallen l)ackwards among tlie huge slabs, death must have been instantaneous. Passing over a narroAv plank, a liole exploded at my feet, throwing a shower of stones around nu- ; but not a single hair of mv liead was injured. A more wonderful interposition of Divine Providence may be traced, perlia])s, in the following record. Our party consisted of five men working in a sink. Two of them were my younger brothers. Over our heads the ground was expended ; and there was a luige cavern higher and farther than the light of the candle woidd reveal. Here liung huge i-ocks as if by hairs, and, we knew it not. AVe were all teachers in a .Sunday scliool, and on the tea and cake anniversary remained out of our working to attend the festival. 8ome men Avho lal)oured near us, at the time when we were in the green held singing hymns and thanking God, heard a fearful crash in our Avorking; and on hastening to see Avhat it Avas, found the place quite full of flinty rocks. They had suddenly fallen from above, exactly in tlie place wlu-re we sliouhl have been, and would have cruslied us to i)owder, Avere it not for tlie Sunul)lished works. The winning of the Tercentenai-v Prize ha])j)ened thus. A rhyming friend of mine, ^Ir. AV\ Cateott, sent me an advertisement cut from a liondon journal, wherein was offered the ])rize of a gold watch for the best poem on the three hundredth anniversary of the hirth of Shakesj)ere, advising me to compete for it. I con- sulted my wife ahout it, and she thoTight it would ])e well to try. 80 try I did, writing and copying my ode in two evenings Ly the kitchen fire when the children were sleeping in bed. Up to this time I had no place of study or retirement. I complied with the recpiiremeuts of the Committee, sending my poem with a motto only, and my own name with a similar motto in a sealed euA'elope. Before j)Osting it, however, I read it to my wife, and she spoke encouragingly of it. It would, he nearly three months before the poems would be examined by the adjudi- cators, and so we had to wait. Time passed, and I had forgotten the day of competition, going out at m}' Bible reading. AVhen I came in, my wife called U) me from the top of the stairs, "You have won the prize — the gold watch." And sure enough theie was a telegram asserting that I was the successful competitor out of upwards of one hundred. I was invited to rVjventr}-, to participate in the presentation ; but that could not be. In three or four weeks the watch came per post, and was greatly admired by all. The newspapers published an account of it, letters of coi:- gratulation reached me from various quarters, and many who had scarcely spoken to me before saluted me most heartily. "This is .Tolm Harris, the Cornish Poet," said a lady to an official who was showing us the Abbey at Bath ; Ijut he scarcely lifted his eyes to ray face. "This is John Harris," said she, "who won the Shakespere Prize;" and he took off his hat and bowed. My few friends and supporters were bound more closely to me ; and I found myself, for a while 28 ATTTOBIOGRAPIIY iit least, mi (>l)jeft of no small distinction. In a puhlio ni(M'tini>- in my own villag'c of Troon, Doctor (xcorg-c 8mitli thus ('X|)rcssc(l liimsclf. " Tlipi-c is a ^rnat ado alioiil this ;^'()1(1 Avatcli, and it is all rig-ht. Bxit there is one ihiiig- ahout it I do not like. In all the newspapers that I have seen, he is called Jolm Harris, of Falmouth. But he is not John Harris, of Falm(nitli — he is oi'u John Harris, and we mean to keej) liim." The M8. po(-m. M liich the late Lord Ijyttelton designated "remark- ahle," is now g-lazed and framed, by Mr. Yincent, and preserved in tlie 8hakespere Museum, Stratford- cm- Avon, which is su}»])osed to he the only working- man's literary contrihiition in the place. Mr. William IToojier and I visited Stratford in November, 1864, after 1 had won the gold watch, whieli was competed for by the T'nited Kingdom and also by America. In 1870. T published " Buh), Reuben Eoss, A Tale of the Manacles, Hj'mn, Song, and Stor}'." This book was dedicated to Eobert Alexander Gray, ]■>([., Avho behaved exceedingly kind, so that the edition was soon disposed of, and I became the pos- sessor of a score or two of ^^''^^^ds. Through his influence I nuide the acquaintance 'of several good pcojjle in Jjondon, who were friendly ever afterwards. In 1872, I brought out "The Cruise of the Cutter, and other Peace Poems," Avhich was dedicated to the Baroness Burdett Toutts, who had long subscribed to my writings, and to whom I owe very much. I submitted these MSS. to a publishing house in Txmdon, asking them if they ^voidd bring it out for me. They re])lied that poetry would not sell ; but if I would undertake to dispose of ',]'jO copies, thev would publish the Avork. I agreed; and before it was out of the press had sold the whole edition. This Mas my first apjieal to the publishers, and my last. At the suggestion of Mr. John (xill. of Penryn, I commenct d, in 187;5, a series of social illustrated tracts, uu(h'r the heading of "Peace Pages for the People," advocating arbitration instead of war. Twenty- four of these four-])aged pa])ers wei'e ])ublished by Mr. Gill, who distributed nuin_y thousands of them gratuitously in various Sunday schools throughout the OF THE AUTHOK. 29 rounlrv. Srvt'val of tlu'sc triicls have licrii rr-jiriiited in Anirricii. lu 1S71, I collcctcMl some of my l)e.st ])i('C('s into a lar^-c crown (jiiarto voliiim>, d jiiIiIp- cijliuiincd, witli a portrait, and pnbli.slicd it nndor the title of "Wayside I'ictnros, Hymns, and Poems." 'riiis volume I also dedicated to Mr. (iray, withcnit Avliose o-enerous jielp I <;oul(l not have issued it. The expenses of printing; this larg'e hook were u])\vards of £!()(), and my subscrihers g-ot llic Ndliniie of me at 10 (). But sevi'ral friends jiaid me a g'uint^a a eo]>y. and Mr. (iray himself sold more than £o() ■worth, so that I was not out of jioeket hy it. I)ear ]\lr. (). ('hiefly with this sum 1 huilt a little study for myself over cnir kitchen ; and in ( )ctoher, 1871. when I was .>o years of age, realized wliat I had liccn anxiously desiring f(n" a lifetinu\ My next W(U'k was " \\'alks witli the Wild Mowers," })uhlished in 187.>, and dedicated to F]arl Northhro(dv, then (rov<'rnor-(ieneral of India. Tlis friendship lias hecn of great value to nn^ wliicli still continues. The edition was soon sold. In 1877, I brought out my "Tales and Poems." The two latter works were illus- trated l)v niv son. All mv hooks have been i)ublished by subscription, and on my own responsibility, so that my whole life has been a life of laboui". I lost several j)ouuds through one of my city publishers; and from the year 18()() to the present time luive only received £8 is. Id. through my London booksellers. The con- tinue far short of a thousand pounds; and I sliould ha\(' l)ut little in the sluqie of money to encourage me were it not for a recent grant from the Poyal I'louiity Fund, through Karl l>eaconsfiehl, of £200. This was 30 ArTOBTOGRATHY greatly owing to the untiring efforts of Mr. W. H. Nortliy, assisted Ijy John Tremayne, Esq., M.P., the Earl of Mount Edgcumbe, and the Eight Hon. John liright. But though my life has been one of hard- ship and severe struggle, I have been content. A crust and a song is better than a sirloin and a groan. I have given the world my thoughts of fifty and I am thankfid. And though I have upwards of a hundred hymns, offering them section of the Christian Church, and not one, know of, has yet found its place in an}- col- I will not despair of their being apj^reciated becoming humble vessels fit for the From the publication of my first now, my principal aim has been to and this shall bias my future till' help of the Divine Griver, until years, written to anv that I lection, one day, and Ma.ster's use. volume until elevate mankind meditations, Avith ' ' the silver broken." cord is loosed, and the golden bowl IS The Two G -rNX^^-vx-V^-A •> lANTS. HOUGH youth has vanished like a dreani, And ou the ledge I stand, Where murmur vnices of the past. And sliadows till tlif land : Though gra}- hairs mingle with the brown, And fears more frequent reign, I'll sing the loveliness of truth, "While life and song remain. Two Giants of enormous hidk. And sin's uidioly birtli. Age after age have jdicil tlieir powers To desecrate the earth. Botli wear the livery of the dead, Beneath a guise of gold ; And both hew down the tree of hope, And rob Messiali's fokl. They multi](lv tlie widow's tears, The hungry oi'plian's moans ; They snap the lionds of In-otherhood, They till the laud with groans : oz THE TWO GIAN-TS. Tliey waste the Avealtli of iudustry, And tread uprij;litiiet>s down, And spiTiid their horrcjrs a.s they stalk Thrc)u<;-li roiuitrv-siih' and town. ()iie liohls alnt't a poison-cup, Wherc^ swells the sa(hhMiiny foam; And ])ast the pahiee-gates he sweeps, And throu;;h tlie poor man's home. "l)rink, laugh, and live!" lie wildly eri- His votaries look in vain. Nor see that Hungi'r folhtws fast. And Madness in his train, lie strips the dress from haln's hack. He hids true love depart. He turns llu' houseless in Ihe sti'eet, He breaks the youue; wife's heart : lie crowds the j^looiuy prison-ct'lls, I''lings fettei's o'er the free, And aids tjie suicidal tlirust. And lilts the j^'.illows-tree. ■niK 'I'wn ciAXTs. Tho ofhcr Mows a lirazcii ti'iiiit]i. And wears u crt'sf of Htccl ; Ami a<;(' and infancy ai-c crnslic 1 licncatli his iron lii'cl. One Jiand a rcckinii" sword-ldade holds, lUood-staincd In- son and siro. And ^•(•nllc loving- inaidciiliood ; A?id iit't he scatters five. He makes tlie vine a wilderness. Where Love's own feet have trod. And with liis fnry-tlamint;' In-eath JJiirns np the flowers of (iod. Disease and Famine stri(U' heliiud, And Phig'iie Haps tliroug-h the air, AYhere earth's s2>oiIed treasures lie anion"- The cinders of despair. God of g-ods, assert Thv strength ! Tlplift Thy mighty hand! ^fay War and Druxkexxess no more iJofacp the lovely land ! Let truth and righteousni^ss prt'vai'. And htve's all-powerful leuven Transfoi-m tlie erring universe, And earth lie hathed in heaven ! lANT P RINK. EACHEL EENANI). •'^^ ■.i^«?:v>^.-^ 1 Y the side of the window sat Rachel Eenand, And her apron was lield to her eyes with her hand ; For tlie hot tears would start, thonja^h she wiped them away Times, times without number throughout the long dav. How worn was her frrane, which the eve- l)reezes fanned, And how pale were the features-- of Eachel E en and ! And oft her lips moved as she uttered a prayer ^ To the Friend of the friendless, whose f presence was there. For years she had watched, as the seasons came on. For him who had loved htr in days that were gone : But he sinned through the drink, and then left his OAvn land, With the ring on the finger of Eachel Eenand, A.MANDA. 3o There's a tap on tlio wiiitlow. a flick of tlie latch ; It may he a sparrow dropped down I'roni the thatch. ( >r the west Avind a-sinf»'in<^ along the sea sand V J low it lliittered the s]»iri1 of Ilachel Ilenand ! Afi'ain a low tap])in<^, -which sounded so uinh '. And she o])ened the door with a very faint si^h ; And who should he there, with a stick in his hand. But the very own hushand of Ilachel Renand ! He was clad in a coat which a jjarson niif>-ht Avear ; His pledg'(!-card she saw, and sank (h)wn in a chair. Tluni he joyfully put fifty pounds in her hand, And kissed th<' pale face of his Eachel Renand. AMANDA. harvest wain had left the field, GT/"' '^^^^' thatch was on the stack, '^'^ The first dr>' leaves cann* rustling- down Upon the rah>>it's track : And through the trailing' hriony, "Which mid the hushes shine, The autumn winds, in g-entle tones. Were muniiurini;- lays Divine. By the iicld-gate whi're rohiu sanf^ Upon the old thoi'u-tree, Amanda lookecl across the moor. Towards the distant sea : And ever and anon she sio-hcd, Amid the luMlg-erow's hum, With hig- tears shining in her eyes, " 0, when will AVillie come ! "" (( He left her Avhen the green corn-hlades Where springing' in the leas, And the tirst violets g-enimed the hanks Beneatli the hudding- trees. SG GIA^•T DKIMC. And, leaning- on liis oak^•n staff, Beside the limpid hum. He ST\-eetlv Av]ns|icred in lier ear, '• We'll \ved wlien T ivturn." She filled her pitclver at the well, ^he milked tlie eow's sweet yield, She helped her mother in the honse, Her father in the field. Eut whether pork was in the pot, Or milk was in the churn. It sounded sweetly in her sonl, " AVe'll wed when I retnrn." And day by day. from early morn Till stars began to blink. Did AVillie work among the hills, Nor ever touched the drink. He read his Bible by the brook, "When Evening filled her urn. Still prospering, as he often sang ••AA'e'll wed when I retnrn." Amanda turned to hear a step Beside her in the lane ; And then two arms were round her neck, From Willie home again. And as he kissed away her sighs. Along the babbling burn, He Avhispered sweeter than before, " We'll wed wben 1 return." And soon the bridal dress was bonght. The cot beside tlie way, The dock A\bi(jk tt as sllr tlinlli;lit of l||c awfiil iiiisliaii: 'I'licrr wcrr luai-ks dii llir wall at llic luot of tJic bed, l''roHi a kiiilV wliii li lir liiirli'il nuiny times at lier Jiead. His eveuin,u-s \\cre sjieiil at •' Tlie Mariner's Score," And he reeled lionie at iiiiduiglit, and swag-gered and swore : He friplitened liis good wife, and tilled lier with pain; And his wages decreased as the drink tilled his hraiu. IJuth kneels with her hahy and prays on the floor: With a hang and a Ijouud he dashed in through tlie door ; ]>ut the tears of his wife overmastered his jtride. And he roared in his agony down by her side. Next week aU his earnings were Imnight home to Eiith, A^ pledge-t-ard hung up wlun-e the paper Avas smcjoth. Now he's fatter and fuller and ten times more frank AVitli beef in the larder and gold in the liuuk. ZELENA. -I i_^ i / ^'''■'^' ''"■ lattice. Zejcna. >S:)'.V T ''''1 ill the nun-ning air: " ^\ -^.^^ "'^''^ ^'"^^' I ^^<^^« waited; The drink has stripped us bare. Drink has swallowed our wardrobe, (Severed the baby's swing, TuriuMl oiir boots to tatters, ^lelted my wcddiuLi- I'ing I o8 GIANT KUINK. " Drink has driven the sunshine Out of the Aveai'v earth, Filling: our home with shadows, Crouching hy cupboard and hearth; Filling- my cheeks with paleness, Filling my frame with pain, Filling my eyes Avith darkness, Never to lighten again I "There is no hread, Zelena, There is no light, or tire ; Cannot you hear the singing Under the garden-hriar ? The}" are the angels, darling, Come at the dawn of da}-, Clad in their robes of whiteness, Calling your mother away." Fainter she gr<'A\', and fainter, Till the last 2)ulst' was o'er. How sobbed aiul cried Zelena, fitting upon the Hoor ! Two eyes look in upon thtMu, Through a hole in tlie window pane And 'tis said that Zelena's father Never got drunk again. "THE FOX AND THE CEOAV." ^ C "Y- NEYEE drink porter, my bea ^(^ C4) Or spirits that (piickly the r( Ti^ autiful boy, reason destroy I have parted for ever with brandy and gin And 'tis long since the landlord has cuddled me in. 'fe " And my arm has grown stronger and larger, I know, SiiU'e T uttered farewell to ' The Fox and the Crow.' And Peggy's bright looks are out-summered l)y none, And our home is a paradise under the sun. LITTL>: SAMSOX. 39 "The -winds luivo luon- imi^^ic, llie troos liave more song, Tlic flowers have uun-v licautv the huslies amouf^, Ami tlie sky and tlie earth are with glory a-glow 8ince I hastened away from ' The Fox and the Crow.' "An (jgre sits gTiiiiiiug astriih^ on the tliateli, And an ogre is t]ier(> witli his hand on the latcli, And ogres are glaring Avhin-ever you go, To ruin the wrctdi at ' The Fox and the f'row.' " fly from its (h)or as you wouhl from a tire, Or a snake in your path, or a tig<'r in ire : 'Tis the byeway to Lhickness and wailing and Avoe, The house A\itli the sign of the ' Fox and the Crow.' " LITTLF SAMSON. ■ CHILD'S cry l.y the ingle, A faint iind Mcary moan, ■^ A murmur like the west Avind AVhen summer songs art; flown: ''I'm hungry. ( ), so hungry I AVill no one liecd m}' call V There's gloom upon the liearthstone, And gloom upon the ■wall. "I looked into the cuphoard. And }ujt a crust is there : The cracked milk-jug is empty, Tlic pantry shelf is hare. l']n hungry, O, so hungry I The wind is rude and raw, My father's in tlie aliliouse. And motlier's on llie str;iw. Tm liungry, O. so liungry ! " And then his eyelids dosed. And on the ragged matting- Poor little Samson dozed. Id (ilANT IJltlNK. .Villi ere a \\i'i']\ A\a.s iiuli'il, A wi]iti'v wci'k ami Avild, 'Vwn cnflilis left lln' in11ai:-f,- 'riiu niotJifV ami lnv cliild. MAKY MAC'KKAi;. ^V' \ ^' a f'rw snKilviiiiit AVintcr was conic with his liud^-ct of ills. And what should they do A^ith the snow on thi- hills':' .V step l»y the Avindow. a haiul on the door. And AVillie was in with his fe(4 on tlic Hoor : And ere froni her tremor the dame was restored. A parcel Avas laid on tlie top of th<_' Imard. .\ caniiiiill (lakcii >tiiinl : r'T- I'l'diii Moinlay till Mdiiday liaiid ovcvtudk liaml : '■*^ A vast' kept tilt' (lust t'rinii its ((uaiutly-iHrvt'tl t'ac<', Ami it always 1(»()1\('<1 lovingly pcvclit'd in its plac-o. Joe Mills was a ciiiTicr. who uorki'd in a loft; His fonirades di'aid< wliisky. and hhistcivd and sc-ott'od, IV'canst' every eve. when his day's work was (j'er. He turned his face homewards, and pussiMl the bar door. Joe Lore it with patience, n;. W lull 1wi'l\e nmiitlis had passi'il. .loe coiinti'd his hoard, .\iid lai'g-e heaps of silver Averi' spread on tlu' hoard: Jlis wifi' walked to town with her lo\iiiLi- i;-ood man, .Vnd they ])urrhased the eloek whrn this New Year lii'piii. Now his comraili's have left off their laiiiihter and ji'i'r, And soiiir have forsaken their whisky and l»ecr. And it teaches a lesson to all in the land. — Joe's clock which still ticks on the top of the stand. I'EGGY rii ler head. .\nd she hears in the moor-laie' their Inn'.-M- s known Iread; But no voice of her hiisljand floats over the mead, And soon she lo(jks forth on a riderless steed. 42 GLVNT DIUXK. She searcliod in the liollow. she searched on tlie liill, Slie called uii his name 1jy tlie reed-eovered mill ; •She listened ag'ain, as she stood in lier door, But l\o1)l»y came home to his Pegg'y no more ! lie drank at "The Anchor," a-near tlic town liall, Till the owl liad alighted iqxjn the chiu-ch wall : Then he rode on in haste l»y the river's lone shore; lint llohhy came home to his Pegg-y no more ! EUNAWAY JACK. /^ LK'lv, clack, clickity clack, ^f^l Ncdjody cares for Runaway Jack ! ^ With dirty face, and tattered hose, And Loots that show his naked toes, And coat tliat just lialf-hides his Lack : XoLody cares for Emiaway Jack ! liis mother pledgeil their all for gin. And gulped it down in a neighLouring inn ; Then left him sle<'ping in rags and straAV, AVhcn tlic sleet Avas thick, and the air Avas raw, ( 'lick, i-hick. clickity clack, X()L()d\- carts for IJunaway Jack ! lie knew not (rod, he knew not ]ii-ayer : Tlie stars l(jok d(jwn through the frosty air, And the Avinds along the curL-stoues reel. As he roams the streets to Leg or steal. Click, clack, clickity clack, NoLody cares for TJunaAvay Jack ! 0, heed the voice that eclujes loud, And take him from the criminal crtjwd ; Vh' Itrother or sister to him forlcmi. And crime sliall lessen, ami hate, and scorn. And tlie roses of LlessiiiL;- ]ierfiniie your track, For saving the soul id' liunaway Jack. XED S FATE. NED'S FATE. 4o ^ jltS winter and Hturiu-wiiid with niinldc ami roar, (TtP The s<_'a in fierce a^^-ony foams on tlie shore; ^^ "With tlie luind of tlie Miglity tlie li-s are l)owe(l. And tlic Thnuder is walking his ^lalace of clond. It sniitetli the widow and orj^ihan forlorn. It freezes the houseless whose garments are tin-ii, It shaketh the jirison with raeket and iMnit, AVhere Ned is cuutined through a l)eer-l)ra\vling hout. He drank at •• The Firs," till liis lii\-iiii was ,,ii (ire, Fell out willi the landhu'd. .■md raliil llic s(jiure ; l\ushed home in his furv, and Ih'W at his wife, Aud left her laid low })y the side of the knife. ■14 GIAXT DRIXK. T < (-morrow the luiuginau will fasten the uoose, A\ liich Death's fskiuny fing'ers alone can unloose, Ami till' toll of the hell stagp^er fortli on tlie jrloom l-'or poor (Iruiikeii Xed o-one tlic jiitilesf^ sloiii's ill tlie street : He ]i;id fallen aslec]! wliilc 111' dr;iiil< ;il " 'I'lie ]'l..U-]l," .\nd tlie ieiiles liiinj;" from tlie svcamore hoiiiiji. lie ](ut him to lie on some shaving's and rags, And eovered him over with dirtv old Ijags : Tlien he struck his hot forehead with moaiiings and eries, ]?ut little ]jen Bell never opened his eyes. lie attempted to ]iray. luit no words eould lie speak, A\'hile the sleet throiigli the gia.ss-cracks hi.ssed in on his cheek ; And he smote liis raised hands in the night-watches raw l)iit little Ben Bell never stirred on the straAV. The light of the mornings stole in on the Ihxu", And the laughter of childliood was outside the door; A man hrokenheartiMl resolved to he wise, But little Ben Bell never oiieued his eves. J. o 8U8AN S,Vi;i)EAL. (•r would siaivf'ly helieve it was Susan Sardeal, ;Vj With her I(onnet so bruiseil and her shoes down ■^ t(J he.a. Her hair so disJievelled, lier face so o'ereast, And hei- dress like a rag tossed aljout hv the Idast. VUF.T1 8Y.\I()\S. I') Slio once was tin' priili' of IIm' \Illa^<' of TiCC, llcr voifc was as swct-t as tlif si}^li of tin- sfa. And Ik'v eves, for tln'ii- splciidoui'. outvied tlif •i-a/cll*', And lifv fonu was a> litlii- as tlic witln' of tin- dfll. She inaiTicd yoiiii^' Allen, tln' lioasf of his race, Then took to the whisky, and love left the phife : So he sailed to the Indies in (|uest of lost weal. Thrust out of his eouutr}- hv Susaii Hardeal. Now oflF to the pawnshop she slowly doth crawl. With the last pie<'(> of furniture under her shawl : And the very next ste]i will her dotiny seal, — 'I'he ward of the workhouse for Susan Sardeal. vvj:]) sY:\roxs. r, KX n(ttiee(l l-'i-ed Synions, the ehizjcv of Frunie. [} no\\' he passed the inn door on his way to Ids home ; For his Janie and Jean had attractions fctr Fred. Jievond the har parlour with curtains of red. And 'twas sweet, when the scythe of the mower was still, And the nnlkmaid was sino-ing- heside the old null. When rohin was safe in his nest in the tree, To watch him at home with his liahe on his knee. His neio-hhour drank much at "■ The Horses and Wain," And his home was a puddle in sun'~hin(- and rain, l)Ut seeino- huAv l-"red was so cosy and ti'ini. lie stepped liy tin- lieer-hoii-e. and acted like him. And the change was like passin<^ fi'om dryness and deai'lh To a region Avhere roses perfume the green earth : His wife and his -lit foloiii- <^li)\vs I Enle^t liiidt' .loH j^ood luorniug", ami gav<' liiiii a voso, Whir-]i 111' k('])t ill his liaiid. as Ik^ vf-clffl on liis way, And a tliDUsaiid in'\v thdiiglits tilU-d liis spirit tliat day. He gave up his pipe at "The Yoke and the Steeds," A\'ent into his g-arflen and pnUed up thf weeds, ]{fplantt'd the honh^rs, made all tliinji'S (piitf- trim, And liis ^\•it^■ ami his children exulted -witli liim. Should von pass hy his eot on the side of tlie moor, A si"-ht"of his o-iivdcn will cheer you, I'm sure. The rose from iiis nciu-lilmur liad caused liim to tliink : And thi- wav to success was his stopi-ixo t][i: luaxic. •TAriv WTT.SOX AXT) r.o?,. '^ \CK A\'ilson and IJoh were two l.ouncers at hraj^-, ^ 4> Thev drank the moon doAvn at tlie sipi of •■ Tlie ^' ' Staff :" 'ft Tlu'ir pockets ^\ere empty, the landlord Avas sure, And so lie dismissed them, and bolted the door. Thev rolled on together, still widening their track. Now up to the liedges, now lioh ag-ainst Jack, Now Jack against Tvob, and vowing tlm while Tliat tlif'ir matcli was not found in tlu- whoh- British Isle. A r-loud of dcpp darkness rose solemnly strong, And then tlic great thunder went crashing along : They fell on tlieir knees 'mid the puddles and stones, And roared till the echo*-^ had answered their groans, llow the\ r( iiciicd their own doors is a niysterj' quite : Some sav a strange heing came out of the night. But this is well known from the creek to the crag- Jack AVilsou and lioh were no more at " The Stag'." LITTLE MEG M.^JN'D. 49 MAKTHA MAYNINE. ^ €,y[''^y'U() lives in tliat liuu.se?" said a traveller C c ^^ :"' ^\.^ tliov met l)v the oak on the side of the iiill, AVhile the sun on the farm and the forest did shine, " 0, that is the dwellinj."- of Martha Mayuiue." He (|uiekened his pa(;e, and was soon hy the stile, When he paused on his hawthorn to listen awhile ; And a voice which he knew seemed to come on the breeze, And then lie went forth to the house by the trees. He paced up the garden, he dashed through the door. His bundle fell oft' on the newly-brushed floor, He uttered no word, till his two anus entwine The half-frightened form of his Mai'tha Maynine. The tankard A\as broug-ht, with a hole in its edge, Wliich he s]K)iled long ag(j ^\•hen he first took the pledge ; And he filled it with gold he had earned in the mine, Which he gave with a kiss to his Mai-tha Maynine. LITTLE MEG MAXl). ^UT, on in the sleet-storm crept little Meg Maud, And a rather small parcel she held in her hand ; 'Twas her mother's last dress, who luid sent her away To pawn it for gin on that terrible day. Ilef ))oniiet A\as gone, and Ikt soft niarriage-sliaw 1. Tile clock, and tin' pictures wliicli liung on llie wall. Her husband's best suit, his watch, and his chain, And even his buckles, his glasses, and lane. He died brokenhearted when winter was wild, "NVitli his hand in the palm of his sorrowful child : And his last words were prayers feu- his liltje Meg Maud, That Jesus would carry lier (jver the laml. bo GiAXT liKlNlf. Her sad drunken motlier niorf brutal became; Meg- prayed for her oft in tlu' fag-g'ot's faint flame. Now slie waits for tlie Itottb' 1>esid<^ tin- last brand, But she never again saw her little Meg- Mand. JEEEMY JEEE. ^y^l^ drove a tish-eurt from the cove to the town ; (4r-L His trousers were patched, and his jacket was "^"^ brown, And he oft had a very short pipe in his mouth, Should pony be turned to the north or the south. It was plain to be seen that Jeremy Jeer AVas too fond of brandy, was too fond of beer. At the inns by the roadside he reiue 1 up his nag, (So scarcely a copper was kept in his l)ag. ^Vnd as he g-rew ohler whh burdens and blows, He carried a stick, and u very red nose ; And his wife cried the tish in a monotone clear, As she walked by tlu' cart of her Jeremy Jeer. Fi'om his }iipe ami lus glass lie never would part. Till lit^ swallow€'d and smoked olf his pony and eart. Now his Avife creeps away through iLe darkness severe To the wards of tlu' workhouse with Jeremv Jeer. TIMOTHY TEEL. •^^.T Avas sad, very sad for Timothy Teel, 'i AVitli his waistcoat so worn, and his hose out at heel, '"^' And 'twa.-« plain to the wliole of ilie dAvellers of Doo That sorrow was tracking him all the way through. ]le man-ied his Maggie oni' midsunuuer day. Hi his l)reeches of blue, and liis ja<> with her terril)le tongue, That he \\i>lied lii.s cake doiigli ere tlie the tliird moon was young. NANCY NACOO. 51 The maul at t]w )ir(l in the bu^sll, and th(; ci-ow on tlve tree, Tlie ass at the thistle, tlie hog- at his meal, iSeeniod Imrdcncd witli })ity I'or Timothy Teel. So she dv(»ve him to drink hy tlie i)ublican's log. And vowed that her treatment was worse tlian a dog : But had sl\e omitli'd to s(|ua1>ltle and s(jueah Her honi(! would h<; happy with Timothy Teel. ZEBEDEE ZOG. said Zebedee Zog. he Gamekeeper's I ^ Y ^J^^V^^^ii g'O THERE," said Zeb Q')n) 'vl) Tlie house T>or<' tlie sign of " T IX ^ J).,g." And lu' Avhistled and sang as he passed by tln^ door. And walked lo his newly-built house on the moor. His visidii was keen, and his reason was clear, And strong was his arm, though he never touched l»eer. Or smoked a long pipe o'er his tumbler of grog, In the house with the sign of "The Gamekeeper's L)og." O. better be out in the darkness and sleet. When the great winds are rolling along the cold street, Or 2)l_)dng the oar in ii motionless fog, I'han swallow large draughtsat " The Gamekeeper's Dog." No man ever i-ose to tlie magisti*ate's chair. Unless he eouhl say, '"I never go there." But loved his own household, like Zeb(>df>e Zog, And kept (|uite away from "The Gamekeeper's Dog." NANCY NAC'GU. ^■i 4\:/"}\ Elf^T to the ocean," sighed Nancy Nac(jo, iJo) \ V " '^'^^'' ^'J^^'i*^ i'^ ^'^^'' I'hilip when coming to woo, t C (\^^ '£]^^,, sound is like I'liilii) when idoui'-liin'i- tli<' lilip mead, i l:i' sound is li]<(' I'liilip avIhh sewing the srcd." 52 GIANT BKIXK. How happy tlu'V lived in tlieir cot Ijy tlie laut", ]5efore lie Avas bound witk the Giant's strong eliain ! Then he Avavered, and staggered, and ceased to Ite true To the fireside allurements of Nancy Nacoo. lie drank with the landlord one keen frosty niglit, AVhen tlie sn\ l)egan. C L'-^^y- "And .smoke mv new jiipe licrc — 'twill malce thee ii man." And he made jiim di'ink porter belaud tin- iiiu door. And smoke till his little Ijoy fell on the lloor. And Freddy was l)orn only five years ago : What a sin for his father to train him up so I l?ut it made liini so ill that he nev<'r di'aiik more, AVitli J-Jobbv. his father, bcjiind t1ie inn door. Fi'om his bed near tin* ro(jf on the Lord he would call ; And he learnt how to read fntm a card on the waU. Though hungry and cold, little Freddy -would share His crust and his cup with his sister Renai'e. 54 OLANT DKINK. Aud uuw lif's ;i man, 'nitli ti liuvis<^ of ]us own, AVith. daiigliters and sons who are handsomely ^rown, "With a coat on liis hack, a li"Hs. tiiltfrfd. NVcvp wdiii tu ciini her lin^itil : Slic ciuiif linmc wt't ;niil wcnry ; lu tlivcH (lays she was dead. A fold, with iiitlanunatitjii, Had luirrii'd licv away. And now slip is a chcrnli WhM'c liTing- watHVs play. TTow arc the nii^-hty fallon ! How arf the weak hej^-uilnd ! llow strong- drink robs the father Of love for wife or eJiild : Shattering dornestie concord, As if l»y furies hiirle-v ^^^ -'^« y ^ y^ ■ 0\A) EOBTN. TJ) I^o1)iu was a woodiiiau strong As ever ffllcd au oak, A 11 (1 n ot a trunk in all the woods Could stand his sturdy stroke. 'T w a s won- drous how the (h i J) s would fly. E'en from the hardest tree, As oft he ans- wered echo hack, '' Peace is the text for me. " Peace in the lint, })eace in the hall, Peace in the field and fold, Peace Avhere tlu^ great ships come And merchants strive for gold. Peace at the firesides of the land, Where infant ringlets nod, And prayers ascend from mothers' Peace in the Church of God. and knee; f'O BESS BLEW. ■) ( "IVacf 111 till' luniililcst cot ol' vccd. I't'iiic ill ilic uuinsioii stroll"^', I'rarc wlicrc llic I'ustliiit^' roynl rolifs 'I'liiuimli i;iiy liiills s\\c(']( nloiiji'. I'l'iUr oil the liiir(|Uc-(!((k luir ;illi| ilt'l. In pvcrv t'iicfory's IkiuikI, As far as li<)]it and lovt- i-aii I'cacli, ( )v living- man is found. " TliP solfiun lifavcns distiiutly tcacli That war and Avastc arc Avroni>' ; Tlio moon and stars in liarmony l"'or i'Yi'v roll alon<;' : And tlioucli the liglitnings cleave the air. And thunders roar above, Thev are His messeuoers of oTaop, All wiuged with h^•avenly lov ■e '• The o-veeu leaves -whisperiu^' in the \\ood. The soft winds, summer-shod. The river in its winding' course, Proclaim the truth of Grod ; — That slaughter is the sap of sin. From death's forbidden tree, Which none pursiie who follow ("hi-ist. 1*KA(K is the text for me." r.E8S BLP]W. UrriHEEE'S a man at the door." said little Bess Blew, «!> '• Tie's lame, and disfigured, and looking f(jr '^-^ you ; TTe would not coine in. Go, mother, and see ; 1 wonder whoever the stranger can he"'" She stood by the dresser, and thought of the time AVhen her father went off in the Hush of his prime, AVith a sword by his side, and a gun in his liand, To follow the army, and fight with liis band. 58 (tIANT "vvau. They pvoiuispd him inufh in the vray of rcimwn. — A luantle of glory, and stars in liis i-rown : Bxit slie could Hot l)clieve very much the}- had said, Au'l she woniliTcd sometimes if her father were dead. Stran;^!' -uund> uitMt hi-r ears with a sudden surprise ; 'riii'vc"s liuii'^iu^- Mild Ivissino- and wi])ing- of eyes : And soon to lli(' neck of her father she tiew. For he liad no ai-ms to lift little l-iess ]^)le\v. EUGENE. ■ jt' ^nST on the mountain, a wail on the air, l\' A thunder of cannon — the war-hird is there. e*t. lii> coat \\a-> in I'aj^s. Tlis riip-tla])piiij;' trousri's were m)thin«>' l)iit jugs ; Yet tliere he stodcl lookiuir, -wliicli raiser! her ahirms, 80 that the straw-ltiiiulle lialt'-t'eil from lier arms. He stripped off a handage -wliich (•ov('rf' his 'ramson 'Purneat. Hut one ot' his h'lis had hcen lost in thi' ti<;lit. And liis rii.;li1 hand was sliattered wiu'ii storniiny a lieiglit, And altliouti'ii thi'V mari'ii-d. as it was most meet. She spun all lu'i' lit'etinie, poor Tamson TurnHat. AVTDOW WAMIASE. "rrl IIF.IJK'S one liuhta-l.urnint^lH'iieath the tall tree. C*tr And that is my mother awaiting- tor me : ^ if my ]e<^- wt-re not <^'one 1 would run to the door. And In less than a minute wmdd kiss In-r (Oice more. "My cruteh keeps me hack, though T will not despair. Vitv soon in mneh weakness her hoy will be there ; But altered, liow altered, hy huUet and hraud. Since she led her own .Tamil- to cliurch hy the haml. "J'll pee[i through the window. <) what do I see"' My niothei- is kneeling and praying for me! Now knock with my stnmp. ••('ome in. it you please." "Is this, ma'am, the dwelling of \Vido^\ NVaneasey" She gazed on her .lamie, eame lu-ai-. and more near, Then fell on his shoulder, and sohbed in liis ear. Brought fiu'th her white loaf, her lia<'on ami cheese : And still he's dependant on ^\'idow W'uneuse, CO OTAXT WAR. TVry. GTJEATXESS. Y*Y^riT"E gToatness lietli not in lands, (_.''T- ( )r castles by tlio sea, '-'^ In nitTchant shijjs that plough the waves, Or birth or peJig-ree. Its wealth is nobleness of soul, In every time and place, Where mercy strives to mitigate The evils of our race. T]\e man wlio ftn-ds his brother-man, And dares not let him die, Enjoys a manliness of mind That riches cannot buy. And he who heals an(jther's smart. Or be he iJick or Dan. In frock of frieze, or clotli of gold, Is lvin cliiu. "r^ Tin* highest immI of hiniiau life Is to obe}' J lis will, Increase the sum of liappiness. And lessen earthly ill. And he enhances this world's joys \\'li<» spreads the cottage board AN'ith milk and honey from the Avild, And strives to change the sword. (), truthfid tongues shall bless his name, In city-court aiul glade. AVlio lalioiirs to restore the wreck That Avasting woe hath made. And higher than the warrior's dower, Thougli he rich realms may win. Is his who in the strength of God .Shall turn a soul from sin. llEL.VNDA. fi I 8AMMY SAKOUL. U"^X^TIO>SE liaiid is in iiiiiic ? " said Saiiniiy ^v/-led in the tiglil. AN'hcr*.' lie swiftly jjerished In the lierce iittaek : And their next epistle Pxii'i' a sea] lit' lihi'-k. riilLLlH FAKKULL). U'^f'rxAlT jiatieiitly. l-'aiiny." said I'liillis FaimM, As down \\('nr tlie >ini in a sjilcndonr ol' j-(dd. And the sea. ami tlie river, and pine-dump above, And purplf^ liorizon were hathing in love. ■ NVait jiatiently. Fanny." 'Twas easy to say; ]>nt lu-r clothes at that instant Avere dipped in tlie tray. .Viid lliese Avere lier all : s(i s]ie turned on her side, To lit- on tlic hcd till ]i:iy. - ^-l lit- wore a sou'wester, and wetted liis clay, ^ He hail l)ut one sou, whose pet uauie was Bill. And hf Wfiit for a soldier to uiaugle and kill. One soft siiiiiiiiir day, when his c(»rks wen- atloat, .Toe Marks saw a man eoniiuo- out in a l)oat, Who told him a stranyer, witli liinidlc and stiek. AVas waiting- to see him, and badi' him he (jiiiik. Joe turned the Ixiat's prow, and rowed Itaik to tli<' sli(ir«^ And wli(» shoidd he there sitting- down in his door. With a g-ash in his forehead, ami looking so ill. An betler all the great globe round, On continent and sea, In desert vast, or lonely isle, Where l)lack or white may be. T<» hang- aloft the sword for show. In cot or priucelx hall. Aii'l settle human feuds by llioug-ht, Than by the cannon bull. 6i GIXST WAPu. "For feuds Mill rise while self remains AVitliin the hiuuan hreast. And proud amljiti(ju stirs tlie so ill AVith waves of wild unrest. But 8till I know it must he so, If force he g-reat or small, 'Tis hetter settle feuds hy thought, Than hy the cannon hall. "If this were done, -what lives were sj)ared ? What festering- wounds were healed? "What tracks made desolate and hare AVoidd milk and honey yield? How would the .song of plenty swell By shed and city-wall ? 'Tis hetter settle feuds l»y thought, Than hv the cannon hall. I am l)iit poor in this world's goods. In horses, sheep, and kine ; Xo ships that sail upon the sea From land to land are mine. But love is hetter far than gold, AVliich prompts my earnest caU, Tis hetter settle feuds ^>y thought Than h}' the cannon hall. "My days are in the fading time, AVlu'ii distant lights grow dim, AVIk'U unseen shapes are on the hiUs, Or hy the fountain's rim. But wliile I live this truth I'll give, In t'fiith to one and all, — Tis Ijctler settle feuds hy thought, Than hy the cannon hall." JEr>EMIAIT nOAK. <;.') C'AEOLTNE FYLE. h'(;AI\ to tliP door wont Oavolhic Fyli-, /_» And Avatclicil till tlii> ])<)stin;ni liiid ]ia^- Hail on l)eard and hutt, pound flies the precious seed. And higher than the thresher's head Is tossed the rustlino- reed. 66 GIANT WAl!. 6reat drops of sweat stand ou hlh brow, And trickle to his chin, As with a trumpet voice he shouts, "War is the whelp of sin." His onl}- daiighter, Izaroph, Became a soldier's bride ; And when he fell at the redoiibt, She broke her heart and died. Then blame him not that thus he makes The precious gi-ain to spin, And shouts amid his strong flail-strokes. "War is the whelp of sin." Who knows what pictures throng liis brain, As he stands toiling there? The gathering hosts, the charge, the slain, The shi-iek of ^^-ild despair ; A loving home, a loving life Lost in the dreadful din ! And shouts he mid his strong flail-strokes, "War is the whelp of sin." No other words he rarely speaks Besidi' the old b;iniflf)or, With shirt-sleeves o'er his ell^ows tucked. Strong .Ti'remiah H>; of orcat citifs laid low, Ho'rl tell theui 'twas l)etter to harrow and hoo. If thi'V w])okt' of the laurels thf slayer \\oul siufnl wlieu the world was rude. •r Aud rough each prickly dale, '- AVheu the wild beasts, and wilder men Iioamed thi'iuigh the tangled vale, To raise aloft the toreh of war, AjuI brotlier brother slay, In all the rage of igmn'auee ; But how much worse to-day ? The liglit of truth liames brightly now. From Christian land to hind, -Vnd voices speak in Avisdom's ear. That love can uuderstantl. From dingles deep, aud hollows still, Aud h)fty heights tliey call, •' Rail not on him who rails on thee, But bles.x and pray for all." This utterance feU from His pure lips. AV^io was of lowly birth. When angels on the star-beams sang Peace to the wannng earth. 68 (ii.vNi' WAi;. On, uu it SAvells with silvery soimcl Across tliis luig-lity ball ; " Eail not on him avIio rails on thee, But bless and pray for all." The statesman lists this sonnd to hear. The ni(jwut bless and pray for all." THE SOLDIEirs lIorsKHOLT). <<®j#''^'yE will ii,-o tog(4her Wvj/t' To the Union gate, •* ^- Then we part asnnder. Each one to his fate. In the cell of shadows. In the ward of gloom ; And our next removal Is the lonely toml). •' If disputes were settled In a A\iser way. We should have our cottage, And our fann to-day. IXETCHtK JACKSOA. 0!l Jiut }uiir father fnitei'ed. Anued, uud fought, aud full ; And we liavo no refuge, Save the Union cell! '' lint our God is with U6, He will hear our pi'ayer In the Union darkness; AVo will seek Him there." Then they kissed each other O'er and o'er again. AVlien will men be wiser? AMieu will will mercy reigu ":' FLETCHER JACKSON. SOUND eame through the open door, u AVhere Fletcher Jackson la}- A ciipi^le on his own poor bed, AVitli one foot torn away. Beside him sat his sickly Avife, Sewing a garment's hem, And Charlie played upon the Hoor, And sometimes spoke to them. The soldier glanced across the room With an unsteady gaze. As if hi! saw grim shapes of gloom Within the l)attle'.s haze : And then a tear stole from his rye, His one hand wiped away, As he beheld, at the bed's foot, His little bov at plav. Slowly he spoke, as if in pain, Or criished with cruel Aveight : ''Yes, \vif<'. T see it more and more Tiif ills of life iivi' Linat. 70 (iIA2yT WAll. And wruugs will rise to be redressed. And strife Mill strife assail : JJut -wliy still strive to settle it AVitli swords and iron liail ? "As I lay Ijloeding on the field, Methought un angel eame : — A crcj^n of g a i)asty as long as your shoe ; But he never drank ln-er in the cold or the heat. And wliispered that war was a very gri-at cheat. JOHANV KAY. 71 Tf kings livecd tlic quiUTols, thou it was l)iit right That kings slioiild g wave Upon llie rampart's head. A ^VlNIl'ltKl) UATE. is If men were -wise, tliey'fl oi)c tlnir i'mv^ To God's eternal lore. And gladly cease to figJit. nnv Irai'u The ai*t of war no more. The metal would not form the gun Beneath tlu^ moulder's luind. Nor would the worknuin swell tlie stores Of Ijulh't or i>f hrand. If men were Avise, the olive-leaf Wouhl show the gentle dove. And every altered battle-ship Be fraught with stores of h)ve. The wreck and waste and carnage foul. The huge disasters dire, From scorching flame and crashing steel, AVoidd utterly expire. If men were Avise, no martial hlade In soldier-hand woidd gleam. But Peace AA'oidd carol in her Ijowcv By lake and gentle streani : The flowers of Paradise would hloom lu every eai"thly home, And trees of righteousness abound. nie on like a thief in the night. '' All this is the issue of parting with Fred. And I think very often any Loj- must be dead. But I wonder who that is down there by the gate ? " And soon there Avcro kisses for Winifred Date. AVILLIE AND EMMA. (■M^BOVE them rang the sky -lark's song, i'r\> Afar tlu' huntsman's horn, '*^^ Beneath them shone the flowers of June, Around them waved the corn. LoA-e filled tlieir young lives to tht^ brim AVith purest earthl}- bliss, As by the wooden stile they stopped To give the farewell kiss. A blackbird from the neighbouring hedge 8ang snatches for the twain, iVnd squirrels climbed the leafy trees, Then sought their nest again. White sea-birds soared from creek to creek, O'er ocean's blue abyss, As liy the Avoodeii stile tluy stopped To give the farewell kiss. And then they parted, where the brook Euus clearest through the grass, With many a love-conveying look, Ere out of sight they pass: S]ie to her widowed mother's house, Within the vah' hard by, 'J'o watch the owes, and tend the cows; lie to the wars to ive the farewell kiss. ANNA POPE. V"YlJil'' postman walked to pinna's house, OT^^ Jnst when the Avar was o'er : '^**^ She saw him coming' up the lani', And hastened to her door. He placed the letter in her hand. Whether for woe or Aveal : She turned it I'ound, and round ag-ain, But dared not hreak tlie seal. It seemed to her as if it spoke With a peculiar smart ; Aud something- like a dagger cut Its Ava}' to Anna's heart. ^Vud Mheu they read the sheet at la.- 1, It ga\'e them keenest pain To knoAr her faithful 17ol)ert lav Among the silent slain. She shri(^ked not. swooned not, shed no tear, She breathed no Avords of pra}'er, Or wrung- her hands, or smote her l)reast, Or Avildly toi-e her hair : But Avith a lo(dv that seldom comics Into the human face, She stood hefore llicm. nmtioidcss, And gazed on (>mpty space. 7fi GIA^"i WAR. And still tliose linos are nn \wv Ijrow, No kimlnt'ss can eii'ace. That mystery dazzles in lier eye, That look is on her face. .Vnd though long j-ears have passed away, Her features have not stirred From the dread hhink of nothingness, Nor does she speak a word. () cnicl War, what hast tliou done I "What dost th(ju do to-ilay '. ]fo\v many ills for ever crowd Thy stt^rile sin-staiued way I () when Avill kings and counsellors Obey the writttni Word, And luirl the hlades of death away, And how before the Lord! i']':tee metheew^ell. U^;'LL be gone to tli^ town," Peter Metherwell said, ^i' " Perhaps I shall hear something mor<^ (jf our Ned. -■^ His spade in the meadow is sticking up yet. And the row (jf ])otatoes is only half-set. " If tht'v settled dis})utes without caimoii and bull. The gathering of armies, the trumpeter's cull, The plunging of blades, and the hurling vi lead, I shovdd not be ott now in search of our Ned. A\ hat arc oxt-u, nr asses, or shecji nu tlic uiooi'. The cow at the milk-pail, the vine at the d(^or ; Tlie horse, and the lieifer, so sleek and A\ell fed. (Jr the gold in the cotfer, couii)ared with our Ned ':' "I would rathi'i" have him than the love of the s(£uire. Or houses, or lands, or the grandt^st attire. ]>iit awav 1o tlif \\iiv> lie has hurrif^ he wonndi'd wlifii linnilvc(U were slain. He lia:vcy. liut now a >hort sheet was at liand Id explain That they niiji'ht (^xpect him tu-morrow l>y ti'aiii ; And so in excitement stood Jonathan lUock On the hroad railway platform to welcome his .lock. AVlth a pntf an~v y'N. W X V >'N. •-v >">. >^x y>.. y^ ^■'^ . ANTHONY BUEP. LL (liiy lie liad rid- (Imi tlivou^li long' laiif's juul rough, T>y (liar valh^y- stri^aiu 1 ft a n d .storm-ljpaten hhifi'; And now, with the reed of his cottage in view, Ilf whistled a tnne which from 1)oy- hood he IviiHW. He flourished no whip, and he .sported no spur, Nor twitched at tlie liridli'. did An- thony lUirr : l)ut wliistled and sang-, never stink- ing a hlow, ■' Tis kindness, tis kindness tliat makes mv horse go. P.v ,.. castle and earn, in his homeward careei-, oil. on AVf-nt the horse with a chirp and a cheer, AVliile Aiithonv sang by the blossoming sloe, "Tis kindness! tis kindness that makes my horse go." ROBINSON GRAY. 81 And so it is ovor M'itli Antlioiiy T>iirr. Who usotli no whip, and wlio spoi-tctli no s])ur, In snmniPi', in winter, in snnshine, or snow, Tis kindness, tis kindness tliat makes liis liorse o-o. MOLT.Y, TTTE COCKLE SELLET?. pIE niglit was quite dark, and the hedges were higli, G%^ The lono- lanes were famous for turning' awry, ''**^ Nor coukl sht^ make out, as she trudged l)y his side, The hedges or ditches or Neddy's sleek hide. She had })een to the nuirket with cockles to sell. And ^[olly had traded remarkahly well ; She had bread in her panniers, with other good stutt', And, carefully folded, her packet of snuff. But to find her way further 'twas vain, it was vain ! And she told Neddy so as she grasped at the rein, And hade him go carefidly homeward at will. And Axalked hy his side over \alley and liill. And soon she stood up liy the gate of tlie 3'ard, AVhich in less than a moment she gladly unbarred : And ^Nfolly declared, as she gave him his grass, No Neddy Ju-r Nedd}' coidd ever surpass. EORINSON (tEAY. ""TTfTiY gentleness, Adam," said Eobinson Gray, GT) ' As liis ponv he wliipped in an over-crammed ^' dray ; ' "Try gentleness, Adam : tis stronger than kicks, Or jei'ks at tlu^ bridle, or whip-cord, or sticks. 82 KIXDXESS TO AJXIMALS. "I have lieard my old granny, now gone to her rest, 8ay how it has softened the savage's breast, And conquered the lion on each side the line : Try gentleness, Adam; its power is Divine. "Try gentleness, Adam; tis better than scowls, Or roaring, or rating, or ravenous growls ; These come from beneath, that comes from above: Try gentleness, Adam, the essence of love." And Adam obeyed his sage neighbour's advice, Patted pony's sleek neck, and was home in a trice. And having discovered this secret of power, He never used whip-cord from that very hour. A MAN T KNEW.'-' E wore no chanis, or diamond rings. Or ornaments of gold ; No vestments of superior make His manly form enfold : And yet his soul was like a star In heaven's blue tields apart ; And love for man and bird and beast Filled up his tender heart. He lived among the ferns and moss. The laurel, box, and pine, Where limpid rills went mui-muring on In many a silvery line ; And rose-trees budcled aU the year, And honeysuckles spread. And mystic idyls filled the firs And elm-boughs overhead. The wanderer never called in vain, "Who with his scrip did roam ; And peer and peasant sat witliin His hospitable home. ABSALOM WAIT. 83 The cony scarcely turned aside To hear his quiet pace. And tlie brown liare rose lazily And slf)wly left its place. l>ut chit'f he loved the woodland birds, "Which sought him at his beck, Perched on his shoulder as he walked, And fluttered to his neck. The robin left his mossy nest Beneath the bursting hips, And picked, with trusting sliining eyes. The bread-crimibs from his lips. They followed him from tree to tree, AVhere'er his footsteps led. They hopped around his quiet rooms, They perched upon his bed. Through door and window in they came, From morn till evening's close, Allured by human tenderness. And sang liim to repose. If he sat reading in his chair, They came with knowing look, And chirped their welcomes sit his feet, Or hopped around his book. And so I praise his conquests more Than if a host he slew, And kno\\- his love was linked with lieaven — The gentle man I knew. * Joshua Fox, Esq., Tregedna. ABS.a.OM AVAIT. "''SJ, ILL nobody own tliee," said Absahnn "Wait ^SjT'Wi To a poor limping watch-dog just outside •- - ' the gate, All matted witli mud from his paws to his crown, AVitli his eyelids and ears an«l his tail hanging down. 84 KINDNESS TO ^VMMALS. And he looked like a dopr, as the noi-th wind hlew bleak, "VVho had scarcely a Lone or a meal for a week. So he X'atted him kindly, with musical tone, And gave him his supper, and made him his own. And how fond gTew the watch-dog- of Absalom AVait! He would lie at his feet by the side of the grate, He would follow his eye, would obey his command, And was up on his legs at the beck of his hand. He once lost his way in the midst of the moor ; His dog led him home to the step of his door. True kindness will ever true kindness create, And the doo- saved the life of Absahmi Wait.. ALICE WAY:\r()NT. -.J; ^ you know Alice Waymont who lives up the glen ? She keeps a pet goat in a very small pen, AYliich follows the spinster to market and shop. Well-pleased at tlie corners the herbage to crop. It will run at her call with a bound and a bleat. And A\ hen she is knitting will lie at her feet ; And SI 'ems very happy to have her in sight, And will oft at' tlie door lick her hand with delight. Twas given to Alice a kid on the earn. For its motlier had died tlirougli the fall of a barn; So she nursed it with care at tlie head of the creek, And noAV she is milking it all through the week. How lovely is kindness in whatever clan. In the beasts of the field or the bosom of man; How it glows with the beauty of angels above, And links the great Avcn-hl in a cablp of love ', XEl.L MOSS 85 WATTA' ALLUAF. ii'^^AE here on my ja(;lvet," said Watty Allmii, nr '*Aiul move not a pef? from tho place till I ""^^ come." And down on tlit- sea-sand liis faitlit'ul dog' lay, AVliili' he cut tlie 1)ulrus]u's t'ai-tlier away. The noontide came swnftly, his worlc illled liis hrain, The great waves rolled iiearer, and nearer again : The dog was forgotten mid bundles and hlows, Althougli the gi-eat sea-water rundded and rose. A bark smote his ear as he fastened the hand : And there was his dog by his coat on the sand , AVith the sea all around, which no barrier could check, And the water already Avas up to his neck. He spoke — and liis dog was again at his side, And his jacket soon tVdlowed, borne in by the tide: But had he not called from a rock ou the coast. His faitliful old dog would have died at his post. NELL MOSS. ;r$ HE sat by the door 'neath the s^'camore tree, ^VA And the kitten was lying asleep on her knee. *^ They grew up together in loving delight. And she fed her each morning, and screened her at night. How kind was Xell Moss to her dear little cat I She would give her her milk at the end of tlie mat, And charge her in no wise to injure the bird, And tell her such stories as never were heard. Puss placed her soft paws in Xell's fat little hand, Or played with the reel as it rolled from the stand; She would follow lier out, and follow her in. A\'itli IALS, AMien year> Lad passed Ly on this chaiii^-eable earth, And another liright Nell was the gem of her hearth, The same law of kindness was taught on her knee Whicli the kitten had felt neath the sycamore tree. ZEE KNIGHT. ]g7r|HE sturm reached its highest — a ship was ashore : C'tp Some said it had never blown wilder before ; ®*^ The foam was whirled over the highest sea-bank, As a dog came to land on the end of a plank. Zeb Knight took him home to his house on the steep — For his master and mates were gone down in the deep — And he fed him and petted him to the month's end, And the dog seemed to know what he owed to his friend. Then Zeb Knight fell iU, when the frost was so keen, And the snow lay in di-ifts on the common and green, And his food was all gone from the cupboard and crock, And no one came near to his house on the rock. But the dog brought him bread without sign or request, And licked his thin hand, and lay down on liis breast. But no one can tell where he gained such a stock As to save from starvation Zeb Knight on the rock. WEATHEESTON SAGE. |VN a nail in a wall hung a lark in a cage, AVhich was owned by a man named AVeatherston •ii ^^^' .Sage,_ A book -loving biped, a c(jbbler b}- trade. Who lived mid liis lasts witli his one little maid. 'Twas late in the autumn, and stonny, with sleet, When the lark tlmmgli the window Hew in at his feet. Though wounded, be fed it until it grew strong And sweetly repaid him with Avarble and teong. KITTY con:. 87 As he sat on his stuol of hard forest-jjiuc, It sang o'or his head to the rush of his twine ; And the fields and the lio\Aers and tlie cdear waterfalls "Were with liini ag-ain mid liis lapstone and awls. And oft he mused thus Avith Iiis mtjtherloss dove. — '' God sent me the lark as a token of love. The earth is the Lord's, with what'er it contains, And kindness retui'ns with large measure of gains." KITTY COPE. U|7r|IIE>SE leaves are your own, my pet Crumple, mj' GTP queen ! ^^^ I have saved them for 3-011 in a pan by the screen. Kitty Cope used to throw them away on the heap. And she told me your j-ield was not worthy the keep. "She never talked to you as I do, I'm sure, And ffave vcni tlie tub bv vour own outhouse door, And stroked down your sides with her own loving hand, "While your cud you were chewing, just as you now stand ? "You are the best Crumple that ever had liorns ; And wliat a sleek neck .your plump Ijody adorns! Kitt}- Cope never cared for your aspect forlorn : Now my pail you half-till eveiy eve b}' the thorn. ''This comes of my kindness — I say it myself. And now you shall have the small plot to yourself, "Where the clover is fresh, and tlie grasses are sweet, And a clear running brooklet is close to j-our feet." 88 KINDNESS TO .iNlilALS. AVILLEY AM) THE AVHIP ^N iJic liill stood tlu! liorsc with a cartfull of slate, >^' And lie panted to pull snch a very liufi;e weight. "^^ " Wliip liini u})," said a man with a s^iining high hat : "0 no, !sir," cried AVilley, ^'I never do that." So he }>atted his .sides, and stroked do^\•n his mane, And talked in his ears in a confident .strain, Put his arm round the neck of his hard-working steed, Then gave him an apple, and Lade him proceed. Could you look in the tsye of that horse (m the road, As his ap})le he munched neatli the over-filled load. You woiild see such a glow of delight in his face As should teach the whip-wielder a lesson of grace. With a chirp ho went on up the toilsome a.scent. And. his hoofs cut a mark in the road as he went, And the summit -n-as reached witliout stumble or slip. Hurrah for the driver who wields not a whip ! DAVID HAELOW. " ^?lYn) ANG, hang go tlie guns at the head (jf the moor ! "^Q The Maker of all things is angry, I'm sure, "^^^^ When men to a practice so sinful resort As to shoot, in sheer recklessness, pigeons for .sport. " See, Luntow, there's one rolling on through the air, And 'tis coming this ^ny Ijy tlie firs over there. Poor thing ! it is Axouiided severely, I see." And it fiuttered and fell by the mulberry tree. Then they went through the gat cAvay, and David Harlow Put the bird in the hand of his daughter Luntow. Its eyelids Avere closed, thougli its heart fluttered still, Aud blood stained its featliers and beautiful bill. GOD MADK THE UIKDS. 89 Alul tli()U<;-li it revived ami would hop to tin' doov, It never could fly thr(»u<^-li the air any luoi-e. And I)avid averred at his pl()u<^-h and his hook, Tluit this cruelty God would record in His hook. GOD HADE THE BIEDS. [•] man, who mostly mercn' finds. Extends it to his beast." EXODUS VANE. eN a log by the spring in a Devonshire lane, 5 With a cur by his side, sat Exodus Vane ; And forlornly he looked in that fay-haunted place, A boy of twelve summers witli grief on his face. His father was dead, and his mother was ill : She lived in a cot b}' tlie side of tlie rill. He had passed tlie long day in hunger and pain. AVith few looks of pity for Exodus Vane. A piece of stale liread was his meal on the log. The half of which Exodus gave to liis dog ; And the face of the cur with true gratitude beamed. And his eye with the sunlight of thankfulness gleamed. God opened the heart of the V)oy on the log To share his last crust with tlie famisliing dog. And I solemnly ask whether Exodus Vane Was not serving the Lord in the Devonshire laue? 98 KINDNESS TO ANIMALS. JOB TEEAVILTON. HEOUGH tlie old trees around the house The wind roared more and more, AYlien in the darkness and tlie sleet A knock was on the door : And Job Trewilton opened it, And asked the traveller in, Who wore a great coat buttoned tight, And reaching to his chin. A large dog followed at his heels, Then by the wood-hole lay ; And Job produced his eggs and ham. And bade the traveller stay. For still the strong winds higher rose. And fiercely thundered by, And ocean lifted up his voice, And lightnings rent the sky. And when the midnight hour arrived, Within the dreadful roar. Two men, with weapons in their hands, Burst through the broken door. They saw the dog, and strove to fly Back in the furious blast. But he was at them faithfully. And they were pinioned fast. How thankful Job Trewilton felt, Amid the fearful din. That he on that eventful night Had let the traveller in I And oft he whispered, while_ his words AVith solemn sighs were rife. That God had sent, in storm and sleet, The dog to save his life. And who can doubt that it was so? The raven of the glen Brought bread and flesh to him of old, Who lived apart from men. MATTY MC COOL. 99 Foi- oft lie iisos basest things To humblti erring man, T(j spread tlie knowledge (jf Ilis power, And work His wondrous plan. THE BOY AND THE DOVE. C^wr GOTHIC window in the thatch, Where sparnjws through the spring-time hatch A few feet only o'er the latch ! Here oft a sick ])oy's pallid face Peered oiitward from this pleasant place, AVhen butterflies each other chace. The sunshine kissed him in his chair, The flowers sent wafts of p(n-fume there, And freshest breezes fanned his hair. And yet the boy grew paler far Than lily-leaves or sloe-buds are, As oft he watched the evening star. A dove came there at its own will, And knocked the lattice with its l)ill. Then picked the crumbs from off the sill. And when the boy lay in his shroud. The dove its plainings uttered loud, And died full shortly, sorrow-bowed. MATTY Mo COOL. LD Matty ^Ic Cool liad borne many a knock ; '^" She lived in a une-chinnieyed liouse on the rock, Sustained by her knitting, her charing, and that, Her onl}' companions a bird and a cat. 100 KrXDiraSS TO ANIMALS. The former was shot by a sportsman one day, At the end of her cot, as it perched on a spray: She picked it up dead by the side of the pool, And tears dimmed the eyes of okl Matty Mc Cool. She timibled at noon where the boys made a slide. And in less than three weeks poor old Matty had died. The cat's hollow mewing drew folks to the door, And tis said that it never took food any more. Beneath the small window it lingered alone, Until it was nothing but loose skin and bone ; And it died as the children were coming from school, And they knew twas the cat of old Matty Mc Cool. THE MOONLIGHT SOUND. If^fffHEOUGH the moonlight came a sound, Gt/^ Through the moonlight hanging round ^^ Copse and earn and higher ground. Near a porch it seemed to float, From the highway past the moat ; Softly-solemn was the note. And the traveller paused to hear, In the flood of moonlight clear, That sweet warble rising near. Now it floated on the breeze. Now it trembled tlirough the trees, Now it murmured down the leas : — " Providence did all things make, Beasts and birds that haunt the brake, S«. I'll love them for His sake." And that sound still lingering swells Through the mystic moonliglit deUs Where the pretty maiden dwells. t HAVE SUNG AFORKTIAIK. 101 I HAVE 8UNG AFOEETIME. <^ HAVE sung' aforetime W) Of my grauii}^ Joan, ^^ How her eyes were blacker Than the dark coal-stO'ne ; How she wore a bodice, How she loved a cliat, How she used a bodkin, How she kept a cat. I have sung aforetime How her needles gleamed, As tlie worsted stocking tShe in silence seamed ; How a cap of frizzles Oft adorned lier head, And iicr cliieftest garment Was a cloak of red. I liave sung- aforetime Of her treasured delf. And her shining pewter ( )n the fb'esser-shelf , "\Vhf>rp the hour-glass, standing' All the summer hmg, Tvickh'd to hor knitting, Triclded to her song. I Jiave sung aforetime How the white kid came. And the goat to milking "WTien she called its name. Not a newt she injured, Elded by Him above : All her words were blessing. All her life was love. Sparrows, wrens, and robins. And the busy bee, Ventured to lu-r threshold Neath the elder-tree. 102 KINDNESS TO .VNIMALS. And again I question, In a firmer tone, " Can you find an equal For my granny Joan ? NOEAH NILL. HE fed the poidtry at the door, . .* A mixed and motley train, '^ A many-coloiu-ed nudtitude, AVhich picked the scattered grain. Her welcome call was known to aU, As in the porch sang she, "All creatures share Thy tender care, And look for food from Thee." The world would scarcely call her wise ; Yet of Divinest lore, Which no book but the Bible gives, She had a precioiis store. Twas there she found this doctrine sound, Though scotfers disagree, — "All creatures share Thy tender care, And look for food from Thee. Her face was shining with a light The world coidd not impart, The beauty of her spirit's faith, The reflex of her heart. And it was sweet at day's retreat To hear that echo free, ".Ul creatures share Thy tender care, And look for food from Thee.' The (jld man resting on the road, The boy with hopes elate. The maiden with her daisy-wreath, The shepherd at the gate. POOR BOBBY. 103 Delight to hear her huniinings dear Float down the lane and lea, "All creatures share Thy tender care, And look for food from Thee." And be it so, in frost and snow. Or when the sky-larks trill On clouds of foam above the home Of cheerful Norah Nill : Let this sweet strain fiU peak and plain, From rolling sea to sea, " All creatures share Thy tender care, And look for food from Thee." POOE BOBBY. V^AS only shreds of orange peel C'Tf On which poor Bobby placed his heel, ®*^ And down he fell with sickening reel. A tremor jiassed through all his frame : A sudden blindness o'er him came ; He mentioned his dead mother's name. And when he saw this world again, Through mist of tears and jerks of pain. He heard a linnet's languid strain. The cage was hxmg above his head, A-near his little iron bed, And gentle was the nurse's tread. Within a hospital he lay, AVith thoughts of clear streams far away : The linnet cheered him day by day. These bird-notes bringing frerpient tears. Were with liim through ilw, chang(,'ful years. Like souudtj of waters iu his ears. lo-i KINDNESS TO ANIMALS. And wliGU lie gained a ;.^olden hoard, And genius gathered at. liis hoard, These songs of sweetness round him soared. (;i%:^M>6««=~ F ZRA RC. i •^ •"N. j"^ y-v •-N X N youriiin<^ (SlCxlJ fur sweetness AVith a lif'iirt 1 turn to uiau, and cannot find it there. T]i(^ sp('a]<:ut rather screen ^\■it]l yonr charil .\s fasliioncd Ijv Father halls, Where sit the players with their instru- ments, ' as ' mc me one In high The mighty crashing is a cruel crush To uiy poor brain, awake to tenderness, And soothed with sounds that die at their The city-crowds, the congregations huge. The rulers of the rostrum, trump, or life, ^Vre. powerless to enchain nie ; so I go a])]»roach. 106 EZRA ARC. To Nature for her never-failing balm : And she is prodig-al to her poor child, Hanging a harp on ever}' wayside tree, And filling seas and solitudes with song. I tliank Thee, Father, for the hamiom' AVith which my yearning spirit is subdued ! The wild woods have it, stii-red with the west wind, And vocal -n-ith the rain-drops — lonely heights Guarded b}- rocks, where saintly whispers walk AVliich stir not day's devotions — moorland glades, AVhere AVisdoni's foot-prints shine upon the moss. And Echo, mantled in the summer breeze, 8teals softly through the distant doors of space — Yulleys between the mountains, watched with stars, And courted Avith the moon when night is still, Over whose rushy boundaries steal the streams AVith silvery murmur — long lanes briar-besieged, AVhere tell-tale ferns are wooing all day long, And little wrens pipe odes of charity In honeysuckle chambers — upland fields, AAThere bees hum homeward to the sound of scytlies, Laden with gains from gorse and clover cups, To enrich their hives of lioney — quaint old stiles O'erhung with hawthorn, over which tlie larks Sing in the sunshine till the heart is glad And throbs delighted — the eternal sea In stonn or calm, whose every note is true. And fraught A^'itli power to fill the sold with God. And where the robin trills triiunphantl}'. And the thrush stirs the willows — where the reeds Eustle in gladness, and the swallows wheel O'er banks of th}ane or fields of ripening corn, I drink sweet draughts of purest melody, That man's devices never can approach. Thus sighing after sweetness, down a lane, AVhere a well bubbled by a granite cross, I wandered lonelv. till mv siiirit breathed The hush of all tilings, and I felt the smart Healed which the babble of the noisy world Unconsciously inflicted, when a cot, lieed-covered and trimmed neatly, met my eye THE OLD STORY. 107 Even when I least expected. By the door Old Ezra stood, with white locks streaminp^ down. One hand was on his statF, the other raised As if in expectation ; and his eyes Shone like a poet's wlien a now thoiiglit gleamed. His gaze was on the valley, whore the leaves Shimmered above the waters, and a sound, Faint as the murmur of the distant firs. Fell from his lips, "She will he home at noon." Thus day by day old Ezra Arc stole forth Into the golden sunshine, when the air Surged in a sea of music : trees and flowers And slender grasses swelled the harmony. The bees hummed round him, but he heard them not ; The goldfincli gleauu^d and glistened, darting (piick From twig to twig in the low underwcjod ; The biittei-flies, with many-coloured wings, I)rop})ed on the flowers, or floated by the fence ; The river nulled its anthem ; tlie great hills ExiJted in tlie presence of the King ; The forests worshipped Him continually ; And 3-et he heard not, saw not, uttering Icnv, And lower, as the days went stealing by. Like friends unbidden, "She'll be home at noon." The tale is old and simple. Ezra's wife Died when the blossoms studded the bright boughs, And April's urn was open. Her time came. And death took one to give the other life. The same hour, by tlie oM clock on the stand. Made him a father and a widower. And how he grieved, if walls of stone could speak. And trees, and narrow lanes, and moorlands wide, A sadder revelation would be made Than ever painter sketclied or poet drew. His summer day was darkened suddenly. And night and winter sat upon the hills. The pain, the pressure, the hot agony, The swell of passion, the great surge of woe, Would have o'erwhelmed him but for faitli in God, And the sustaining power of might}' prayer. 108 EZRA -UtC. And then a new love budded in liis heart, For the bright blossom opening in his shed, Expanding more and moi-e as the moons waned, And seasons ran their rounds, until his eye Eegained a portion of its wasted light, His cheek its smiles. Ids arm its vanished strength, His step its Avonted tinnness, and he walked Among his fellows with his ills assuaged. But in his dmir at even, when his child Climbed to his knee, and lisped her father's name — A\^ien the stars filled the pathway of the moon. And Silence walked the dingles, or bright Day Sat in his sun-gilt chariot, driving down The flaming AVest, where Commerce plied her skill, And Industry's unnumbered handicrafts Kept earth astir, he heard a loving voice An angel must have owned, and stayed his steps, And listened till the tears were on his face, And all his being was absorbed in bliss. ^Ii'anwliile the child grew lovelier, lovelier still, And flourished like a rose-bud in a bower Watered by valley riUs. He called her Nell, A]id cherished her more fondly every day ; Screened her from cold and heat, from rains and dews, And. mure tlian all, from slander's filthy tongue ; Instructed her in reading, heard her prayers, And tauglit her God in flowers and forest-sounds, In rolling rivers, seas, and shining stars A\lien heaven was glittering with the pearls of love. She knelt with him when twilight covered all. And through the gloaming somids came like the sweep Of far-off wings, or voices on the heights In prayer and praise, obepng His command. To see lier there beside the lattice low, Her beaming face kissed by the evening star. Brought to the mind the beauty of the blest. Then came her eigliteenth summer, fairer far Tlian skies Italian, blue witli boundless bliss. No hairier ever tuned a sweeter song : SOLSICn's STRATAGEM. 109 Rlie was all miisio, neither artist drew A i)icturo lialf so lf)vely — ^doiI, and kind, And gentlt'-lu>art<>d, full (jf deeds of faitli. Tlien down the far liills came a l)Ii<>-htin<4' wind Swiftly, nntimely, hnrrying- on its way, Althongli it sonndt'd stvanj^-ely. A young liind, Unknown to Ezra, and unknown to all The dwellers of the district, pressed his suit So ardently, at stolen interviews, Chiefly among the bracken of the brook, What time the cattle came at eve to drink, That, ere she was aware. Nell's heart was won, Fluttering for freedom like a captive bird. Humour had raised her voice, and warned the world That drink to him was dearer than his book. And when her father heard it, he forbade All further meetings, shut her in her room, And charged her to obey him through his tears. But love is stronger than a father's threat, And feeds upon its own entanglements, Surmounting city-domes, and castle-walls. And rude peaks glittering with eternal rime ; Quaffing its nectar on the wildest wastes. And hymning in a dungeon. Stay it ? Nay ! Sooner 3'our hands could pluck the planets down. Or dash the moon to atoms. Chains of steel. By sooty Vulcan forged, are snapped like wire, Or slender hairs from childhood's shinin How much these two were with Him, Mild James and loving John ? How beautiful the record Of the beloved one ? And in the solemn Garden, Where Cedron murmured slow, And soft sighs filled the cedars. They saw His bitter woe. 0, when on Calvary's summit He bowed His holy head, When the great sun was darkened. And rose the buried dead ; Around His cross they gathered, And heard His latest sigh. And knew the way was open, Tliat man no more might die. And still the Saviour calleth. Throughout the teeming earth, Where towns and cities flourish. Or gentle flowers have birth : And pleads the Holy Spirit, By solemn steep and sea. As when He gently gathered The sons of Zebedee. 1'22 MISCELL.SJN'EOrS PIECES. IX LOVIXG REMEMBRA^•CE OF EGBERT ALEXAXDEE GEAY, ESQ., J.P., TTlw died December \Qth, 1877, m his 90fh year. ^i HAD "been musing }jy the clearest river, ^ Within the dingle's bend, r-rfV rp^ flower and tree an ever-eheerful giver, AVhen news came of his end. His friendship found me mid my native fountains, AVlierc rills of music flow, And airy harpers throng the mineral mountains. And gladden all below. With bashful mien aloof I wooed the Muses, Far from the city's din : His Christian cheer a second life infuses. He bade me work and win. A sudden glory filled the moorland mosses, And streamed along tlie meads, Gleamed on the cairns and the quaint wayside crosses. And glittered in the reeds. And so I sang because my heart was lightened. And music stirred my soul, "W^ich evennore my homeward path has brightened, Nearing the final goal. And now he's gone ! he's gone ! like sunset fading Upon the western main. Or odorous leaves in autumn richness shading The low porch on the plain. Still wait I here where the sh}' brooklet stealeth, Aiid pines in clusters nod. To catch the mysterj^ which the wind revealeth, Stirred by the trump of God. TO THE MEMORY OF R. A. GRAY, ESQ., J. P. 123 I wipe mine eyes, and wonder what awaited Ilis freed soid in the air, Tluis to the kingdom of tlie good translated : Our dearest friends are there. His finished jonrney is not long before us ; Behind we swiftly come. 0, blessed Saviour, spread Thy mantle o'er us, And fit us for Tliy home ! How will his love and s^nnpatliy ho missing By widow, sick, and poor, AYhen cold is out, and wintry winds are hissing A-down the tracldess moor ! The gifts and graces which the King bestoweth, Along the desert dim, The golden tide that o'er life's landmark floweth, He vielded back to Him. He gives. He takes, the miglity King of Grlory, The jieaceful Prince Divine, In valley low, or on the mountain hoary : His perfect will be mine ! Thus one b}'' one the loved of earth are taken, And we walk on alone. In deeper silence, till we strangely waken Within the great unknown. C5' Rest, rest in peace I His bark has stemmed the waters, And gained the other shore, Where walk, white-robed, Immanuel's sons and And troubles grieve no more. [daughters. Farewell ! farewell ! The old luau liy his ingle, The glad boy at his i)lay. Shall thank the Lord, in city-lane and dingle, For Alexander Gray, 124 MISCELL^VNEOUS PIECES. Again farewell, until our final meeting In the fair land of flowers, "WlK're angel-hosts their Saviour King are greeting, And endless rest is ours. THINGS I HAVE SEEN. ^•'YE seen a coxcomb lifted up ^ To the official chair, *^-' And, hat in hand, before him stand The hind with hoary hair : And tears came to my eyelids then, That pride shoidd so disown The holy honour which belongs To trembling age alone. I've seen the godly parent droop, Of all his treasures shorn. Where rafters showed the hollow reed, And left to die forlorn. And I have pondered in my heart The iUs of life's brief span, The mystery of creation's woes, The ways of God to man. Here sorrow comes, though buds break out Upon the April spray. And in the meadows, daisy-gemmed. The lovely lambkins play. Still Charity, with downcast eyes, AValks o'er her lonely track, "While Pomp and Pride, in grand attire. Have thousands at their back. And he who toils in homely weeds, AVhether on stone or stool, By the fierce magnates of the earth Is often deemed a fool. OPENING OF THE FRIENDs' MEETING HOUSE. 125 And some, of intellect refined, Who wisdom's pathway plod. Conclude that rags and poverty Must lack the grace of God. But in the lowly cot of thatch. And on the jjauper's bed, Is many a chosen child of Heaven, By Ilis Grood Spirit led : No king may with their wealth compare In gems from Canaan's store. The fulness of the love of Christ : 0, blessed are the poor ! And oft the robe of genius falls On him of low degree, "Who wields the scythe, or rows the boat, Or fells the forest-tree : He owns no teacher but the heavens. The hills, the solemn moor, The flowers that fill him with their loves: 0, blessed are the poor ! THE OPENING OF THE FEIENDS' NEW MEETING HOUSE AT FALMOUTH. 1873. ■^N^y^O bell, no voices high j^il ^oR on the rising air ; "^ * No sounds along the crowded streets Proclaim the gathering there. And o'er the reverent band A solemn silence spread. Cheering each waiting worshipper, From Jesus Christ their Head. 126 MISCELL.VXEOUS PIECES. No need of words to pray, No need of -words to wait, To "svin the blessing we require, Or knock at Mercy's gate. It neared the holj- time, "When the Child-King had Lirth, To gather into one true fold The wandering sons of earth. A new light Learned in heaven, And through the darkness stole. Guiding the wise men to His feet. 0, Star, illume my soid ! No need of iron tongues, From towers of crumbling earth, When waves and woods and waterfalls Proclaim Messiah's birth. Low-murmuring on the air Came the sweet carol then, Heard throiighout eighteen hundred years, - " Peace xsb goodwill to :mex." The waiting silence spread. Till, from the bowers of grace. The blessed Comforter came down, Hallowing the holy place. A few fidl v»-ords of love, From lips the King had pressed. Fell on the ear, like gentle rain On fields with summer dressed. Christ dwelleth with the meek : And oft the humblest shade Is nearer t(j the gates of heaven Than aisles of cedar made. ON THE DEATH OF CLAllA LUCAS BALFOUR. 127 0, -when will men ^ive o'er The specious tinsel's glare, And wait U})()n the Promiser In heartfelt earnest prayer! May the Good Spirit's power, In hri^^liter days to l)e. Abide within these temple-walls, And draw the heart to Thee ! ox THE DEATH OF CL.AJJA LUCAS BALFOUE. ''jV'^O sin. John Harris, 'oy tlie mere force of his poetic impulse, has conrpiered many diliiculties ami taken a place among the iiecogniskd poets of our day. He presents a contrast in many points to our own RoBEUT Burns, whom he resembles in others. From thi Bible Christian Magazine. With his Hy.mns we have been delighted, and feel assured that some of them will soon find a permanent place in the collections of the day. From the West Briton. The series of beautiful Hymns may fairly be classed with those of Cowi'ER, Newton, and James Montgomery. From the London Quarterly Review, 1856 and 1867. W(! heartily commend to our readers all the productions of Mr. Harris. He is a poet of no common gifts, and there is a ring of truth and genuine- ness in liis works which convinces us that he is an honest and worthy man. We tiust he is liappy in liis good work as a Scripture Deader at Falmouth. Men less richly endowed by nature have been placed by the i)atroiiage of the wealthy in a more conspicuous position. There is real dignity in such a character. From the Western Figaro, August 22nd, 1878. JOHN HARRIS, THE CORNISH MINER POET. Cornwall, as well as Devon, has jiroduced its "workmen-poets," and perhaps none who deserve notice so much as the subject of the present sketch. John Harris has ac(pnred a local reputation as a poet. Such men should be known, ajjpreciated, and encouraged ; and their works deserve a place in the library of every man wlio lias a spark of national pride. Many reviewers have highly commended liis writings, and many contemporary writers s])oken in his |iiaise. Some little time since the Prime Minister procured him a grant fi-om the Civil List, though not in the form of an annuity. V>'ith tlie view that his works and history should be moie widely known I venture to lay his little sketch, and the accom- panying portrait, before the readers of the Western Fi'jaro. Testimony of J. B. C, Esq, of Quorndon, September, 1878. I have been spending a few days at the birthplace of Shakespeare Among the many relicts of the immortal "Swan of Avon " containeil in the Museum, I was delighted to see the original manuscript of your Poem on the Tercentenary of liis birth ; and I most heartily congratulate you on the honour of your Poem being thus so highly appreciated. I have always considered it a most wortliy tribute to the memory of the great bard, 134 Frmn the Christian Gloise, Jvhj 7t}i, 1876. JoH.v rr.AUurs, tlie !\[iner Poet and Scripture-Eeiider, is one of those iiieu of wlioiii Eii^ImikI is justly entitled to feel proud. In the ru^^iel cheerless solituile of Ciuubonie, witii seant education, and few books, with- out funds or friends, doomed from early boyhood to laborious drudgery in the bowels of the eartli, with a wife and family dependent upon him for support, he has nevertheless contrived to workhis upward way, simi)ly, yet grandly, winning for himself an Jionourahle niche in tlie fane of letters. Tiie sjiirit of song visited him when he was (piite an urchin, and his first effusions, scrawled on soiled paper scraps, saw the light at tlie mine's mouth. He is an inspired minstrel, and a devout man. He contemplates the mountain-top, the craggy steep, the clouds, the dew-laden valleys, the goigeons tints of summer, and the chilling aspects of winter, alike with rapt eyes and gushing heart ; and from them spiritual voices, ever fresh and angeHc, proclaim to his soul the infinity of God, the wisdom of God, and the illimitable love of God for all His creatuies. He no longer burrows fatlioms deep for his daily bread. His singular fitness for the post of Sciipture-Eeader has been happily recognised. Cloth. Price 6s. BULO: REUBEN ROSS: A TALE OF THE MANACLES. HYMN, SONG, AND STORY. Cloth. Price 5s. LUDA: A LAY OF THE DRUIDS Cloth. Price 5s. SHAKESPERE'S SHRINE : AN INDIAN STORY : ESSAYS AND POEMS. LONDON: HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO. FALMOUTH : THE AUTHOR. PRINTED BY .7. GILL AND SON, PENRYN, CORNWALXj. THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNM LOS ANGELES UCSOUTHfRNHtl.KINAl I IHHAHV l/'iiuiY AA 000 382 756 5 L 005 326 666 4