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“Take my advice-whatever may betide,
“For that which must be, first of all provide ;
“Then think of that which may be, and indeed,
“When well prepared, who knows what may succeed?
"But you may be, as you are pleased to hope,
"Priest, canon, bishop, cardinal, and pope.'


In other men we faults can spy,
And blame the mote that dims their

Each little speck and blemish find,-
To our own stronger errors blind.

A Turkey, tired of common food,
Forsook the barn, and sought the wood ;
Behind her ran an infant train,
Collecting here and there a grain.
“ Draw near, my birds !" the mother cries,
“ This hill delicious fare supplies;
“ Behold the busy negro race,
“See millions blacken all the place !
“Fear not; like me, with freedom eat;
An ant is most delightful meat.
“ How blessed, how envied, were our life,
“Could we but 'scape the poulterer's knife;
" But man, cursed man, on turkeys preys,
" And Christmas shortens all our days.
“ Sometimes with oysters we combine,
“Sometimes assist the savoury chine;
“ From the low peasant to the lord,
“The Turkey smokes on every

“Sure men for gluttony are cursed,
“Of the seven deadly sins the worst."

An Ant, who climbed beyond her reach,
Thus answered from the neighbouring beech :

you remark another's sin,
“ Bid thy own conscience look within ;
“ Control thy more voracious bill,
" Nor for a breakfast nations kill."

" Ere

LOCHINVAR. O, young Lochinvar is come out of the West, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ; And, save his good broad-sword, he weapon had none, He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, He swam the Eske river where ford there was none; But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late: For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all: Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) "O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, “ Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?!?"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ;“ Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide“ And now am I come with this lost love of mine, "To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 6. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, “That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.” The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the

сир. . She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,". Now tread we a measure !” said young

Lochin var. So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace While her mother did fret and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bridemaidens whispered, “ 'Twere better by far - To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood

near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! “She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; " They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young

Lochinvar, There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby

clan; Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode, and they

ran; There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN. Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place ; Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain, The long remembered beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed ;

The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sate by his fire, and talked the night-away;
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done,
Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won.
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow,
And quite forgot their vices in their woe;
Careless their merits, or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.
Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ;
But in his duty prompt at every call,
He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all.
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries
To tempt its new fledged offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay,
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed,
The reverend champion stood. At his control
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul;
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise,
And his last faltering accents whispered praise.

At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorned the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,
With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran;
E’en children followed with endearing wile,
And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile.
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed,
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed;
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven.
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

With fruitless labour, Clara bound,
And strove to staunch the gushing wound :
The Monk, with unavailing cares,
Exhausted all the Church's prayers.
Ever, he said, that, close and near,
A lady's voice was in his ear,
And that the priest he could not hear,

For that she ever sung, “In the lost battle, borne down by the flying, “ Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the dying!"

So the notes rung;Avoid thee, Fiend !- with cruel hand, “ Shake not the dying sinner's sand ! “O look, my son, upon yon sign Of the Redeemer's grace divine;

" O think on faith and bliss !By many a death-bed I have been, " And many a sinner's parting seen,

But never aught like this.”The war, that for a space did fail, Now trebly thundering swelled the gale,

And-Stanley! was the cry ;A light on Marmion's visage spread,

And fired his glazing eye: With dying hand, above his head, He shook the fragment of his blade,

And shouted “Victory! “Charge, Chester, Charge! On, Stanley, on!" Were the last words of Marmion.

An Eton stripling training for the Law,
A Dunce at Syntax, but a Dab at Taw,
One happy Christmas, laid upon the shelf

and gown, and store of learned pelf,

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