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The farmer's Daughter.
BY THE REV. JOAN MITFORD.
N Debens bank, our little farm
Smil'd sweetly from its sylvan nook,
And we drew water from a silver brook.
A mother's love-than Margaret Drew.
My shining needle, seldom still;
Plain was my dress, and neat and clean,
And ever, when I went to bed
I heard my mother's gentle tread,
I always kept,
The lessons of my book of prayer.
The good old vicar came to tea,
Crossing the pleasant meads and lea
And with my prayer-book in my hand,
How often lingering would I stand, Reading the gravestones with a thoughtful smile.
We kept no maid, and I had much to do;
A farm house is a very busy place; I milk'd, and churned, and baked, and learned to brew,
And ever with a cheerful heart and face,
A duty or a grace.
So much to learn, to love, to do,
And got our world of business through,
reward at evening came, -
And smothered all my cheek with kisses :
I prayed upon my mother's breast.
father was, A good God-fearing man was he;
Buying and selling he was just-
He counted gold to be as dust,
Was cheerful as a hive of bees;
No idle sauntering slatterns there;
Like night owls, who, their flight to smother,
Disturb’d our purer air.
Turned without his crust of bread;
And many were there who were fed From out our little store.
My father said that gold to all
Was either honey or was gall; Wealth ill to get or ill to save, From life its living virtue stole,
the victory to the graveTo death, the human soul.
Feuds of the Olden Times.
“Then Roderick from the Douglas broke,
I hold the first who strikes, my foe.'
And veil'd his wrath in scornful word.”
N the early times of all nations, particularly at the period in which rude clans formed the component parts of a country, feuds and fighting were looked upon as necessary
ingredients to the community. The powerful chieftains of fierce tribes saw in them a field for noble excitement, for aggrandisement, or for valorous display. In