But soon as Luke, full ten years old, could

stand Against the mountain blasts; and to the heights, Not fearing toil, nor length of weary ways, He with his Father daily went, and they Were as companions, why should I relate That objects which the Shepherd loved before Were dearer now? that from the Boy there

came

Feelings and emanations-things which were
Light to the sun and music to the wind;
And that the old Man's heart seemed born
again?

Thus in his Father's sight the Boy grew up: And now, when he had reached his eighteenth year,

He was his comfort and his daily hope.

While in this sort the simple household lived From day to day, to Michael's ear there came Distressful tidings. Long before the time Of which I speak, the Shepherd had been bound In surety for his brother's son, a man Of an industrious life, and ample means; But unforeseen misfortunes suddenly Had prest upon him; and old Michael now Was summoned to discharge the forfeiture, A grievous penalty, but little less

At the first hearing, for a moment took
More hope out of his life than he supposed
That any old man ever could have lost.

As soon as he had armed himself with strength
To look his trouble in the face, it seemed
The Shepherd's sole resource to sell at once
A portion of his patrimonial fields.

Such was his first resolve; he thought again,
And his heart failed him. "Isabel," said he,
Two evenings after he had heard the news,
"I have been toiling more than seventy years.
And in the open sunshine of God's love
Have we all lived; yet if these fields of ours
Should pass into a stranger's hand, I think
That I could not lie quiet in my grave.
Our lot is a hard lot; the sun himself
Has scarcely been more diligent than I;
And I have lived to be a fool at last
To my own family. An evil man
That was, and made an evil choice, if he
Were false to us; and if he were not false,
There are ten thousand to whom loss like this
Had been no sorrow. I forgive him ;-but
'Twere better to be dumb than to talk thus.
When I began, my purpose was to speak
Of remedies, and of a cheerful hope.
Our Luke shall leave us, Isabel; the land
Shall not go from us, and it shall be free,

He shall possess it, free as is the wind
That passes over it. We have, thou know'st,
Another kinsman-he will be our friend
In this distress. He is a prosperous man,
Thriving in trade-and Luke to him shall go,
And with his kinsman's help and his own thrift
He quickly will repair this loss, and then
He may return to us. If here he stay,

What can be done? Where every one is poor,
What can be gained ?"

At this the old man paused,

And Isabel sat silent, for her mind

Was busy, looking back into past times. There's Richard Bateman, thought she to her

self,

He was a parish-boy-at the church-door
They made a gathering for him, shillings, pence,
And halfpennies, wherewith the neighbours
bought

A basket, which they filled with pedlar's wares;
And, with this basket on his arm, the lad
Went up to London, found a master there,
Who, out of many, chose the trusty boy
To go and overlook his merchandise
Beyond the seas: where he grew wondrous rich,
And left estates and monies to the poor,
And, at his birth-place, built a chapel floored
With marble, which he sent from foreign lands.
These thoughts, and many others of like sort,

glad,

And thus resumed :-" Well, Isabel! this scheme,

These two days, has been meat and drink to me. Far more than we have lost is left us yet.

-We have enough-I wish indeed that I Were younger ;-but this hope is a good hope. -Make ready Luke's best garments, of the best Buy for him more, and let us send him forth To-morrow, or the next day, or to-night: -If he could go, the Boy should go to-night."

Here Michael ceased, and to the fields went forth

With a light heart. The Housewife for five days

Was restless morn and night, and all day long
Wrought on with her best fingers to prepare
Things needful for the journey of her son.
But Isabel was glad when Sunday came
To stop her in her work: for, when she lay
By Michael's side, she through the two last
nights

Heard him, how he was troubled in his sleep:
And when they rose at morning she could see
That all his hopes were gone. That day at

noon

She said to Luke, while they two by themselves

Were sitting at the door, "Thou must not go :
We have no other Child but thee to lose,
None to remember-do not go away,

For if thou leave thy Father he will die."
The Youth made answer with a jocund voice;
And Isabel, when she had told her fears,
Recovered heart. That evening her best fare
Did she bring forth, and all together sat
Like happy people round a Christmas fire.

With daylight Isabel resumed her work; And all the ensuing week the house appeared As cheerful as a grove in Spring; at length The expected letter from their kinsman came, With kind assurances that he would do His utmost for the welfare of the Boy; To which, requests were added, that forthwith He might be sent to him. Ten times or more The letter was read over; Isabel

Went forth to show it to the neighbours round;
Nor was there at that time on English land
A prouder heart than Luke's. When Isabel
Had to her house returned, the old Man said,
"He shall depart to-morrow." To this word
The Housewife answered, talking much of
things

Which, if at such short notice he should go,
Would surely be forgotten. But at length
She gave consent, and Michael was at ease