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At an Osbaldiston trot:

Wiping his brow, and panting for breath,

He's afraid he will scarcely be in at the death.

Faintly, wearily, tolls the bell;

Clang! clang! clang! 'tis a pauper's knell,
A poor old man with silver hair,
Broken by seventy years of care.

The panting steed is tied to the gate,

And the Rector goes into church, in state;

Soon you will see him, in robes of snow,

Forth from the church's portal go,

A holy man, devout and sincere,

And much underpaid with two thousand a-year!

The pauper funeral is a description in the finest manner of CRABBE. The rites are huddled over :

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Seventy years of want and sin
Sleep that narrow cell within,-
And the earth is shovell'd in!
Jarringly, with accent drear,
The parting knell grates on the car.
The boys are gone, the bearers fled,
The women in their cloaks of red;
There's no one 'neath the yew-trees cold,
Save the sexton, stamping down the mould.
The Rector awakens the silent street,
With the quick sounds of galloping feet;
The sky is bright, the flowers are out,
The school is let loose with a joyous shout;
There's gladness in each light wind's breath.
Tush!-We have said too much of death!

Would it not be much better to dispense altogether in the case of the English poor, with a solemnity which is so often converted into a mockery or indecency.

We have compared the writer with CRABBE; and the comparison holds in many points, besides the general strain of sentiment and tone of colouring; but he gains another power from greater rapidity of transition, and liveliness of fancy.

Part III opens with a sweet description of evening, and the village workman's return; but his, alas! is no Cottar's Saturday Night. Copious as our extracts have been, we must give this in-door picture of our English labourer's home, and of the dens from which Swing issues forth.

He

is crossing the stile to his cottage, bearing his spade on his shoulder:

Hark! is he singing ?-no such thing,
His heart is much too full to sing.

Is he weary ?-thirsty ?-cold?

All day long, since morning's peep,

He's been ditching in the mould,

In mud and water ancle deep.
Home that happy man's returning-
Doubtless there's a bright fire burning;
Thirsty from his toil severe-

Doubtless there's some home-brew'd beer.
Happy man! how blest is he!

How much more happy than the bee!

A fire? No wood has he to burn

No tankard foams at his return;

Off to his pallet let him creep,

And sink reality in sleep.

But, e'er to slumber he is past,

What's the sound that meets him last?

Is it children's gentle voices?

(To father's ear most bless'd of noises,)
Children laughing loud and long,
Or bursting into joyful song?
Laughing they are not-nor singing,
Yet their voices loud are ringing;
They have gathered round his bed,
They have been but scant'ly fed,-
They are asking him for bread.
Oh, lullaby, supremely blest!

What dreams must beautify his rest?

These dreams-the night-mare, in which he struggles with the Parson and the Overscer-we hasten over, that we may contrive to sweeten the reader's imagination, ere we part, with a stanza of the Pauper Emigrant's Song. Bill Harvey, who looks to another country for the means of subsistence, denied him for his willing labour in England, or in his native village, sings thus,

The shaded savannah has pestilent brakes;

The wood has its tigers, the swamp has its snakes.
He fears no savannah who's toil'd in a drain,
The snake on the pauper glares fearful in vain;
From priest, squire, and farmer but let me go free,
The tiger and serpent are welcome to me!

Oh give me the wood where the axe never swung,
Where man never entered, and voice never rung,
A hut made of logs, and a gun by my side,
The land for my portion, and Jane for my bride,
That hut were a palace, a country for me,-
Dash on, thou proud ship, o'er the wide-rolling sea!

Were it practicable we would like to present our readers with the surgeon who physics three hundred paupers in this, and the neighbouring parishes, by wholesale. He hurries off from the dying bed of a beautiful and lost woman, undone by the strong temptations of poverty, but, first shakes his head, then shakes it again,

For, with seventeen pounds, and his patients so many,
Two shakes is all he can waste upon any.

The picture of true and counterfeit Charity is among the best things in the volume; the one, holy, pure, pitying; the other but for the benefit of our fair readers we shall give False Charity at full length, having long suspected that many need their ideas of charity expanded and rectified. Here she is,

A little French Milliner fill'd with grimace,
Takes Charity's name and stands forth in her place.
Flaunting abroad in a furbelow'd gown

She's the wonder and pride, and the belle of the town :-
O how she sighs at a story of wo!

A sigh so becoming to bosom of snow-
Oh! how she begs, looking pretty the while,
Till hearts, and subscriptions are gain'd by her smile;
She sits in her parlour, surrounded by beaux,
And looks so divine making poor people's clothes,
And fans of goose feathers, and shoes made of scraps,
And fire-screens, and needle-books, babies and caps,-
She's so tender and busy,-she levies a war
'Gainst the gentlemen's hearts at a Fancy Bazaar.
Oh! Charity flaunts it in feather and plume,
And smiles like an angel-in rouge and perfume
She flirts at her booth-she's the gayest of belles,
And hardly she bargains, and dearly she sells;
And customers wonder, that lady so free,
So kind to the poor, and so tender should be;
A truce to your wonder-she heeds not the poor-

If once she is married she's tender no more.
Ah, me! that such labour, such feeling and care,
Should all be bestowed upon Vanity Fair,-
And deeper the error, and darker the shame,
That this is transacted in Charity's name!

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We must not linger on the Pauper Dirge, nor yet on the midnight moralizing of the Curate on the Village, and those solemn thoughts which wind up a subject pregnant with the weal or wo of unborn millions. The subject, we confess, has engrossed us more than the mode in which it is managed; and we have spoken of this poem as a Schoolmaster, not as a critic. It is a production which any poet might be proud to own; yet its purpose is a higher merit, and fervently do we wish that the object of the author may be accomplished in rousing attention to the actual state of feeling among the poor." For the sake of suffering humanity we are glad the Village Work-house has been written, and for the sake of Scotland, we are proud to under. stand that we may claim this CRABBE REDIVIVUS as a strayed countryman. He has caught the honoured mantle of the author of the Parish Register as it fell-long may he wear it!

"

THE NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

which is another name e for the spirit of monopoly, forsook him He is not, then, we apprehend, justly liable to the charge of at that point where his inquiries into human nature began. wanting a sound moral-even a great political moral-(aud political morals are the greatest of all-in the general tenor and respect the lowest. In this, with far less learning, far less of works which have compelled the highest classes to examine abstract philosophy than Fielding, he is only exceeded by li in one character-(and that, indeed, the most admirable in English fiction)-the character of Parson Adams. Jeanie Deans is worth a thousand such as Fanny Andrews."

of patriotism?-No! we feel at once that Nature taught Scott THE October number is a pleasant one, and of considerable more of friendship with all mankind, than the philosophy of the variety. Lady Blessington's Recollections; Shelley at Oxto a party in print, mankind belonged to him. Torgism, one or the fancy of the other. Out of print, Scott might belong ford; Private (smart) Hints to a Young Physician, quite as applicable to the beginning practitioner in Edinburgh, Bath or Dublin, as London; a little moderate politics, a few peppery paragraphs in the Monthly Commentary and some eloquent, generous, and touchingly beautiful remarks on the DEATH OF SIR WALTER SCOTT, by the Author of Pelham, and Eugene Aram, are the main articles. MR. BULWER'S opinion of the character of Scott's writings so entirely meets the hasty view taken of them in the SCHOOLMASTER of the 29th ult., that we really feel proud of the coincidence, and gratified in believing that this opinion, which only does justice to the illustrious Dead, may be much more general than we had imagined. We give one short passage, which is as beautiful in language, as true and noble in feeling.

"But this power to charm and to beguile is not that moral excellence to which we refer, Scott has been the first great genius-Fielding alone excepted-who invited our thorough and uncondescending sympathy to the wide mass of the human family who has stricken (for in this artificial world it requires an effort) into our hearts a love and a respect for those chosen from the people. Shakspeare has not done this-Shakspeare paints the follies of the mob with a strong and unfriendly hand. Where, in Shakespeare, is there a Jeanie Deans? Take up which you will of those numerous works which have appeared, from Waverley" to the "Chronicles of the Canongate," open where you please, and you will find portraits from the people and your interest keeping watch beside the poor man's hearth. Not, in Scott, as they were in the dramatists of our language, are the peasant, the artificer, the farmer, dragged on the stage merely to be laughed at for their brogue, and made to seem ridiculous because they are useful.

"He paints them, it is true, in their natural language, but the language is subservient to the character; he does not bow the man to the phrase, but the phrase to the man. Neither does he flatter on the one hand, as he does not slight on the other. Unlike the maudlin pastoralists of France, he contents himself with the simple truth-he contrasts the dark shadows of Meg Merrilies, or of Edie Ochiltree, with the holy and pure lights that redeem and sanctify them he gives us the poor, even to the gipsy and the beggar, as they really are-contented, if our interest is excited, and knowing that nature is sufficient to excite it. From the palaces of kings, from the tents of warriors, he comes-equally at home with man in all aspects -to the cottar's hearth ;-he bids us turn from the pomp of the Plantagenets to bow the knee to the poor Jew's daughter-he makes us sicken at the hollowness of the royal Rothsay, to sympathize with the honest love of Hugh the smith. No, never was there one-not even Burns himself who forced us more intimately to acknowledge, or more deeply to feel, that

sym

and

The rank is but the guinea stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that.' "And is this being, to whom intellect taught philanthropy, to be judged by ordinary rules?-are we to guage and mete his capacities of good, by the common measure we apply to comIon men? No! there was in him a large and catholic pathy with all classes, all tempers, all conditions of men; this it was that redeemed his noble works from all the taint of party, and all the leaven of sectarianism; this it was that made him, if the Tory in principle, the all-embracing leader in practice. Compare with what he has done for the people-in painting the people the works of poets called Liberal by the doctrinaires compare the writings of Scott with those of Byron-which have really tended the most to bind us to the poor?-The first has touched the homely strings of our real heart-the other has written fine vague stanzas about freedom. Lara, the Corsair, Childe Harolde, Don Juan, these are the works-we will not say of the misanthrope--at least of the aristocrat. Are Scott's so? Yet Byron was a Liberal, and Scott a Tory. Alas, the sympathy with humanity is the true republicanism of a writer of fiction. Liberal and Tory are words which signify nothing out of the sphere of the politics of the day. Who shall we select from the Liberal poets of our age who has bound us to the people like Scott-Shelley, with his metaphysical refinings-Moore, with his elaborate floridity

COLUMN FOR THE LADIES.
ADVENTURE OF A FEMALE INDIAN.

ON Hearne's return from the mouth of the Coppermine, an incident occured strikingly characteristic of savage life: The Indians came suddenly on the track of a strange snow. shoe, and following it to a wild part of the country, remote from any human habitation, they discovered a hut, in which a young Indian woman was sitting alone. She had lived for the last eight moons in absolute solitude, and recounted, with affecting simplicity, the circumstances by which she had been driven from her own people: She he longed, she said, to the tribe of the Dog-ribbed Indians, and in an inroad of the Athabasca nation, in the summer to their invariable practice, stole upon the tents in the of 1770, had been taken prisoner. The savages, according night, and murdered before her face her father, mother, and husband, whilst she and other three young women were reserv ed from the slaughter, and made captive. Her child, four or five months old, she contrived to carry with her, concealed among some clothing; but on arriving at the place where the party had left their wives, her precious bundle was infant from its mother, and killed it on the spot. In Eu examined by the Athabasca women, one of whom tore the been instantly followed by the insanity of the parent; but rope, an act so inhuman would, in all probability, have in North America, though maternal affection is equally intense, the nerves are more sternly strung. So horrid a cruelty, however, determined her, though the man whose property she had become was kind and careful of her, to take the first opportunity of escaping, with the intention of returning to her own nation; but the great distance, and caused her to lose the way, and winter coming on, she had the numerous winding rivers and creeks she had to pass, built a hut in the secluded spot. When discovered she was in good health, well fed, and, in the opinion of Hearne, one of the finest Indian women he had ever seen.

Five or six

inches of hoop made into a knife, and the iron shank of an
arrow-head which served as an awl, were the only imple-
ments she possessed; and with these she made snow-shoes
and other useful articles. For subsistence she snared par-
tridges, rabbits, and squirrels, and had killed two or three
beavers and some porcupines. After the few deer-sinews
she had brought with her were expended in making snares
and sewing her clothing, she supplied their place with the
sinews of rabbits' legs, which she twisted together with
great dexterity. Thus occupied, she not only became re-
conciled to her desolate situation, but had found time to
amuse herself by manufacturing little pieces of personal
ornament. Her clothing was formed of rabbit-skins sewed
together: the materials, though rude, being tastefully dis
posed, so as to make her garb assume a pleasing though
desert-bred appearance. The singular circumstances under
which she was found, her beauty and useful accomplish-
ments, occasioned a contest among the Indians as to who
should have her for a wife; and the matter being decided,
she accompanied them in their journey.- [The above ad-
venture is from the ninth number of Oliver and Boyd's
Cabinet Library. The subject of this volume, of which
Mr. Patrick Fraser Tytler is the author, is Discoveries on
the Northern Coasts of America, from the earliest periods
down to Beechey's voyage.
It is one of great interest.]
LOVE! LOVE!Verbatim copy of a love-letter lately
sent by an enamoured swain to his beloved in Leeds. The

lady, not having partaken of the march of intellect, handed | it over to her master, who deciphered it for her; and we publish it as a model for Yorkshire Corydons :

Parliament in the reign of George I. 1 certainly did not think less favourably of him for seeing him.

"As a political partisan, no one can stand against him. With his brandished club, like Giant Despair in the Pilgrim's Progress, he knocks out their brains; and not only no individual, but no corrupt system could hold out against his powerful and repeated attacks, but with the same weapon, swung round like a flail, that he levels his antagonists, he lays his friends low, and puts his own party hors de combat. This is a bad propensity and a worse principle in political tactics, though a common one. If his blows were

"Dear Bessy, A I do loike thee-My Love is stroner than iver-I nivir had a wink of sleep sin I wor at Leeds -Sun may melt mountains-and sea may run wick before I can change my love agin-I loike Poy better nor ought but I loike thee better than Poy-therefore thou may make up thee mind to let me put spurrings in-and we will be wed and gang home in a chaise at Martinmas." FERRONIERE.—These ornaments are universally worn in Paris. They were very much in vogue about fifteen straight-forward and steadily directed to the same object, no years since, and were reproduced by the celebrated hair-unpopular minister could live before him; instead of which dresser Nardin, at the commencement of the present season, he lays about right and left, impartially and remorselessly, in compliment to a lady of high rank in Paris, who is dis- makes a clear stage, has all the ring to himself, and then figured by a mole in the centre of the forehead, and who runs out of it, just when he should stand his ground. He brought back the fashion by means of a beautiful diamond throws his head into his adversary's stomach, and takes ferroniere, which was found a considerable improvement to away from him all inclination for the fight, hits fair or her countenance. Jewel-boxes are now made to contain foul, strikes at every thing, and as you come up to his aid six ferronieres, without which no fashionable toilette is or stand ready to pursue his advantage, trips up your heels, complete; two for morning use, fastened by a cameo and or lays you sprawling, and pummels you when down as antaglio of antique workmanship; two with engraved much to his heart's content, as ever the Sanguesian carriers coral and amethyst clasps, for dinner dress; one with dia- belaboured Rosinante with their pack stayes. monds, and one with mixed stones. These are united by chains of gold, hair, or pearls, so that they can also be worn on the neck.

WILLIAM COBBETT.

The following remarks by two excellent judges, Mr. Hazlitt and the Examiner, will in this quarter be read with interest at present:

"Cobbett is not only unquestionably the most powerful political writer of the day, but one of the best writers in the language. He speaks and thinks plain, broad, downright English.

"He might be said to have the clearness of Swift, the naturalness of De Foe, and the picturesque satirical description of Mandeville; if all such comparisons were not im

pertinent.

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"Mr. Cobbett has no comfort in fixed principles; as soon as any thing is settled in his own mind, he quarrels with it. He has no satisfaction but in the chase after truth, runs a question down, worries and kills it, then quits it like ver. min, and starts some new game, to lead him a new dance, and give him a fresh breathing through bog and brake, with the rabble yelping at his heels, and the leaders perpetually at fault. This he calls sport royal. He thinks it that has life in it. as good as cudgel-playing, or single-stick, or any thing bruises, and dry blows of an argument: as to any good or He likes the cut and thrust, the falls, useful results that may come of the amicable settling of it, any one is welcome to them for him. The amusement is over, when the matter is once fairly decided." "Whatever Mr. Cobbett takes in hand he takes to heart, and he not only shapes his works of instruction with the self of all the opportunities for agreeable illustration and exactest attention to the uses, but delights in availing himappropriate embellishment. It is his art, when treating on the most familiar subject, to touch the reader with a new he writes, and partly by producing all the little circumsense of it; this he effects partly by the rare zest with which stances, and setting upon them their just value. Cobbett is a fine critic he has an eye for beauty, and an excellent faculty for picking out the right point of view-his tastes are simple, but eager, and glow with the flush of health.

"The Late Lord Thurlow used to say that Cobbett was the only writer who deserved the name of a political rea"His episodes, which are numerous as they are pertinent, are striking, interesting, full of life and naiveté, minute, double measure running over, but never tedious. He is one of those writers who can never tire us, not even of himself; and the reason is, he is always full of matter.' He never runs to lees, never gives us the vapid leavings of himself, is never weary, stale, and unprofitable,' but always setting out afresh on his journey, clearing away some old nuisances, and turning up new mould. His egotism is delightful, for there is no affectation in it. He does not talk et himself for lack of something to write about, but because some circumstance that has happened to himself is the best possible illustration of the subject, and he is not the "Until Cobbett has praised or abused a thing, it is hardthan to shrink from giving the best possible illustration of the subject from a squeamish delicacy. He writes himself ly known what may be said for and against it. When his plain William Cobbett, strips himself quite as naked as any rancour is not excited, when his singular powers are embody would wish-in a word, his egotism is full of indi-ployed in instruction, in adding to the conveniences and viduality, and has room for very little vanity in it. We feel delighted, rub our hands, and draw our chair to the fire, when we come to a passage of this sort; we know it will be something new and good, manly and simple, not the same insipid story of self over again.

"Mr. Cobbett speaks almost as well as he writes. The only time I ever saw him, he seemed to me a very pleasant

"Analysis is his great power, and as he is earnest himself upon every part he touches, he communicates his earnestness to the reader. No man has the faculty of seeing so much of the good and so much of the bad of any subject, and his inconsistencies are referable to his capricious division of their powers.

comforts of society, or the inculcation of moral principles, they work to unmixed advantage, and with such a pervad ing tone of bener lence, and so nice an apprehension of every good that is passingly touched on, that a stranger to other performances could hardly suppose the author capable of an uncharitable purpose, or an uncharitable enjoyment."

-Examiner.

PASSAGES FROM COBBETT'S EARLY LIFE. WRITTEN
BY HIMSELF.

easy of access, affable, clear-headed, simple, and rail in his manner, deliberate and unruffled in his speech, though some of his expressions were not very qualified. His "At eleven years of age, my employment was clipping off figure is tall and portly. He has a good sensible face, rather box-edgings and weeding beds of flowers in the garden of fall, with little grey eyes, a hard, square forehead, a ruddy the Bishop of Winchester, at the castle of Farnham, my craplexion, with hair grey or powdered; and had on a scar-native town. I had always been fond of beautiful gardens; let broad-cloth waistcoat, with the flaps of the pockets hanging down, as was the custom for gentlemen-farmers in the last century, or as we see it in the pictures of Members of

An ornament worn on the forehead

and a gardener, who had just come from the King's gardens at Kew, gave such a description of them as made me instantly resolve to work in these gardens. The next morning, without saying a word to any one, off I set, with no clothes

except those upon my back, and with thirteen half-pence in nearly fifty serjeants. While my regiment was abroad, I my pocket. I found that I must go to Richmond, and 1 received the public and official thanks of the Governor of accordingly went on, from place to place, enquiring my way the province for my zeal in the king's service; while no thither. A long day (it was in June) brought me to Rich-officer of the regiment received any thanks at all. Many mond in the afternoon. Two-penny worth of bread and years after this, this same Governor (General Carleton) cheese, and a penny-worth of small beer, which I had on came to see me, and to claim the pleasure of my acquain the road, and one half-penny that I had lost somehow or tance. When I quitted the army at Portsmouth, I had a other, left three-pence in my pocket. With this for my discharge bearing on it, that I had been discharged at my whole fortune, I was trudging through Richmond, in my own request, and in consequence of the great services I had blue smock frock, and my red garters tied under my knees, rendered the king's service in that regiment. During this when, staring about me, my eye fell upon a little book, in part of my life I lived amongst, and was compelled to assoa bookseller's window, on the outside of which was writ- ciate with, the most beastly of drunkards, where liquor was ten, "TALE OF A TUB; PRICE 3d." The title was go so cheap, that even a soldier might be drunk every day; odd, that my curiosity was excited. I had the 3d., but then yet I never, during the whole time, even tasted of any of I could have no supper. In I went, and got the little that liquor. My father's, and more especially my mother's book, which I was so impatient to read, that I got over precepts were always at hand to protect me. into a field, at the upper corner of Kew gardens, where there stood a hay-stack. On the shady side of this I sat down to read. The book was so different from any thing that I had ever read before it was something so new to my mind that, though I could not at all understand some of it, it delighted me beyond description; and it produced what I have always considered a sort of birth of intellect. I read on till it was dark, without any thought about supper or bed. When I could see no longer, I put my little book in my pocket and tumbled down by the side of the hay-stack, where I slept till the birds in Kew gardens awaked me in the morning; when off I started to Kew, reading my little book. The singularity of my dress, the simplicity of my manner, my confident and lively air, and, doubtless, his own compassion besides, induced the gardener, who was a Scotchman, I remember, to give me victuals, find me lodging, and set me to work. And, it was during the period that I was at Kew, that the present king and two of his brothers laughed at the oddness of my dress, while I was sweeping the grass plat round the foot of the pagoda. The gardener, seeing me fond of books, lent me some gardening books to read; but these I could not relish after my Tale of a Tub, which I carried about with me wherever I went, and when I, at about twenty years old, lost it in a box that fell overboard in the Bay of Fundy in North America, the loss gave me greater pain than I have ever felt at losing thousands of pounds.

"This circumstance, trifling as it was, and childish as it may seem to relate it, has always endeared the recollection of Kew to me. About five weeks ago, I had occasion to go from Cheltenham to Twickenham with my two eldest sons: I brought them back through Kew, in order to show them the place where the hay-stack stood, having frequently related to them what I have now related to you "

"In 1792 I went to the United States of America. There I became a writer. I understood little at that time; but the utmost of my ability was exerted on the side of my country, though I had been greatly disgusted with the trick that had been played me in England, with regard to a court-martial, which I had demanded upon some officers. I forgot every thing when the honour of England was concerned. The King's minister in America made me offers of reward. I refused to accept of any thing, in any shape whatever. Reward was offered me when I came home. I always refused to take one single penny from the government. If I had been to be bought, judge you, my country. women, how rich, and even how high, I might have been at this day! But I value the present received from the females of Lancashire a million times higher than all the money and all the titles which ministers and kings have to bestow.

"These cowardly and brutal men (the libellers of the London press) have represented me as being a harsh, tyrannical, passionate. merciless, and even greedy man. I have said before, that, in the whole course of my life, I never was once before a magistrate in any criminal case, either as accuser or accused, and that is a great deal to say, at the end of fifty-three years, and having no one to protect or advise me since I was eleven years old. Very few men can say as much. There is hardly a Quaker that can say as much, though he be much younger than I am. I never, in the whole course of my life, brought an action against any man for debt, though I have lost thousands of pounds by not doing it. Where is there a man, so long engaged in business of various sorts, as I have been, who can say as much? I know of no such man. I never could find in my heart to oppress any man merely because he had not the ability to pay. I lose money by acting thus; but I did not lose my good opinion of myself, and that was far more valuable than money. Nor have I ever had an action brought against me for debt, in all my lifetime, until since my last return from America; when an attorney at Bishop's Waltham, in Hampshire, had a writ served upon me, without any notice-without even writing to me for the money. The debt was for about £30; a thing which I had totally forgotten-the malt having been served during the year before I went to America

"You have how, and at what age, I started in the world. Those of you who are mothers, will want nothing but the involuntary impulse of your own hearts to carry your minds back to the alarm, the fears and anxieties of my most tender mother. But if I am "an extraordinary man," as I have been called by some persons, who ought to have found out a different epithet, I was a still more extraordinary boy. For though I never returned home for any length of time, and never put my parents to a farthing in expense after the time above mentioned, I was always a most dutiful son, never having, in my whole life, wilfully and deliberately "I have seven children, the greater part of whom are disobeyed either my father or my mother. I carried in my fast approaching the state of young men and young women. mind their precepts against drinking and gaming; and I│I never struck one of them in anger in my life; and I rehave never been drunk, and have never played at any game collect only one single instance in which I have ever spoke in my life. When in the army, I was often tempted to to one of them in a realiy angry tone and manner. And, take up the cards, but the words of my father came into my when I had so done, it appeared as if my heart was gone out mind and rescued me from the peril. Exposed as you must of my body. It was but once; and I hope it will never be well know to all sorts of temptations; young, strong, ad- again. Are there many men who can say as much as this? venturous, uncommonly gay, and greatly given to talk; To my servants I have been the most kind and indulgent still I never in my whole life was brought before a ma- of masters; and I have been repaid, in general, by their gistrate either as defendant or complainant. And even up fidelity and attachment. Two consumate villains I have to this hour, about five oaths are all that I have ever taken, act with. But their treachery, though of the blackest dye, notwithstanding the multitude and endless variety of affairs will by no means tend to make me distrustful or ill-temperin which I have bean engaged. I entered the army at six- ed. The attachment and devotion which I have experienced teen, and quitted it at twenty-five. I never was once even from others, exceeds even the perfidy of these two blackaccused or a fault of any sort. At ninelcen I was promot-hearted men, who, besides, have yet to be rendered as notoed to Sojan1-Mujer from a Corporal over the heads of ripus as they are infamous.

THE STORY-TELLER.

off my bonnet to the laird, and the minister, but after this I no fear but ye get a good master.' I kent I should take will take it off to all gentlemen when I ken them, and ladies too; I ay ken them by their hauding up their gourds,* and ga'en on their taes; thank you, sir, for bidding me,” "And what's your name, my little man ?"just Davy.”__" That I know already, but what besides? "Davy, sir, what was your father called ?"—" My father is dead toohe was dead before Peter, that is my little brother, was born-the gudeman, the gudewife, and all the men and lasses just call me Davy, at your service; and so does the minister." Our divine bestowed a penny on his guide, and in the course of the next forenoon, he related his adventure to his young hostess, who had a kind and generous heart. « The little boys, with broad blue bonnets, herding two black and white cows," she said, she had seen the boys frequently in her walks; their mother, who was one of the best poor women in the country side, had formerly been laundress in the family of which she was now the mistress, and it was one of her husband's tenants, who, at her request, gave employment and shelter to the orphans. Our minister revolved a generous act. He needed an intelligent boy about the age of Davy, who could clean knives, brush shoes, rub down and water the pony, and go an errand occasionally to Dunfermline or Alloa when letters were looked for, or wheaten bread, or fresh meat required. will be an act of great charity," said the lady, delighted to get Davy into such a comfortable home; and she sent for

Davy, should always be promptly ready for his superiors, LITTLE DAVY-A JUVENILE TALE. and especially for ministers. "Thank you, sir," said THE Minister of. Davy, now taking off his bonnet; "neither the gudeman, one of the best livings, in point nor the gudewife, ever fash with that; and our minister is of chalders, in the synod of Dumblane, was one autumn evening, towards the close of the last century, riding leisure- nobody to learn me manners now, since the Almighty took a Seceder, and only targes us on the Carritch. And I have ly along by the foot of the green Ochils, homeward-bound from a presbytery dinner at Stirling, but diverging some-obliging laddie, David, and every body will like you; and my poor mother. She would ay say to me, 'Be a civil thing from his course, to pass a day or two with a landed proprietor, the friend of his patron, and former pupil. This gentleman had lately married the sister of our minister's pupil, and had just settled on his estate in this part of the country. Whether the reverend divine merely wished to pay his respects to the lady, whom he had not seen since her childhood, or to ascertain the precise state of the “cough and defluxion," which had threatened all spring to carry off the aged incumbent of the parish-in which the manse and glebe were some L.15 per annum better than his own; -and whether his sitting-down cold still hung about the incumbent, or if these causes all combined produced the actuating motive which led him so far out of his course, it is not to tell, certain only it is, that as night began to fall, coming to a point where the road divided, he found it prudent to question the elder of two boys, who were slowly driving the cows they herded homeward, down a green loaning. "Can you direct me, my man, the road to T?" said our divine; and with more frankness, and better breeding than is usual in his age and calling, the elder boy gave copious directions. "I have been there a hundred times,” said he, "going to Menstrie Fair. Do you see the Fir Park yonder?-the park where the cushat's nest is ? Weel, ye'll just haud down a'blow that, and pass the bourtrees, and next Brownie's well, and then ye come to the stepping-stanes But maybe ye would like to take the New Brig? That's the way little Pate and I went to gather reddans yesternight—may be ye would like some ?" And here the boy hastily and hospitably produced the deli-him immediately, and introduced him to the minister. “I Cary, which, however our divine, in his days of herding, might have relished, had no attractions to a seventeen years' thriving incumbent, who had now for twice seventeen years "sat at good men's feasts." But he remembered having very lately heard Colonel Thornton, no mean authority, recommend a conserve of rowans as a better condiment with ether mutton or venison than the Cockney's currant jelly, asually employed for the same meats; and he accordingly sted the gift into his pockets, meditating experiment. You're a good boy, Davy-is it Davy they call ye?—I think I know my way now-But where's your bonnet? -and a Minister speaking to ye?" For, though humble in is own person, our divine liked to support the dignity of the Kirk. "Where's my bonnet?" quoth Davy, rubbing his yes as the minister rode off." He must be blind, or he would have seen my bonnet, just where it should be, on my head. If he could not see it, he'll never see the bourts, and the stepping-stanes, and the road to T.

Tent Hawkey, Pate, and I'll run after the gentleman, and set A right." The minister was to-night in a very gracious Lamour, and when Davy, out of breath, overtook him, and tapiained his purpose of becoming his guide, with his reats, the clergyman smiled at the simplicity of the boy, and des carefully informed him, that by saying where's your anet? he meant, where is your bow? which, he instructed Berries of the mountain-ash,

"It

know him very well already," said Davy; "it is the gen-
tleman that asked, 'Where's your bonnet ?' "
net was in his hand now.
Davy's bon-
"And you will be pleased to
go home with him, and do what he bids you till you are
strong and big enough for other work."-" Surely !” cried
Davy; "if he send me to school, like the gudeman, and
let me see little Peter on the Saturday."—" Certainly,
my little man; Girzy and myself will give you a lesson
every day in the Bible and your catechism."

Davy longed for the happy day which was to take him to the manse, fifteen miles off, and make him the "minister's little man ;"-but this did not place him in Goshen. Little drudges about a kitchen or stable," the servants of servants," are seldom the most fortunate of children. The minister was naturally of a selfish and harsh temper, which long waiting for a kirk, and celibacy, had not softened,— and Girzy was only like too many of the ancient housekeepers of old bachelors. That poor Davy could either feel or reflect, more than the three-foot stool on which he sat cleaning knives, never seemed to enter into their minds; for they cuffed and kicked him about as readily as that piece of furniture. He was, among his many employments, sent t weed the garden, and if he drew a new-sprung plant in place of a weed, though it was next to impossible for him to know the difference, a thrashing was his sure reward. When Parasols.

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