On that very stately bed, See now, in this dressing-room, There sits the poor cat; See, how woe-begone she looks- All running down her face! She has reason enough to cry, poor thing, She has had a great loss! She had a mistress, the best in the world, She has one now-so cross! There she sits trembling, And hanging down her head, As if she knew misfortune was come, And look, there stands Mrs. Crabthorn, Giving to that surly fellow For what? to hang the cat! "For then, Scroggin," says she, "I shall still have my fifty pounds a-year, And what's the cat to me! "To be sure I promised Madam And I'll not be plagued with that; "Be sure to do it safely, Hang her with the rope double; And her skin will make you a cap, Friend Scroggin, for your trouble !" Poor thing, she hears their words Well may she moan and sob; He is an ill-looking fellow, And seems to like the job! He will take the rope with joy, And in less than half an hour, PART III. Now in this third part you will see, The end of Crabthorn's treachery; How she had cause to rue the day Whereon the Cat was made away. See now my dear brother It is a very noble room; But now we cannot stay, See, here sits the company, The heir and all the cousins The nephews and the grand-nephews, The lawyer he has just reached To where the will said, Mrs. Crabthorn shall have fifty pounds A-year, till the cat be dead. "That fifty pounds a-year Shall be left to her to keep The cat in good condition, With a cushion whereon to sleep; "That as long as the cat live The money shall be her due." And the old lady prayed her, in her will, To be a loving guardian and true. "Goodness me!" screamed Mrs. Crabthorn, "The cat's dead, I do declare! Who thought that Madam meant the money Only for the cat's share! "Lawk sirs, she loved my lady More than all the world beside; And so, like any Christian, She took to her bed and died! "She died of grief for my lady, On the third day and no other!" "You shall not be forgotten. Crabthorn!" Said good Madam Fortescue's brother. 173 And with that up jumps Scroggin, You see where he stands, Dangling the very rope In his great, rough hands. And moreover than that, To make it past a doubt, There's the cat-skin in his pocket, Which he will presently pull out. -And he tells all the company Assembled there that day, How Crabthorn had misused the cat, And had her made away. Now if you inquire of me Why her death he did not smother, I can only say, bad people Often betray one another. And I can very well suppose They have quarrelled since that day, And now to be revenged on her He determines to betray. But you see how angry she is, How her face is in a blaze; But she deserved her disappointment, And so every one says, And now remember this, My dear little brother, To one thing or another. ANDREW LEE, THE FISHER BOY. AH! Fisher Boy, I well know thee, - Oh Andrew! thou hast not forgot, I'm very sure that thou hast not, All that we talked about that day, If chance some coming ship there be. Thou know'st we talked of this-thou know'st And then we talked of many a heap In many a crimson Indian shell; And famous things have writ and said; But Andrew, never have I heard One who so much my spirit stirred, As he who sate with me an hour, In speech that poured like water free; Then shame to think I knew thee not- THE WANDERER'S RETURN. THERE was a girl of fair Provence, Fresh as a flower in May, And thus unto a mourner young, "And said I, I shall dance no more; For though but young in years, I knew what makes men wise and sad,- A simple tale of household grief And left young children three; More kind than common brothers are; "When Marc was sixteen summers old, A tall youth and a strong, "But Marc he had a steadfast will, Her prayers he long withstood; "'T was on a shining morn in June, I dared not to my mother show We said farewell, and yet farewell, "There seemed a gloom within the house, For he, the dearest one, "At length most doleful tidings came, The plague was in the distant town, "Weeks passed, and months, and not a word Came from him to dispel The almost certainty of death My mother drooped from fear, which grew "At length she said, 'I'll see my son In life if yet he be, Or else the turf that covers him!' When sank she on her knee, And clasped her hands in silent prayer, And wept most piteously. "She went into the distant town, Still asking everywhere For tidings of her long-lost son: - "I marked her cheek yet paler grow, And hourly was my earnest prayer "Oh, what a woe seemed then to us, I dared not picture to my mind, How drear, how desolate- "We rarely left my mother's side, "At length, oh joy beyond all joys! My tall and manly brother! I should have swooned, but for the thought "I cannot tell you how we met;- I should have screamed, but for the thought To tell how great that bliss, would need "His lightest tone, his very step, More power had they to win "The story that my brother told Than he chanced to meet a merchant good, "The merchant was a childless man; And in my brother's face, My son,' said he, is dead, wilt thou "Even then, bound to the golden East, His ship before him lay; And this new bond of love was formed There, standing on the quay; "The letter that he wrote to us, It never reached our hand; And while we drooped with anxious love, "And many rich and curious things, He brought as if to realize The tales he had to tell; My mother smiled, and wept, and smiled, And listened, and grew well. "The merchant loved him more and more, And did a father's part; And blessed my brother for the love That healed his wounded heart; He was a friend that heaven had sent Kind mercy to impart. "So do not droop, my gentle friend, And comfort in great store, A SWINGING SONG. MERRY it is on a summer's day, "Three years ago, unknown to us, When nuts were on the tree, Even in the pleasant harvest-time, My brother went to seaUnknown to us, to sea he went, And a woful house were we. "That winter was a weary time, A long, dark time of woe; For we knew not in what ship he sailed, And vainly sought to know; And day and night the loud, wild winds Seemed evermore to blow. "My mother lay upon her bed, Her spirit sorely tossed With dismal thoughts of storm and wreck Upon some savage coast; But morn and eve we prayed to Heaven That he might not be lost. "And when the pleasant spring came on, And fields again were green, He sent a letter full of news, Of the wonders he had seen; Praying us to think him dutiful As he afore had been. "The tidings that came next were from A sailor old and grey, Who saw his ship at anchor lie In the harbour at Bombay; But he said my brother pined for home, And wished he were away. "Again he wrote a letter long, Without a word of gloom; I watched, as now, beside the door, "I watched and watched, but I knew not then It would be all in vain; For very sick he lay the while, Ah, me! I fear my brother dear Will ne'er come home again! "And now I watch-for we have heard That he is on his way, And the letter said, in very truth, He would be here to-day. Oh! there's no bird that singeth now Could tempt me hence away!" -That self-same eve I wandered down Unto the busy strand, Just as a little boat came in With people to the land; I knew him by his dark blue eyes, And by his features fair; ZEDEKIAH.-Why, Peter, what's come to your hat? I never saw such a thing. PETER.-I've had nothing but ill-luck to-day; I did this with the swing; I've been tossed into the apple-tree just as if I was a ball, And though I caught hold of a bough, I've had a terrible fall; I'm sure I should have cracked my skull, had it not been for my hat. You may see what a fall it was, for the crown 's quite flat; And it never will take its shape again, do all that ever I may! ZEDEKIAH.-Never mind it, Peter! Put it on your head, and come along, I say! PETER.-Nay, I shall not. I shall sit down under this tree; I've had nothing but ill-luck to-day. Come, sit down PETER.-I'll be sure there are no more thorns here, before I sit down; Pretty well of one thorn at a time, Master Zedekiah Brown! There, now, I think this seat is safe and easy-so now you must know I was fast asleep at breakfast-time; and you'll always find it so, That if you begin a day ill, it will be ill all the day. Well, when I woke, the breakfast-things were clattering all away; And I know they had eggs and fowl, and all sort of good things; But then none may partake who are in bed when the morning bell rings; So, sadly vexed as I was, I rolled myself round in bed, And, as breakfast is over, I'll not hurry myself,” I said, |