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1. Some years ago, ere Time and Taste

Had turned our parish topsy-turvy, When Darnel Park was Darnel waste,

And roads as little known as scurvy, The man who lost his way between

St Mary's Hill and Sandy Thicket, Was always shewn across the Green,

And guided to the parson's wicket.

2. Back flew the bolt of lissom lath;

Fair Margaret, in her tidy kirtle, Led the lorn traveller


the path, Through clean-clipped rows of box and myrtle ; And Don and Sancho, Tramp and Tray,

Upon the parlour-steps collected, Wagged all their tails, and seemed to say:

• Our master knows you; you ’re expected.'

3. Up rose the Reverend Doctor Brown,

Up rose the doctor's 'winsome marrow;' The lady laid her knitting down,

Her husband clasped his ponderous barrow. Whate'er the stranger's caste or creed,

Pundit or papist, saint or sinner, He found a stable for his steed,

And welcome for himself, and dinner.

4. If, when he reached his journey's end,

And warmed himself in court and college, He had not gained an honest friend,

And twenty curious scraps of knowledge ; If he departed as he came,

With no new light on love or liquor, Good sooth, the traveller was to blame, And not the vicarage, or the vicar.

5. His talk was like a stream which runs,

With rapid change from rooks to roses ; It slipped from politics to puns;

It passed from Mahomet to Moses. Beginning with the laws which keep

The planets in their radiant courses ; And ending with some precept deep,

For dressing eels or shoeing horses.




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6. And he was kind, and loved to sit

In the low hut or garnished cottage, And praise the farmer's homely wit,

And share the widow's homelier pottage. At his approach complaint grew mild ;

And when his hand unbarred the shutter, The clammy lips of fever smiled

The welcome which they could not utter.


7. Alack the change! In vain I look

For haunts in which my boyhood trifled; The level lawn, the trickling brook,

The trees I climbed, the beds I rifled !

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Where is the old man laid ? Look down

And construe on the slab before you-
Here lieth Dr William Brown,
Vir nullâ non donandus lauro.'




And on the twenty-second of March, the Tonquin arrived at the mouth of the Oregon, or Columbia river.

The aspect of the river and the adjacent coasts was wild and dangerous. The mouth of the Columbia is upwards of four miles wide, with a peninsula and promontory on one side, and a long low spit of land on the other; between which a sand bar and chain of breakers almost block. The interior of the country rises into successive ranges of mountains, which, at the time of the arrival of the Tonquin, were covered with snow.

A fresh wind from the north-west sent à rough tumbling sea upon the coast, which broke upon the bar in furious surges, and extended a sheet of foam almost across the mouth of the river. Under these circum

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stances, the captain did not think it prudent to approach within three leagues, until the bar should be sounded, and the channel ascertained. Mr Fox, the chief mate, was ordered to this service in the whale-boat, accompanied by John Martin, an old seaman, who had formerly visited the river, and by three Canadians. Fox requested to have regular sailors to man the boat, but the captain would not spare them from the service of the ship, and supposed the Canadians, being expert - boatmen on lakes and rivers, were competent to the service. With a misgiving heart, he came to the partners for sympathy, knowing their differences with the captain, and the tears were in his eyes as he represented the case. sent off,' said he, without seamén to man my boat, in boisterous weather, and on the most dangerous part of the north-west coast. My uncle' was lost a few years ago on this same bar, and I am now going to lay my bones alongside of his.'

The partners sympathised in his apprehensions, and remonstrated with the captain. The latter, however, was not to be moved. He had been displeased with Mr Fox in the earlier part of the voyage, considering him indolent and inactive, and probably thought his present repugnance arose from

want of true nautical spirit. The interference of the partners in the business of the ship, also, was not calculated to have a favourable effect on a stickler for authority like himself, especially in his actual state of feeling towards them.

At one o'clock P.M., therefore, Fox and his comrades set off in the whale-boat, which is represented as small in size, and crazy in condition. All eyes were strained after the little bark as it was pulled for shore, rising and sinking with the huge rolling waves, until it entered, a mere speck among the foaming breakers, and became lost to view.

Evening set in, night succeeded and passed away, and morning returned, but without the return of the boat. As the wind had moderated, the ship stood near to the land, so as to command a view of the river's mouth. Nothing was to be seen but a wild chaos of tumbling waves, breaking upon the bar, and apparently forming a foaming barrier from shore to shore. Towards night, the ship again stood out to gain sea-room, and a gloom was visible in every countenance. The captain himself shared in the general anxiety, and probably repented his peremptory orders. Another weary and watchful night succeeded, during which the wind subsided, and the weather became serene.

On the following day the ship, having drifted near the land, anchored in fourteen fathoms' water to the northward of the long peninsula or promontory which forms the north side of the entrance, and is called Cape Disappointment. The pinnace was then manned, and two of the partners, Mr David Stuart and Mr M‘Kay, set off in hope of learning something of the fate of the whale-boat. The surf, however, broke with such violence along the shore that they could find no landingplace. Several of the natives appeared on the beach, and made signs to them to row round the cape, but they thought it most prudent to return to the ship.

The wind now sprung up, the Tonquin got underway, and stood in to seek the channel, but was again deterred, by the frightful aspect of the breakers, from venturing within a league.

Here she hove to, and Mr Mumford, the second-mate, was despatched with four hands, in the pinnace, to sound

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