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* Excuse the liberty I take,' said Antony, a little embarrassed ; “but your new grange, sir, and the road up to it, will take away a part of the garden. I am not given to complaining ; but if you would allow me to cultivate the little slip of ground opposite our farm, that would give us compensation.'

Ah! very good,' said Mr Ferrers, looking at the farmer; it seems to me that this little slip of ground is about an acre !'

'I cannot say,' said Antony, looking very innocent; "I never measured it; but it is something to poor people like us, while it is nothing to the master.'

Listen to me a moment,' said the squire. You must make a calculation, my

friend. Here is an estimate of all you have asked from me; it amounts to nearly eightyfive pounds. Adding the acre of ground, it will be a hundred and twenty-five pounds that have been spent to satisfy your desires, in less than a month! According to this calculation, it would be necessary, in order to satisfy a poor man like you, Master Antony, to have forty thousand a year, and I have only half that sum. Even then, you would not be happy; for, since I promised you a new roof, you have gone on from one wish to another, always discontented and complaining. You see, then, wealth cannot satisfy a man who cannot content himself with what he has. The happiness you run after, you will never find, my friend; it lies neither in wealth nor

l in power, nor in anything outside our lives—the Almighty has put it within our reach : He has put it in ourselves !'



A True Story.

l. Oh! what's the matter? what's the matter?

What is 't that ails young Harry Gill, That evermore his teeth they chatter,

Chatter, chatter, chatter still ? Of waistcoats Harry has no lack, Good duffle

gray, and flannel fine ; He has a blanket on his back,

And coats enough to smother nine.

2. In March, December, and in July,

'Tis all the same with Harry Gill; The neighbours tell, and tell you truly,

His teeth they chatter, chatter still. At night, at morning, and at noon,

'Tis all the same with Harry Gill; Beneath the sun, beneath the moon,

His teeth they chatter, chatter still.

3.Young Harry was a lusty drover,

And who so stout of limb as he? His cheeks were red as ruddy clover;

His voice was like the voice of three. Old Goody Blake was old and poor;

Ill-fed she was and thinly clad; And any man who passed her door

Might see how poor a hut she had.

4. All day she spun in her poor dwelling :

And then her three hours' work at night, Alas ! 'twas hardly worth the telling,

It would not pay for candle-light. Remote from sheltered village green,

On a hill's northern side she dwelt, Where from sea-blasts the hawthorns lean,

And hoary dews are slow to melt.

5. By the same fire to boil their pottage, Two

poor old dames, as I have known, Will often live in one small cottage ;

But she, poor woman ! housed alone. 'Twas well enough when summer came,

The long, warm, lightsome summer-day, Then at her door the canty dame Would sit, as any



6. But when the ice our streams did fetter,

Oh, then how her old bones would shake! You would have said, if you had met her,

'Twas a hard time for Goody Blake. Her evenings then were dull and dead :

Sad case it was, as you may think, For very

cold to go to bed, And then for cold not sleep a wink.

7. O joy for her! whene'er in winter

The winds at night had made a rout; And scattered many a lusty splinter,

And many a rotten bough about.

Yet never had she, well or sick,

As every man who knew her says, A pile beforehand, turf or stick,

Enough to warm her for three days.

8. Now, when the frost was past enduring,

And made her poor old bones to ache, Could any thing be more alluring

Than an old hedge to Goody Blake? And now and then, it must be said,

When her old bones were cold and chill, She left her fire, or left her bed,

To seek the hedge of Harry Gill.

9. Now Harry he had long suspected

This trespass of old Goody Blake; And vowed that she should be detected

That he on her would vengeance take; And oft from his warm fire he'd

go, And to the fields his road would take; And there, at night, in frost and snow,

He watched to seize old Goody Blake.


10. And once behind a rick of barley,

Thus looking out did Harry stand : The moon was full and shining clearly,

And crisp with frost the stubble land. He hears a noise-he's all awake

Again kon tip-toe down the hill He softly creeps—’tis Goody Blake;

She's at the hedge of Harry Gill !


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11. Right glad was he when he beheld her;

Stick after stick did Goody pull: He stood behind a bush of elder,

Till she had filled her apron full. When with her load she turned about,

The by-way back again to take : He started forward with a shout,

And sprang upon poor Goody Blake.

12. And fiercely by the arm he took her,

And by the arm he held her fast, And fiercely by the arm he shook her,

And cried : 'I've caught you then at last ! Then Goody, who had nothing said,

Her bundle from her lap let fall,
And, kneeling on the sticks, she prayed

To God that is the Judge of all.

She prayed, her withered hand uprearing,

While Harry held her by the arm-
God, Who art never out of hearing,

he never more be warm !' The cold, cold moon above her head,

Thus on her knees did Goody pray; Young Harry heard what she had said, And icy cold he turned away.

14. He went complaining all the morrow That he was cold and


chill : His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow,

Alas! that day for Harry Gill !

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