Or said 'Good-morning!' to a passer-by, 'T was only to perplex the heart he'd won, For no one cause but insolence and fun. Thus did he wound her, though she loved him still, And patiently put up with every ill ; SALLY AND HER FRIEND VISIT A FORTUNE-TELLER. — THAT CLEVER OLD WOMAN DESCRIBED. WITCH SUPERSTITIONS. Frequent on Sabbath-days, in pleasant weather, We went to walk and talk of love together; And often sought a hut beside the wood, That from the town a gossip's minute stood. Here an old woman, for some small rewards, Would tell our fortunes both by cups and cards. Some called her witch, and whispered all they dare Of mighty things that had been noticed there; Witches of every shape, that used to meet To count the stars, or muttered charms repeat. Woodmen, in Winter, as they passed the road, Have vowed they've seen some crawling like a toad; And some, like owlets, veering over-head, Shrieking enough to fright the very dead. Yet she to us appeared like other folks, A droll old woman, full of tales and jokes ; And if the old dame's tales were darkly meant, I ne'er perceived it, though I often went. Deal as she might with Satan's evil powers, She read her Bible, and was fond of flowers. She went to church as other people may, And knelt and prayed -though witches cannot pray: She had her ague-charms, and old receipts For wounds and bruises labor often meets ; She might, no doubt, with pointed finger show Well, those are good that never stoop to wrong, Thus to young hopes she would her fortunes tell, But Sally quickly knew her own too well! Her tears and sighs did all too fruitless prove, To keep the Shepherd to his vows of love : He came to vex her oft and would not stay, But shut the door again and laughed away. As she was spotless and a maiden still, Conscience ne'er told him that the deed was ill; And he made promises, to give her pain, Just for the sake of breaking them again. On Winter's nights for hours I've known her stand, She sorrowed on, and worse and worse she grew, And strength declined its labor to pursue : At length her parents, though with added fears, CHILDREN'S ARTLESS SYMPATHY; MOTHER PREACHES PATIENCE; JOB; RUTH; SALLY'S BIBLE. SHE WASTES AWAY. Her friends, no longer with false hopes beguiled, Feared for the danger of their troubled child; Her children-sisters oft hung round her chair, Her mother talked of patience all in vain, - HER LOVER REPENTS; INTERVIEW; TOO LATE; VAIN HOPES; GOSSIPS; SALLY DIES.-THH BRIDAL CHANGES TO A FUNERAL. Her lover, by and by, his folly mourned, His conscience pricked him, or his love returned: He begged and prayed, and wished again to be Once more admitted to her company. The gossips, when they met, would still agree I bore the pall up to her last long home; CONCLUSION OF THE MOTHER'S STORY.- SALLY'S TOMB-STONE. Thus died poor Sally on her wedding-day — An April bud that could not see the May. I often stand to gaze upon the stone, Whene'er I journey to the church alone, Where gold-winged cherubs hold a flowery wreath Upon whose leaves was writ, at her request, Last Sabbath-day but one, I loitered there, Before the bells had chimed the hour of prayer: Stopping, as pity seemly did demand, I wrapped my apron-corner round my hand, And reached the Bible down from off the shelf The parents thought 't would save their sinking child, To read the text, and look the psalms among, For trouble's hopes are quickly reconciled So let him come. I sat beside her bed; He asked her how she was, and hung his head : Yet hopes were fed, though but the mask of pain, Rustic Ballad for September. BLOOMFIELD'S "HARVEST-HOME.” WHAT gossips prattled in the sun, Who talked him fairly down, Up, memory! tell; 't is Suffolk fun, And lingo of their own. Ah! Judie Twitchel! though thou 'rt dead, For still seem thrumming in my head Thou queen of knitters; for a ball Of worsted was thy pride; With dangling stockings great and small, 'We did so laugh; the moon shone bright; "T was Farmer Cheerum's Horkey 2 night, And I, and Grace, and Sue 'But bring a stool, sit round about, And, boys, be quiet, pray; And let me tell my story out; "I was sitch a merry day! The butcher whistled at the door, And brought a load of meat; Boys rubbed their hands, and cried, "there's more," Dogs wagged their tails to see 't. 'On went the boilers till the hake 3 Had much ado to bear 'em ; 'Creak went the Jack; the cats were scared; We had not time to heed 'em, The owd hins cackled in the yard, For we forgot to feed 'em! Yet 't was not I, as I may say, Because as how, d'ye see, I only helped there for the day; And now the cloth was spread. I could have cop't4 them at their pates! "Trenchers for me," said I. "That look so clean upon the ledge, Nor never turn a sharp knife's edge; — Home came the jovial Horkey load, And Grace amongst the green boughs rode This way and that the wagon reeled, Her cheeks were colored in the field, "The laughing harvest-folks and John "T was my red face that set them on, And then they leered at Sue. 'And Farmer Cheerum went, good man, And broached the Horkey beer; And sitch a mort 5 of folk began To eat up our good cheer. "Says he, "Thank God for what's before us; That thus we meet agen." The mingling voices, like a chorus, "Welcome and plenty, there they found 'em ; The ribs of beef grew light; And puddings-till the boys got round 'em ; And then they vanished quite ! 'Now all the guests, with Farmer Crouder, Began to prate of corn; And we found out they talked the louder, The oftener passed the horn. 'Out came the nuts; we set a cracking; The ale came round our way; By gom, we women fell a clacking As loud again as they. "John sung "Old Benbow" loud and strong, And I, "C The Constant Swain ;" "Cheer up my Lads," was Simon's song, "We'll conquer them again." 'Now twelve o'clock was drawing nigh, And all in merry cue; I knocked the cask, "O, ho!" said I, "We've almost conquered you." 'My lord begged round, and held his hat; Says Farmer Gruff, says he, "There's many a lord, Sam, I know that, Has begged as well as thee." 'Bump in his hat the shillings tumbled All round among the folks ; "Laugh if you wool," said Sam, and mumbled, "You pay for all your jokes." 'Joint stock, you know, among the men, To drink at their own charges; So up they got full drive, and then Went out to halloo largess.7 'And sure enough the noise they made! - 'As they stood hallooing back to back, We, lightly as a feather, Went sliding round, and in a crack Had pinned their coats together. "T was near upon 't as light as noon; They shouted to the full round moon, But when they found the trick, my stars! Our giggles turned to ha, ha, ha's, 'Grace by the tumbril made a squat, They said she could not run for fat; Sue round the neat-house 8 squalling ran, 1 He stopt, for he's a fearful man And off set John, with all his might, To chase me down the yard, Till I was nearly gran'd 10 outright; He hugged so woundly hard. Still they kept up the race and laugh, And round the house we flew ; But hark ye! the best fun by half Was Simon arter Sue. 'She cared not, dark nor light, not she, So, near the dairy door She passed a clean white hog, you see, They'd kilt the day before. High on the spirket" there it hung, Now, Susie what can save ye?" Round the cold pig his arms he flung, And cried, "Ah! here I have ye." The farmers heard what Simon said, And what a noise! good lack! Some almost laughed themselves to dead, And others clapt his back. 'We all at once began to tell What fun we had aboard; But Simon stood our jeers right well; Then in his button-hole upright A slip of paper twisted tight, The clock struck one-some talked of parting, Some said it was a sin, And hitched their chairs;- but those for starting 'Owd women, loitering for the nonce, 12 'And out ran every soul beside, A shanny-pated 13 crew; But laughing got the master; Some quackling cried, "Let go your hold!" "Our shadows helter-skelter danced About the moonlight ground; And well they might-till Farmer Cheerum, Bade all good morn as he came near 'em, 'Then off we strolled this way and that, As home we rambled singing. For, when we laughed, it laughed again, That's all my tale, and all the fun; Poor Judie ! - thus time knits or spins Death stopped thy tales, and stopped thy pins, - And so he 'll serve us all. NOTES, 1-13. Judie Twitchel lived with a relative of Bloomfield, at Honington. Horkey is the name given, in Suffolk, England, to the Harvest-Home Feast. — Hake, a sliding pot-hook; cop't, thrown; sitch a mort, such a number; 'lord,' the leader of the reapers, who collected the largess, and led the troop that went forth to halloo, after an ancient, perhaps a heathen custom; neat-house, cowhouse; suffen, something; gran'd, strangled; spirket, iron hook; nonce, purpose; shanny, giddy. Psalm and Lessons for September. QUARLES'S PSALM 42: 2. LONGING TO SEE GOD. [be WHAT is the soul the better to be tined More than to beasts that grovel? are not they Do they not taste Thee? hear Thee? nay, what sense What more do we? alas! what serves our reason, Great God! but in the nearer view of Thee! ** * The jolly shepherds pipe; flowers freshly spring; POPE'S "MUTUAL DEPENDENCE.” HAS God, thou fool! worked solely for thy good, Thy joy, thy pastime, thy attire, thy food? Who for thy table feeds the wanton fawn For him as kindly spreads the flowery lawn: Is it for thee the lark ascends and sings? Joy tunes his voice, joy elevates his wings. Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat? Loves of his own and raptures swell the note. The bounding steed you pompously bestride Shares with his lord the pleasure and the pride. Is thine alone the seed that strews the plain? The birds of heaven shall vindicate their grain. Thine the full harvest of the golden year? Part pays, and justly, the deserving steer: The hog, that ploughs not, nor obeys thy call, Lives on the labors of this lord of all. Know, Nature's children all divide her care; The fur that warms a monarch warmed a bear. Grant that the powerful still the weak control; GRAHAME'S "SABBATH.” HAIL, Sabbath! thee I hail!- the poor man's day! On other days the man of toil is doomed To eat his joyless bread lonely, the ground Both seat and board, screened from the winter's cold And summer's heat by neighboring hedge or tree; But on this day, embosomed in his home, He shares the frugal meals with those he loves; With those he loves he shares the heartfelt joy Of giving thanks to God—not thanks of form, A word and a grimace, but reverently With covered face and upward, earnest eye! Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail the poor man's day! The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe The morning air pure from the city's smoke; While wandering slowly up the river side, He meditates on Him whose power he marks In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough, As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom Around the roots; - and while he thus surveys With elevated joy each rural charm, He hopes, yet fears presumption in the hope, |