The friends they met with their warm love displayed By good advice and necessary aid, In trying to procure for them a farm, Where they might live, and have some comforts warm. These with our friends were joined in Church connection, And none were backward to evince affection. Young COOPER soon was pleased, as man could be, That three of them, whom we shall name as "C——," Would leave their homes and business cares awhile, To trudge with him, on foot, for many a mile, Through Summer's heat, and with most kind intention, For purposes of which I have made mention. He at such times would gaze upon the trees, Whose lofty heads were bowing to the breeze, Till he could fancy them a band devout Engaged in worship, beyond any doubt. Now he first heard those "soft and soul-like sounds" From vast "pine groves," which seemed to have no bounds, Thrill his pure soul with their sweet melody, Till it awoke his own rude minstrelsy, And made him long near by to settle down In some small hut which he could call his own. This wish, in part, ere long was gratified— The father bought a farm, to which they hied. 'Twas six miles from the village, and a place Where much hard labor stared them in the face; And there they found that, having spent their money, It would not soon yield them much "milk and honey." But yet it promised, from its rich, black soil, A full reward, in time, for cash and toil. So, in good heart, without one "if," or "but," They set to work to fix a roofless hut. This done, they placed their goods in ship-board style, With furniture dispensing for awhile. Their boxes served quite well for chairs and table, And on the floor they slept—if they were able— For dread mosquitoes, and the heat intense, Made good sound sleep be often banished thence. Yet God's kind care kept all in health and spirits, And they found Industry had still its merits. From day to day they did their axes seize, And labor hard in cutting down fine trees, Or cleaning up a Fallow 'gainst the Fall— For which their skill was truly very small.

Ere long they purchased a young, wild ox-team, Which had for months been wandering in the woods, Where they did not but eat, and drink, and dream, Like lords of all in those deep solitudes. Our WILLIAM acted as the Teamster still, And did his test to train them to his will; Yet for a time they would not brook restraint, But ran to th' woods, on dangerous frolic bent.

Once, while at logging, our raw teamster fell, And the nigh ox trod on his foot as well; He tried to rise, but found it was in vain, And thoughts of their mad tricks shot through his brain. He gently touched them with his sapling goad, When they sprang sideways with their heavy load. Quick as a lightning's flash the log they drew O'er WILLIAM'S prostrate form—O, sad to view! When—wonder great—the cattle stood quite still (In strict obedience to their Maker's will)! His head was on a log, his neck was bared, As if for some dread ax-stroke quite prepared. The log they drew upon his shoulder rested— And thus his courage was severely tested. One more slight move would surely crush his head; In one short moment more he might be dead! Still they move not!—Was this not Providence? Come, Sceptics, answer; here is no pretence; What I relate are only simple facts. Given with that faithfulness which truth exacts. The father forward ran, in dreadful fear; "O, WILLIAM, thou art hurt!" fell on his ear. The log was raised, when up at once he rose, Though feeling much as if his blood was froze. To parent's kind inquiries he replied, "I feel no hurt except a bruised side." But faintness o'er him soon began to come, When he was glad to reach his rude log home; And from that hour has ever thankful been For God's deliverance—so clearly seen. A few short hours sufficed to bring him round, And he at logging speedily was found. There still was something in this wild bush-life To suit a mind ne'er formed for worldly strife. The chopper's quick reverberating stroke— The well-trained oxen, toiling in the yoke— The distant cow-bell's ever-changing sound— The new-chopped tree's deep thundering on the ground; The patter of the rain on forest leaves, The tree-frog's pipe, which oft the ear deceives, The blazing log-heaps, and the rude rail fence— The wild-bee's hum of gratitude intense For hoards of honey, which our woods still yield; The plenteous crops contained in each small field; The Summer evening's song of "Whip-poor-will," Near, or remote, while all beside is still; The clamorous crow's most harsh discordant note; The blue jay, prone to steal—by nature taught; The beauteous woodpecker—the pigeon's flight; The snake, innoxious, gliding out of sight— These sights and sounds brought pleasure to his mind, Most heart-felt pleasure, leaving peace behind. And though he toiled with all the eagerness Which youths Of ardent temperaments possess, Till his poor body every night was tired, He evermore these sounds and sights admired. And naught but broken health could e'er have drove Him from those woods, in which he loved to rove.

Meanwhile, he took the first convenient time To get some cherry logs, in soundness prime, From which rude bedsteads he contrived to make, That they their rest might with more comfort take. He made a table, too, and felt quite glad That they, at last so good a table had. These things were spoken of not boastingly, But with a view to let new-comers see How, in the Bush, strange shifts and turns are made, By those who, rightly, are of debt afraid. The COOPERS, simple minded, could not brook To stand as debtors in a tradesman's book; And even to this day—through eighteen years— 'Twould grieve them sore should they be in arrears. And I am sure it would be better far, That families should themselves from debt debar, Than blast their prospects, as too many do, By what they have so often cause to rue!

From this digression let us now return, To note what WILLIAM found with deep concern; That "'Tis not good for Man to be alone," As said by God, in Wisdom's solemn tone. This now appeared to him a serious truth, Far more than it had done in days of youth. The birds still paired, and had their separate nest, From love responsive in each songster's breast; But, though he loved on Nature's face to gaze, And mark the beauties which each day displays, He felt a vacancy in his young breast, For he no lov'd companion then possessed. Far different was it in his native land— There, such an one might always be at hand. Where was he now to look? Religious views Left him small space from which a mate to choose. God's word came to his aid, and then in prayer He threw himself upon his Father's care. That word declares, that "He who had not spared His well-beloved Son, was not prepared For once withholding from his children dear Aught which they need, while still sojourning here!" This precious promise proved to be as balm, To keep his troubled heart at present calm; And he resolved in patience still to wait, Till God should find for him a true "help-mate." This resolution formed, was kept intact, Nor was the strength his own, for that he lacked. He, though so young, had very clearly seen That Man, in every age, is prone to lean Upon an arm of flesh—most frail support! Which often fails us, oft makes us its sport. And yet, O strange perversity! we cling To that which never can us comfort bring. He knew 'twas better to feel flesh so weak As to be forced his strength from God to seek; To feel, like Paul, "However weak we be, We may still glory in Infirmity." From day to day, from week to week mav prove The prcciousness of trusting in God's love! Should we do this, our joy will never cease— Dark things will all look bright! Our end be peace!



BOOK VI.

THE ARGUMENT—Address to Rural Life. An average sample of a Logging-bee described. The Feast. The Logger's jests, and other incidents. Burning Log-heaps. The Loggers' Song. WILLIAM'S thoughts and employments in Autumn. The Autumnal garb of trees. Reflections connected therewith. The family's Sabbath-day employments. Beginning of their hardships. WILLIAM leaves the Bush for Village life, but soon returns. Father's narrow escape from being crushed by tree falling. Winter employments. Preparations for Sugar-making. Process described. Sugarer's Song. Conclusion.

Hail, Rural Life! from whom such pleasures spring, That I invoke my Muse thy charms to sing. Whether I view thee in my native land, Where Science lends to Industry her hand, To make her cornfields yield a double store, Or beautify her landscapes more and more— Where wealth immense is very freely spent, By those who on thy weal are still intent; Or here, in Canada, thy face I view On well-cleared farms, or those which are quite new; However rude thy features, or despised— Though in Town-life, thy charms by me are prized. A sense of these still urges me along, As I proceed with my unlettered song; And every line which I may write on thee, I trust will evidence sincerity.

The new-come settlers now with speed prepare To log the fallow they have cleared with care. For Summer, with her heat intense, has fled, And fruit-crowned Autumn has come in her stead. The brush, well dried, is burnt; and all around Logs, black and charred, are lying on the ground. These into heaps must every one be drawn, By means which to all Bush-men are well known. Have they not strength or time the work to do? They ask their neighbor's help, and oxen, too. And fellow-feeling, sprung from their own need, Leads these the summons to obey with speed. Should the set day be fine, they start from home Without regret, and to the fallow come.

One looks so pale, he seems not fit for work; Has had the Ague, and it still doth lurk In his poor frame, and may again appear A dozen times before he's closed the year! Some others, also, wear quite sickly looks, As though they had run deep in Doctors' books; Or are reduced, by heat and toil intense, Till work, with them, would seem, but mere pretence. But let us not pre-judge them; they have hearts Brave as a lion, and will act their parts.

The "fixings" ready, some experienced hand A "Come, boys! Let's to work!" gives as command. This said, their strength and numbers they divide; "Haw, Buck!" "Gee, Bright!" is heard on every side. "Boys, bring your handspikes; raise this monster log Till I can hitch the chain—Buck! lazy dog! Stand o'er, I say! What ails the stupid beast? Ah! now I see; you think you have a feast!" Buck snatches at a clump of herbage near, And deems it is, to him, most savory cheer; But thwack, thwack, thwack, comes from the blue-beech goad; He takes the strokes upon his forehead broad With due submission; moves a little piece, That those unwelcome blows may sooner cease. The chain is hitched; "Haw, now!" is loudly heard, And the half-buried log is disinterred. "Get up! Go 'long?" vociferously shouts Every ox-teamster, at these logging bouts. The heap is reached; now list the loud "Whoa-ay!" Louder and louder, till the oxen stay. The chain's unhitched; "Now, boys! your handspikes seize; Lift! Altogether! Rest it on your knees; There; roll him over. Ah! 'twas nobly done! The fire will dry his coat, as sure's a gun!" And thus, to lighten toil, they pass the joke, Or stand a moment to have serious talk. One of some accidents his neighbors tells, Till each warm bosom with emotion swells; How Jack Maguin was logging at a "Bee," And got his right leg broke beneath the knee; How he, through careless treatment, was laid up For full two months, and had scarce bite or sup. Or how Will Sims was chopping near his house, And his best ox was feeding on the "browse," When all at once the quivering tree descended Upon the beast, and thus his life was ended! Anon we notice that each smutty face Beams with good humor, and the cause we trace To the supply of whisky just parta'en— A thing which often proves the settler's bane.

Again they work with stimulated strength, And, 'midst more noise, the log-heaps rise at length. The dinner hour arrives; the horn is blown To make the fact to all the loggers known. The teams to some near pasture now are led, Or with new hay most plentifully fed. The men make for the house with decent haste— None are inclined to let time run to waste. But this does not prevent the laugh and jest, At the black face by every one possessed. To wash is needful, and refreshing, too, So all go at it without more ado. This task performed, which all should take delight in, They to the feast prepared need no inviting. Their heavy labor gives an appetite, And they can eat with relish and delight. But first their host, if he's a Christian man, Gives thanks to God with all the warmth he can. Then all the workmen ample justice do To those good things so tempting to the view. Dear Reader, have you seen a logging feast? No? Wait a while, and I will place at least The chief ingredients before your eyes; Here's a huge prime ham; there are pumpkin pies; Mealy potatoes next our notice claim— The bread and butter we need never name, They must be there of course; and here's a dish Of no mean size, well filled with splendid fish. That's boiled, fresh mutton; those are nice green peas; This huckleberry pie is sure to please! And now I'll cease—no, three things yet remain; Tea, cream and sugar, might of slight complain! There, will this do? Or is there something more Which you would think it right to set before Such worthy eaters? I am satisfied It can't be bettered in our Bush-land wide! Good as it is, and hungry as they are, They cannot from good jests themselves debar. One sees his neighbor cast a longing glance Toward that berry pie; and, rare good chance! 'Tis nearest him, he chuckles with delight, And is about to whip it out of sight; But Fortune, still capricious, gives the No; His nearest neighbor does an interest show In this proceeding, and the pie has snatched, Quite in good humor, ere the scheme's well hatched! The disappointed couple sympathise, And signal to each other, with their eyes. The third one, quite unselfish, deems the jest Gone far enough, and now resolves 'tis best To help himself, and hand round to the rest. Another to the fishes takes a notion, With more of selfishness than wise precaution. His work-mate spies this, and removes the prize A leetle further from his longing eyes. Such jokes pass free; and no great wrong is done To real good-fellowship by harmless fun. 'Tis o'er at last, when most of them partake The pipe delicious, for its own dear sake. They rest and smoke, and smoke and rest again, Until the "Come, boys!" sounds in loudest strain. Once more to work, with fresh alacrity, They reach the fallow, pleased as men can be. The teamsters call their cattle, not far strayed, But chewing cud beneath some green tree's shade. "Co' Buck! Co' Bright!" throughout the woods resound, And each trained ox moves forward at the sound. Again the work goes forward, as before. Till nearly night-fall, when their task is o'er.

Naught now remains but scattered chips and sticks, Which their host's hopeful son at leisure picks, And lays upon the heaps—some here, some there— The burning to assist, which needs due care. 'Tis supper time; again the horn is heard, And its deep tones has woodland echoes stirred. Most charming sound to my poetic ear; And every time 'tis heard still far more dear! They hear the sound, but yet seem loath to go; And when they do, their steps are very slow. They are well tired; no wonder; such a day Of work laborious would some tire for aye! Once more they wash; once more they freely eat; Then light their pipes; and now each other greet With warm "Good night!" but, ere they have departed, Their host thanks them, from gratitude warm-hearted. Now all are gone, save two, who skulk behind, Of the younger son; and, if I am not blind, A couple of bright girls I failed to mention, Are not quite unaware of their intention. But this is not my business, so I'll pass To other things, and let each court his lass.

Should next day prove a fine one with a breeze So strong as just to move surrounding trees, The Settler may his new-raised log-heaps fire, And see them burn to suit his heart's desire. The fire is placed; where, think you? Not below, But on the top, and burns at first but slow. See, now, the wind has blown it to a flame; And soon the log-heap fire's no longer tame! Dry sticks and chips, in all the openings placed, Will prove the time spent on them was not waste. The embers, falling, make these soon ignite; And now the heap, from end to end, is bright! With pale or ruddy flame; the smoke ascends Thick, black and curling, as its way it wends Toward the sky. Now twenty heaps are fired And form a sight I often have admired. The heat becomes intense; for Sol's warm rays Uniting with the wood-fire's fiercest blaze, Make it past bearing; yet the Settler bears The heat and toil, and smiling aspect wears, Because the work progresses to his mind. Let us draw nearer, then—'twill seem more kind— And watch him with the handspike thrust the brands Closer together. He a moment stands To wipe the perspiration from his face, Which streams fast forth again, and leaves its trace In his pale looks and daily shrinking frame. Now, every pile's a mass of glowing flame! The wind, increasing, whirls the fire about, And makes the workman, if he's wise, look out For stacks and fences—dangerously near. He knows the risk; he deems there's cause for fear; So keeps his eyes still wandering all around, To mark the rising smoke where'er 'tis found. Neglect might very soon cause damage great, In that which should, his labor compensate. Hence his wise caution as the wind grows stronger, Until the "burning" needs his care no longer. This o'er he drags the ground, and sows his grain, And of the toil required does not complain. He "sows in hope;" and, if he take due care, A splendid crop sill soon be growing there. In view of this, let us suppose him singing The LOGGER'S SONG, while peaceful thoughts are springing.

THE LOGGER'S SONG.

Come, Boys, to the Logging be cheerfully jogging, A day's work's before us, I trow; The Fall is advancing, Sol's mild beams are dancing On the brook, in the Fallow below. Cheerily, cheerily, cheerily, O! Let's log in the Fallow below.

The oxen are waiting, they need no fresh baiting, Till dinner-time come for us all; Now, while we are pushing, our work the new Bush in, Let none into carelessness fall. Steadily, steadily, steadily, O! Let's work in the Fallow below.

The logs, thickly lying, our strength seem defying; But forward, Boys! true courage show! With hand-spikes unbending, this day we will spend in The capture of each charred foe. Speedily, speedily, speedily, O! We'll capture each black, charred foe.

Now, lads, in your teaming, let's have no blaspheming! Your oxen are patient and strong; Our logging laborious need not be uproarious, Nor lead us to anything wrong. Decently, decently, decently, O! Let's act, as the huge log-heaps grow.

When dinner-horn sounding, calls all that are found in The Fallow to come to the Feast, Let's guard 'gainst satiety—eat with sobriety— So shall our joys be increased. Soberly, soberly, soberly, O! We'll eat what our friends may bestow.

When day is departing, and we are all starting For Home, with its sweet earthly bliss, May thoughts of wives smiling be still reconciling Our minds to hard labor, like this. Then freely, most freely, still freely, O! To all neighbors' loggings we'll go.

Such work as that I have described above, And holding plow, kept WILLIAM on the move. Of active turn, he worked beyond his strength— And felt the sad effects, in full, at length. Yet at this season, in Canadian woods, He could not well refrain from musing moods. Nor was it any wonder, when each day Added fresh charms to Nature's grand display. The once-green leaves, struck by the early frost, Made up in gorgeous tints what they had lost! He felt that never in his life before Had he e'er seen such hues as those trees wore. Some that were shaded still preserved their green, While others near were decked in golden sheen. Some in deep crimson robes were gaily drest, Others in shades of brown, as seemed them best; While not a few, of pride in dress were fuller, And had their robes of every splendid color! The weather, too, was of that balmy kind, So suited to a dreamy state of mind; For mighty Sol felt his yet powerful rays Subdued, being wrapped in a thin, blue haze. 'Tis true, there came the oft-recurring thought, That all these beauties were too dearly bought; That soon, too soon, tempestuous winds would rise, And murky clouds veil those bewitching skies! That Winter but delayed his coming now To gather blackness on his cold, knit brow, That he might rush with tenfold furious rage, And all the elements in war engage, To strip the trees of all their splendors bare And make sweet Nature a stern aspect wear! Such thoughts at times filled him with melancholy, Which then, shook off, were looked upon as folly And after-thoughts brought in their joyous train Pleasures prospective, during Winter's reign. The fleecy snow's wild dancing through the air; The clean, white sheet, wove for the soil to wear, To guard the plants designed for next year's food From Frost's attacks, when in a vengeful mood. The sleighing, too, in prospect, had delights For one like he—so used to Fancy's flights. He heard already, in imagination, The jingling bells, producing sweet sensation. And 'midst such dreaming Time flew swiftly by, While he, to stay its course, wished not to try. His Sabbath days met with observance due, For he to Christian ways continued true. The family with loving Brethren met, Some miles from home, as oft as they could get. With them "broke bread," and joined in praise and prayer, Or heard Christ's doctrine read, or preached, with care. This they continued every Sabbath day, And found much benefit from it always.

Meanwhile their worldly means grew less and less, And fear of debt led them through some distress. At last their circumstances were made known To a dear friend, who did a kind heart own. He WILLIAM took, to help him in his store, And gave good wages—which endeared him more To those, thus favored, who by this perceived He carried out, in practice, truths believed. In this employment WILLIAM staid not long, His sensitiveness soon made things go wrong. He therefore back returned into the Bush, Where Want stood ready his fond hopes to crush.

Ere this, dread Winter had set in with rigor, Yet he his bright axe took again with vigor. Throughout the woods the snow lay very deep, And Nature's face betokened death-like sleep. Few sounds were heard to break the stillness round, Yet in those few our hero pleasure found. The loud report of Indian hunter's gun, Which sometimes made the cattle homeward run; The beauteous woodpecker's quick rap-tapping At girdled trees, that long since had no sap in; Besides, the chopper's almost constant stroke Rang through pure air, and louder echoes woke; While ever and anon a tree would fall With thundering crash, which might some minds appal. These all were sounds which he loved well to hear, For they, 'mid hard employ, his heart did cheer.

Severe the Bush-man's life, and full of danger, While, to most scanty fare he is no stranger. It needs good eyes, strong arms, and courage, too, To live the life which most new settlers do. The elder COOPER'S sight was very bad, Which came nigh bringing him a fate most sad. They were both chopping at a basswood tree— Stroke followed after stroke most rapidly— When, lo! a sudden blast of wind arose, WILLIAM perceived it, and withheld his blows; Looked up, saw danger, bade his father fly! Reached a safe place himself, which was near by; The tree came down; he quickly then returned, And stood amazed as soon as he discerned His father's near escape from tree-crushed fate; He quite unconscious of his danger great. There rested, just a foot above his head, A huge crook'd branch, that might have struck him dead, Had it not been for God's most watchful care, So plainly manifested to him there. This wondrous mercy called forth gratitude, And Love's warm glow fresh in their hearts renewed.

In cutting logs for barn, and drawing lumber, Our hero spent of days a goodly number. Amongst deep snow, and with a slow ox-team, One thinks 'twould prove a damper to his dream. Not so, however; though his food was scant, Of liking for the Bush he felt no want. He and his brother scoured the woods around, Where'er 'twas likely straight logs could be found. These cut, were left till snow had "settled down," When to the barn-site they with speed were drawn. Thus passed the hardest months of that hard season, And Sol's increasing warmth was hailed with reason. The more, because that Sugar-time drew near, With its romantic scenes, to WILLIAM dear From what he heard the older Settlers say, So, for it he prepared without delay.

South of their home there grew a splendid lot Of noble maples, in a sheltered spot. Convenient to this place, there also grew Some good black-ash, of which he chose a few From these he made small troughs to catch the sap, Whene'er the time should come the trees to tap. A good pine tree he sought, with eager eyes, To form a store-trough, of most ample size. Obtained a gouge, and next his spiles prepared; For all the toil required he little cared. "Good axe-men fifty small troughs make per day;" So said old Woods-men, in a boasting way. This roused ambition in his youthful breast, And he worked hard, scarce taking time for rest. His pride was somewhat humbled when he found That he could make but thirty each day round. Yet courage took from this, that their's were made Of soft pine wood, which did their smartness aid.

'Tis March, and now the snow has settled down To half its former depth; Sol's beams have grown Sufficiently direct to make clear days Feel warm enough to raise the sap, which plays With life-renewing power, through all the trees; And yet, at night, 'tis cold enough to freeze. The Sugarer knows no time must now be lost To be successful; so he takes his post About the centre of the "Sugar-Bush," Whence he his labors can most freely push. If wise, in lieu of gash he bores a hole With auger, at right height, in each tree's bole; Drives in his gouge a-slant, inserts his spile, Places a trough—fast lessening thus his pile. At first, perhaps, the sap will scarcely flow; He heeds this not, but onward still doth go, Till every tree that he intends to tap Is quite prepared to yield its share of sap. This done, without delay he now will fix His boiling place, and get two strong, forked sticks; These, well secured, with pole to reach across, For hanging kettles he is at no loss.

By this time, if the day continue warm, His work assumes a more than common charm. The huge store-trough conveniently is placed, And he, to gather sap, begins in haste. With pail upon each arm he moves along, O'er the soft snow, the noble trees among. If tunable, perhaps a song he sings Of "Auld lang syne," or some more serious things, Which tends to make his work more easy seem, Or drive away some foolish, waking dream. The Bush, if large, will need another band To tend the fire; and this one must command Sufficient knowledge of the Sugaring feat To guard the syrup from too great a heat. He must mind, too, to fill the boilers up; And if he choose, he may ev'n take a sup Of maple-honey, whose delicious flavor More than repays their outlay and hard labor. It now has reached that point when constant watch Must be kept o'er it, lest they spoil the batch. New milk, or eggs, are used to clarify The saccharine juice, that it may truly vie For purity, with any sugar made, By those who have been brought up to the trade. 'Tis read now for straining; and as Eve Draws her dark curtains, we the Bush may leave, And follow him who bears his precious load, Well pleased, but tired, to his rude log abode. Let's enter, unperceived, that we may see The Sugar take its next and last degree. Through flannel bag the syrup now they strain, And the close texture does the dregs retain. Now it is placed o'er quite a gentle fire, Till it assume that state which they require. This, b repeated trial, they discover; When cool, it will "grain" well, and boiling's over. I've now gone through this sugar-making process In business form; not giving, more or less, A hint of frolics which the young folks play, In sugaring-time, and after close of day. My readers may imagine, if they choose, The fun that from such gatherings ensues; While I proceed to frame a harmless Song, Expressive of the Sugarer's feelings strong, As he his most delightful work pursued, Midst leafless trees, in deepest solitude.

THE SUGAR-MAKER'S SONG.

Sol's warmth is increasing, the Frost-King is ceasing His hold on the sap of the trees; And having wrought steady, my troughs are all ready, So now I will eagerly seize My few rude tools, ere ardor cools, Nor heed the melting snow. Some days of toil will never spoil The pleasure before me, I know.

I need no inviting, to work I delight in; Of such I have plenty to-day; The soft blush of Morning the scene is adorning, Then why should I longer delay? The Maple tree will give to me Its bounty most profuse; One huge sweet cake I hope to make Each day, from the saccharine juice!

Last night's splendid freezing as truly most pleasing To those who the Sugar-Bush love; This morn's indications' need no explanations, As the day will abundantly prove! Then haste, comrade, and bring your spade; To clear away the snow, That our wood-fire may soon acquire A beautiful, bright, ruddy glow.

Now, whilst I am tapping the trees with sweet sap in, Prepare you a good stock of wood; Be watchful in boiling, run no risk of spoiling By carelessness, prospects so good! O, as I tap, out flows the sap In a small crystal stream! I feel as gay, on this fine day, As I have in some youthful dream!

Now, comrade, each kettle of cast-iron metal Is full enough quite for a start; Pray keep the fire going, but yet not too glowing, For thus you will best act your part. While I am off, guard the store-trough From cattle browsing near; This splendid "run" may soon be done— The north wind is coming, I fear!

The syrup needs skimming. "Leave it to the women?" Ah, comrade, it never will do! They may mind the straining without much complaining, Yet think it is quite enough, too. Now eventide, and frost beside, Bid us our labor cease; For home we'll make, and syrup take To them, as an offering of Peace!



The lively strain which I have just indulged, Must change full soon, if facts were all divulged. For darker shades come o'er my hero's dream; But we must pause, ere we resume the theme. And trust this sketch of rude Bush-life may prove Acceptable to those who Nature love. Such retrospect has charms for one like me, Who has passed through such scenes most happily. Pardon me, Reader, if my unlearned song Should seem to you quite dull, and much too long;

The good of all I would most gladly seek, From purest motives, and with spirit meek— Not counting Fame, so dazzling to men's eyes, But God's approval, as my wished-for prize. Should this be mine, I shall be quite content, And deem my time and labor wisely spent.



BOOK VII.

THE ARGUMENT.—Address to Memory. Spring-time described. Thoughts and fancies connected with it. Builds a log barn. Spring employments. Increase of trials. WILLIAM'S sickness. His Song on Christian Warfare. Good to himself from its composition. Leaves Bush for Village again. Tinkers in the country. Thoughts and feelings in connection with it. Preaches in public under peculiar circumstances. Introduced to his future Father-in-law's family. Visits their house. Reception. Description of his future Wife, and Sisters. Anecdote. Commences business. Visits the States to bin tools. Takes Niagara in his way. Scenery above Lewiston. First sight of Rapids; of the Falls. Song to them. Conclusion.

O, Memory! What art thou? Whence thy power? Thy wonders are displayed from hour to hour Of my existence. By thy powerful aid Sweet Childhood's scenes most truthfully are made To pass before me in such vividness, I stand amazed, and thy great skill confess! By thy assistance, things long lost to view Spring forth surprisingly—both fresh and new. I travel back through more than thirty years, With all their toils and pleasures, griefs and fears. Go where I may, thou ever art with me, As Counsellor and Friend, dear Memory! Thy secret depths I would again explore, And must draw largely ere my task be o'er. Be thou no ignis fatuus to allure Me from the paths of truth, nor it obscure, While I attempt to paint the coming scenes, Which COOPER passed through with such slender means, 'Tis early Spring-time, and the opening buds Bestud the boughs of trees through all the woods. The snow and frost remain till rather late; But Sol's great power for this will compensate. He, aided by soft winds and copious rain, Will melt the snow, and break stern Winter's chain. The Frost-King, thus so suddenly dethroned, May vent his rage, as if a giant groaned; Or muster scattered forces and come back Once and again, to the repulsed attack! And when he finds his efforts all in vain, May hurl defiance on Spring's beauteous train; And, from his region of eternal snow, Send rude North winds to strike a deadly blow; To nip the fairest blossoms in the bud, And blast, in spite, the gardener's prospects good. Yet One, Almighty, will his rage control; His fiat has gone forth, "Let Seasons roll In quick succession, while the Earth endures!" And this, great benefits to us secures.

The birds begin to pair; the grass to spring; And Maple sap is scarce worth gathering; Yet, when it won't make sugar, some prepare Syrup, and vinegar, of flavor rare. On every hand the brightly green-robed trees May hear their finery rustling in the breeze; And pleased, like mortals, with their gay attire, May feel a strong, vain-glorious desire To have a glass in which to view their charms, Or mark the effect of each rude blast's alarms. Some, far more highly favored than the rest, Have such a mirror as may suit them best. Of these are they which grow beside a stream, And, all day long, of their own beautv dream; Or those that grace the margins of a lake, Whose face reflects the grand display they make. Ah, these imaginings are far from just; Fair Nature would much rather sink to dust Than thus dishonor her great Maker's name! And we, vain sinners, should be filled with shame, To be so far behind in praises meet— Neglecting duty that should still be sweet. Up to this time our Emigrants contrived To keep from debt, though they themselves deprived Far, far too often, of substantial food— Which, in the end, did them but little good. Yet day by day they toiled with eagerness, In hope that God would their joint efforts bless.

To build a barn of logs they now prepare; This gives them much hard labor, and some care. To put it up they call a "Raising Bee;" And, wishful to prevent ebriety, They buy no whisky; but, instead of it, Have cakes and coffee, which are far more fit. The work was gone through in true Bush-man style, Although a few assumed a scornful smile, And would, no doubt, have been well satisfied To have the liquor-jug still by their side. This job completed, Spring work next came on, And, truly, there was plenty to be done! The man from whom they bought their "Indian lease" Had made brush fences, and there was no peace From "breachy" cattle, breaking through with ease, To eat the crops as often as they please! To cut down trees, and split them into rails For laying fence, is work which seldom fails The new Bush farmer, who must ever be Upon the move, and used to industry. Such was their case; and. Oh! the aching limb, And sinking heart, as prospects grew more dim!

Anon, the sun shoots down such powerful rays, As seems to set the air almost a-blaze! They felt the previous Summer very hot; But that, through Winter's cold, was quite forgot. Besides, as yet 'twas Spring; then why this heat? Their strength was small from lack of proper meat. 'Tis true, they did not want for daily bread; But Bush-life should with stronger food be fed. In lieu of tea, they used root sassafras So much and often, that they all, alas! Not only cleansed their moderate share of blood, But thinned it far too much to do them good! WILLIAM, especially, became so weak He could scarce bear to work, or e'en to speak. When he essayed to stoop, his back seemed broke; And courage failed beneath the heavy stroke.

The different remedies which friends advised, All failed to bring the health he so much prized. His fond hopes crushed, he tried to bow his head, Submissive to the will of Him who bled For such poor sinners, on the "cursed tree;" And found some comfort in his misery. One day his spirits sank extremely low— And Faith, herself, fled from him in his woe; When, like a flash of lightning, to his mind A passage came, sent by his FATHER kind! "Fight the good fight of Faith," with magic worth Rang through his soul, and very soon gave birth To a most lively, energetic Song, On Christian Warfare—in which he was long. I give the verses, with an earnest prayer That all my Readers may their spirit share, And seek for grace to help them still to fight The "Fight of Faith," as in their Maker's sight!

THE CHRISTIAN'S BATTLE-SONG. "Fight the Good Fight of Faith."

Soldiers of Jesus! say—Where is your armor? The word has gone forth; you are called on to fight! Still doth the conflict grow warmer and warmer; Then trust in your Captain for wisdom and might!

Soldiers of Jesus! mind well your behavior; See those proud foes, how undaunted they stand! Hark well to the words of your loving Savior: "Be ye also ready!" Regard this command.

Soldiers of Jesus! O, be not alarmed! Your glorious Captain has conquered them all! Rouse, then, your courage! Be never disarmed! Your enemies seek to accomplish your fall.

Soldiers of Jesus! Immanuel's banner— Most glorious of Ensigns—is reared up on high; Fight ye! O, fight ye! in soldier-like manner; Jehovah, to help you, forever is nigh!

Soldiers of Jesus! the foes you contend with Are subtle, expert, they are many and great; Your armor's so tempered, that it will ne'er bend with Being used well against them; nor early, nor late.

Take Breastplate of Righteousness—take Shield of Faith! By which you are able to quench all the darts Of your great Antagonist! For, so He saith Who styles Himself "Faithful," and who strength imparts.

To these be there added "Salvation's bright Helmet, And Sword of the Spirit—the Word of your God." That God who your Foes with destruction o'erwhelmeth, And rules both the Heavens and Earth with his nod.

Still praying "with prayer and great supplication, In the spirit of Truth, and watching thereto, With all perseverence, for the edification Of Brethren—the Saints," who are Soldiers like you.

Soldiers of Jesus! now fight with all ardor Beneath that bright Banner now high and unfurled! O, doubt not but Jesus will be your Rewarder, When from their proud standing your foes He has hurled!

Soldiers of Jesus! your Captain is waiting To give you a Crown—a most glorious reward! Forward! press forward! success contemplating; He'll give you the Victory; this promise regard.

Soldiers of Jesus! behold Him descending Upon a White Throne, His bright Angels around! The "glorified throng" are upon Him attending; Before Him all Nations and Kindreds are found.

Hear those glad words, "Come, ye bless'd of my Father! Inherit the Kingdom prepared long for you!" Then glory to Him and the Father together; With the blest Holy Spirit, to whom it is due!



The composition of these lively verses, Was made to him one of his greatest mercies; They roused his courage by their warlike tone, And made him feel he was not left alone To fight against a host of watchful foes: For One was with him who felt all his woes; Who had Himself through every trial been, And still is with his people, though unseen! Such sweet reflections had this good effect Upon his mind: they led him to respect, More than he yet had done, pure Bible truth; And thus he learned to bear Christ's yoke in youth. His soul—so sensitive—was led, at last, Her every grief, her every fear to cast Upon her God, with simple faith—unfeigned; And found His promise true; she was sustained.

His body still was weak; and on the farm He could not work without receiving harm. To be a clerk he was not now inclined— 'Twas not a life congenial to his mind; To work at his own trade he thought was best, Which thought to several friends he then expressed. These all agreed it would be right to try To find employment in the Village nigh. In it was one who carried on the trade, Who, to appearance, had a fortune made. To him he then applied, with some success, To get a job, and wrought with eagerness. Alas! it only lasted for a week, And he was thus compelled fresh work to seek. That Brother, who before had stood his friend, Now kindly offered ample means to lend To start in business on his own account; But COOPER dreamt he never could surmount The difficulties which beset him round, So inexperienced as he should be found. The work required, to him, was mostly new, And made up by machines, as well he knew. To work with these must be his chief concern; But where was he to go such work to learn, Unless he made too great a sacrifice Of Christian privilege? This, in his eyes, Was of such moment, that he rather chose To struggle with chill Want, and other woes, Until such time as God saw fit to show To him the path in which he ought to go.

Meanwhile, as tinker, he two irons took, With solder, rosin, and the Christian's Book! Equipped in this way 'mongst his friends he went, And happy hours in work and trav'ling spent. Of mending tins he had enough to do; And got good board, and decent wages, too. Ere long he visited more distant farms, And found his calling not devoid of charms. On Nature's varied face he still could gaze, And each new scene presented fresh displays Of God's Omnipotence and boundless love, Which raised his thoughts from Earth to things above. While, ever and anon, he found a friend To give him work, and press on him to spend The night, in comfort, 'neath his friendly roof; And thus afford the most substantial proof, That Human-kindness in its warmest glow Wants but Occasion, its full worth to show! Sometimes a Settler viewed him with suspicion, And paused ere he would give the least permission For him to enter his small, rude, log dwelling, While WILLIAM'S heart was with keen feelings swelling. Anon, a gentle word would turn the scale— The man would list the youthful tinker's tale; Would give a hearty welcome to his house, And introduce him to his thrifty spouse; Would bid her bring; that leaky pail, or pan, Which had been tinkered by "that other man," Who got from her the pewter spoons, and lead, His supper, breakfast, and a nice clean bed; Then took the metal every bit away, Saying he got not half enough for pay! When WILLIAM heard such things he did not wonder That farmers, sometimes, looked as black as thunder When he applied for work, or lodging sought With earnestness, which fear of want had taught. All he now earned went to the family store, And thus he kept 'as poor as heretofore.

About this time, an invitation came To their small Church, to spread Christ's glorious name. Two Brethren were deputed each Lord's Day To do the work, but not for worldly pay. They tried to carry out the Lord's command, Which few, in this our day, can understand: "Freely ye have received—so freely give; More blessed 'tis to give than to receive."

On one of these occasions COOPER went With a dear Brother, who to preach was sent. That Brother was ta'en sick, and could not preach; WILLIAM, in public, was not wont to teach. But He, whose sacred name they bore, was there; On Him the youth now strove to cast his care. The school-room—such it was—was crowded quite, Yet he felt nothing daunted at the sight. 'Twas well, perhaps, that every face was new To him, and all the future hid from view; For in that very room two maidens sate, Both destined to be his in marriage state. And greatly influence his future fate! Had he known this—so sensitive was he— It might have him unmanned to such degree, As to prevent completely the discharge Of duties which, to him, looked very large. But as it was, he saw before him there The old and young, whose looks bespoke some care For their salvation. That most precious theme, Of whose great worth the worldly-wise ne'er dream, He with strong feelings urged upon them all; And there were hearts responding to the call! Such deep attention never had he seen In any Meeting, in his life, I ween! It thrilled his very soul, and made him speak, In glowing language, of the Savior meek— Whose love to sinners moved him to lay by His own great Glory, and come here to die! The good accomplished on that Sabbath day, Ten thousand fold his labor did repay. His unpremeditated preaching went Home to some hearts—a Heavenly message, sent By God's good Spirit, as a proof to be Of Grace most wondrous to Eternity!

The simple service reached at last its close; When the sick Brother to some hearers goes To learn their welfare, and his own impart, With strongest tokens of a friendly heart. Those persons were both English—man and wife— Who knew, for years, the toils of Bush-farm life. To them was introduced the new-made preacher, Just then mistaken for an older teacher. Due explanations made, they him invite To call and see them, and stay over night. He, nothing loath, the invitation kind At once accepted, with delighted mind. The two return, and with their Brethren meet To join in worship—simple, pure and sweet.

The incidents of that blest Sabbath day Haunted his mind, till he could not delay A visit to his new-made, kindly friends, In hopes that it might tend to make amends For great privations, every day endured, Whilst but a mere subsistence was secured. He therefore took his bag and tools once more, To call at places never seen before. He, in his wanderings, to a Village came, Which had, for water-power, acquired some fame; There he found work that did a day employ, And learned what gave to him much greater joy— How some five miles would bring him to the farm, Where he might hope to meet a welcome warm. Fatigued, he reached the house in strangest plight— For sweat and dust made him a sorry sight. The mother was engaged in converse there With her first-born—a daughter blithe and fair. These knew him not—so different his array From What it was upon that Sabbath day. And though he gave to each a friendly greeting, It might have proved a rather chilly meeting, Had not the youngest daughter whispered thus; "'Tis the young preacher come to visit us." This was enough; apologies were made, And perfect welcome speedily displayed. In sweet discourse they sat a little while, When tea was served, in most superior style, Cooper of such a meal had never tasted, Since he from his dear native land had hasted. This o'er, the conversation they resume, While truth's clear rays afresh their minds illume. This was to him a most important day; For gloomy clouds then broke and fled away. His future, once so dark, now brighter grew, And filled his soul with gratitude anew.

That mother's care assigned him the "best bed," On which to lay his weary limbs and head. Most sweetly did the Wanderer sleep and rest, As though by grief he ne'er had been oppressed, He rose, refreshed, soon after break of day, And thankfully his "Orisons did pay."

While these dear folks the breakfast were preparing, He to mend leaky tins no pains was sparing. For what he did he would not make a charge— His Independence was a trait too large; But that kind mother would not be repaid In work or money for her love displayed. She fixed the price—a very liberal one— And paid the cash for all that he had done. Perhaps my readers think this matron's eyes Saw, in the tinker, a most likely prize To win, as husband, for her daughter fair; But surely they must be mistaken there! This family's standing was considered good; WILLIAM, amongst the very poorest stood: And, in his tinkering garb, was not a match For that fair girl, whom many strove to catch. Let this be as it might; he left the house Without proposing to make her his spouse. Yet not without the strongest inclination To make short intervals of separation.

Their daughter, Jane, was in her twentieth year, And did to him a lovely maid appeal. He knew her soon as skilled in house affairs, But ever lacking vain, coquettish airs. Her form was graceful, and of medium size, And sweet good nature beamed in her bright eyes. Her face, for most part, wore a pleasant smile, While her dear heart ne'er harbored aught of guile. Her charms were such that COOPER'S heart, ere long, Could not resist their influence so strong. Nor need we wonder much, for soon he learned She had good offers, in great plenty, spurned, Before she knew the Tinsmith—so forlorn— Whose poor appearance ne'er drew forth her scorn.

Phebe, the youngest girl, was quite a lass, Who might not yet have used a looking-glass. Possessed of bright brown eyes and cheerful face, On which, of sorrow, none could find a trace— Unless her paleness might be viewed as such; Yet all who read her eyes would doubt it much. Of lively spirits, and most active turn, Still fond of work, she could not fail to learn Such household duties as her mother thought Best that her girls should, in their youth, be taught. To be a favorite, Phebe scarce could fail; And parents rightly named her, "Nightingale!" For, while asleep, she oft would sing at night Some lively tune, and always sing it right. Between these two, in age and temperament, Another girl was to that couple lent. She, than her sisters, always seemed more shy, At least, if strangers happened to be nigh. All three grew up good-looking, and became As faithful wives as e'er were known to fame. One chubby babe, and three more sprightly boys, Ranked 'mongst the number of this family's joys.

Meanwhile a curious incident occurred, To mention which may harmless mirth afford. Our hero long had wished to take a tour Still further North, 'mongst farmers far from poor; And when returning—say on Friday night— To hold a meeting, if his friends thought right. The place agreed upon was their "large room"— One large enough, if neighbors all should come. This, settled, off he went for several days, Toiling and sweating under Sol's strong rays. Sometimes with Christians of most generous souls; Anon, with those whose conduct him appals, Till the important day at last came round; When at a house, hard by, he tinkering found. The work all done, they ask him to partake Refreshment with them, for pure kindness' sake. He thankfully complied with their request, And found their cheer was of the very best. The meal was served beneath a pleasant shade, And he, to each good thing was welcome made. Soon there rode by a gentleman well dressed, And the host's daughter thus herself expressed: "Most likely that's the Preacher just gone by; He's dressed in black, and wears a white neck-tie." "Perhaps so," said the father; "'tis the night The Meeting's held, and they did us invite." WILLIAM, meanwhile, beheld the mother's eyes Cast oft upon him; and, with some surprise, She asked, "Did you not preach a month ago At the Plains School House?" He replied, "'Twas so." "And is it you that's going to preach ere long At our near neighbors?" He asked, "Is it wrong?" "No; only—" There's the rub! O contrast great, Betwixt the well-dressed man, and tinker's state! To do them justice, 'tis but right to add— They went to hear him, and for it were glad.

Ere many weeks he is prevailed upon To take that kind friend's offer, and has gone To Buffalo for tools; and on his way Makes for Niagara, without delay. Years he had longed to see that splendid sight, And now this journey took with great delight. 'Twas in the month of August; when, he found Himself for Lewiston, by steamer, bound. The night he reached that was a sultry one— And such excitement he had never known. The room in which he tried to get some sleep Had six poor drunkards in it! [Footnote: Fact] 'So, at peep Of early dawn, he rose; then washed his face; Paid off his bill, and strove his nerves to brace By walking o'er the seen remaining miles, With glowing feelings, and face clad in smiles. O, what a morn was that! A cooling breeze Blew from Ontario, and just moved the trees. Around, no clouds obscured the bright, blue sky; Yet o'er the Falls a mist was rising high! He clomb the "Mountain's" rugged, stony height, And often turned to gaze with fond delight Upon the scene before him. The blue Lake One sheet of golden splendor! Sol, awake, Had sent his rays athwart that inland Sea, Ere He rose high, in glorious majesty! On either hand lay woods, and fields of grain, Stretched out, for miles, in one vast fertile plain. Upon his left rose BROCK'S plain Monument; By "sympathy"—false named—now sadly rent! The genuine fruit of murderous Civil war, Whose dogs—let loose—stop not at Virtue's bar; But oft, by their vile deeds, dare to pollute What men most sacred deem as worth repute. May thou, my dear, my own Adopted Land! Ne'er hear again the tramp of hostile band; Whether poured forth from neighboring foreign shore, Or fruit of thy own sons' deep thirst for gore! WILLIAM, arrived upon the mountain top, Pauses not long; he had scarce time to stop. He took the River bank, and there, below, The wondrous rapids for the first time saw. His thoughts and feelings would be hard to tell, While he stood there—bound as by magic spell. Ere long he felt a very strange desire To brave that Water-Spirit's foaming ire! And once or twice essay'd e'en to descend The precipice's front, to gain his end!

"O for a bathe"—thought he—"in that pure stream! Is it reality? or do I dream? Am I now standing on Niagara's brink? O that I could of its pure waters drink!" Soliloquizing thus, a thundering sound Broke on his ear, and noise of Rapids drowned! Aroused by this, he hurried faster on— The veil of mist his guide—until, anon, He reached a bend, which brought before his view The mighty Cataract's wonders, ever new; Yet at such distance he could not well trace The varied beauties of that matchless place! Most eagerly he took the road again; Nor paused to seek the company of men, Who, reared amid these wonders, seldom feel The deep emotions, or the fervid zeal Which he then felt, as nearer still he drew, And found his dreams of the Great Falls all true. At last he stood there; and, in earnest, gazed As though he could not weary: quite amazed At the vast grandeur of the beauteous scene, And half inclined to look on all as mean That he had viewed before! Musing, he stood Still as a statue, while the mighty flood Dashed madly onward, as if eager still To take the leap, obedient to God's will!

Again he's roused by shout, away below, 'Twas from a Boatman, anxious now to know If he would cross to the Canadian side? COOPER obeyed, with Fancy for his guide; And soon was bouncing o'er the heaving deep, Whose current forced the boat to take a sweep; While, ever and anon, a dash of spray Made wet his clothes, as would a rainy day. They reached the landing; and he now has gone To Table-Rock, and muses still alone. The song which follows does express in part The strong, warm feelings of his raptured heart:

SONG TO NIAGARA.

Niagara! I hail thy magnificent wonders, The work of my Father—the maker of All! His voice 'tis I hear, in thy earth-shaking thunders, As "Deep unto Deep" every moment "doth call!" Waters rushing, always pushing Over the ledge of crumbling rocks; Ever leaping, never sleeping, Sound His praise in ceaseless shocks.

Thy mist to my mind seems a Pillar enshrining His All-glorious Presence, by day and by night! Thy rainbows bespeak Him to Mercy inclining— Though none who gaze on thee are clean in His sight! Colors blending, mist ascending; All are displaying His great power! Rapids roaring, are adoring Him—their Maker—every hour!

The myriads of pearls, and bright emerald glories, Encircling thy brow, 'midst the foam and the spray, Unite in presenting the most vivid stories Of splendor and riches which He can display! Pearls descending, without ending, Down that giddy precipice, Seem deriding our vain pride in Works which can't compare with this.

The trees on thy banks look like worshippers standing, To pay at Thy shrine their just tribute of praise; And loudly, indeed, are their voices demanding, That man unto God his sweet anthems should raise! Each tree growing, oft is bowing, Lowly its tall majestic head; Man, still scheming, 's seldom dreaming Of this feast before him spread!

My soul, quite enraptured, could stay here forever, And drink in thy beauties with constant delight; But something within me is whispering, "Never Be so taken up with sublunary sight!" Paths of Duty should have beauty More than what I find in thee; For thy glories tell no stories Of some things worth much to me.

But yet I can gaze on thy dazzling brightness— Thy rainbows, thy pearls, thy clear emerald green; On rapids still toss'd into foam of pure whiteness; On falls the most glorious that Earth has e'er seen! Strength acquiring, in admiring All as the matchless work of God; Can, with pleasure, leave such treasure, And my journey onward plod.



Around the Falls he lingered till past noon, And still felt grieved to have to leave thus soon. So loath was he a single charm to miss, He oft went down and up the precipice, By means of spiral stairs which constant shook, As if by palsy-fit they had been struck. The engine's whistle warns him now to go, And take the cars for rising Buffalo. In that new City he arrived ere night, Which gave to him but very small delight. Tools soon he found—sold only by the set; And with his funds, the price could not be met. Here was a fix! Naught for him now remained But to return, with just his pleasure gained! This, as an offset, stood against the debt He had incurred, and kept him from a fret. Once more I pause, but with a hope quite strong, That I may soon resume my simple song.



BOOK VIII.

THE ARGUMENT.-Address to Hope. Its benefits to William. Commences business. Manner of conducting it. Thinks again of Matrimony. Shop described. Inconveniences in it. An incident. Discouragement in trade. Compensation for them in visits to his intended. A further glance of her. The home provided her. Marriage. A peep at their home afterward. Forced to leave it. A second move. A Love's-pledge. Imminent peril of the wife. Unhappy condition of first-born. Church matters. WILLIAM'S trials from temper, etc. Continued success in business. Tinsmith's Song. His long sickness, and support under it. Dutiful conduct of Apprentice. Wife's self-sacrifices and matronly management. COOPER'S gratitude to her for it. Continued Poetical predelictions. Visits with his Wife the Falls of Niagara. Family increase. Troubles in Church affairs. Excommunication. Fresh Church connection. Troubles arise afresh. Death of Wife. WILLIAM'S lament. Conclusion.

Hail, Hope! thou gem-decked Maid, with features fair! Fairer than fabled goddesses of air. I still regarded thee as sprung from God; As sent to us from his divine abode, With the sweet sisters, holy Faith and Love, That favored mortals might your virtues prove. Led on by thee, we pass through heavy trial, Requiring ever constant self-denial, Unscathed, yet ridded of defiling dross, To find ourselves the better for its loss. Prompted by thee, we scale vast mountain heights; Or take to Earth's far bounds most rapid flights; Face dreadful storms; yea, greatest dangers brave, And, unappalled, view the deep, yawning grave! In every age thy praise have Poets sung; Throughout the world thy praise has loudly rung So much and often, that I need not dwell Upon thy worth: for it were hard to tell The millionth part of good thou hast achieved; By finite man it cannot be conceived! Thy sovereign virtues WILLIAM deeply felt, Howe'er engaged, and wheresoe'er he dwelt. In constant toil, and chilled by Penury, He knew 'twas blessed to be cheered by thee. Thou madest him content in low estate, And for Prosperity to patient wait; Till some, who thought his course deserved much blame, Were led to full approval of the same.

More weeks went past, and his kind patron bought Both tools and stock; when he with vigor wrought In a small shop, and did his best to give Due satisfaction, and made out to live.

Throughout the country nothing now was heard Save talk of Civil war; yet undeterred Was he, by what was going on around, From his employment; and kept gaining ground. The village of brave Soldier's was quite full, And they, alone, made business far from dull. When he at first commended, he made a rule For which some folks then deemed him quite a fool To make good work and cheap, and have his pay For all he sold; and this he did always. He had been taught to look Honesty As the best part of Business policy; And his experience fully proved the truth Of that old maxim learned in early youth.

Meanwhile, as worldly prospects brighter grew, To marriage state he turned his thoughts anew, And made proposals for that lovely maid; Nor was disapprobation once displayed By either parent, who gave full consent, As she, to marry him, was quite content. Though not a "first love," their's remained still true, And smoothly ran-was ever fresh and new!

His humble home, and shop, were all in one, And looked, to others' eyes, most woe-begone! It was for business truly quite unfit; Yet customers still found their way to it. Back from the street—up some half dozen stairs— Two boards, on barrels, held his shining wares! On one side high—the other very low— And all unplastered; it was quite a show! At one end stood his bench, and close beside it Lay his rude couch; let not the rich deride it!

At times, he rose from off that humble bed With a fair snow-wreath close about his head!

One bitter night, some loyal Volunteers Were quartered on him; and he told his fears, That much of comfort could not there be found, In such a room, with all his fixtures round. One made reply which went to WILLIAM'S heart, And proved that man had "chosen the good part"— "'Tis better," said he, "than our Savior had; Of such a lodging He would have been glad!"

Our hero, with his hand-tools got along, At best, but slowly; and sometimes went wrong. It was no easy thing to ascertain What kind of goods a ready sale would gain. His brother Tinsmith showed no friendly spirit; He deemed him far too low in workman-merit! And threatened vauntingly to drive him out: But God's rich blessing compassed him about! His patterns he contrived, as best he could; And every month, as tradesman, firmer stood. His constant visits to his future bride, Much of sweet pleasure every time supplied. Rare worth and beauty did the maid possess; To see her was to taste of happiness! She was too lovely, and too gentle, far, For one whose mind was very oft ajar; So humble, that she left her father's house, With all its comforts, to become his spouse. The home which he for that fair girl provided, By most young lasses would have been derided. 'Twas just the farthest half of his rude shop, Lined with planed boards on all sides, and the top; Quite small in size, 'twas amply furnished, With stove, three chairs, a table, box and bed!

In March, his natal month, through sleet and rain, He bore his wife, who did not once complain. No wedding jaunt could their small means afford, Yet they had pleasure in true love's accord;' And what they lacked in way of outward show, Was quite made up by warm affection's glow. They were a happy couple, with warm hearts: Both striving eagerly to act their parts. If ever twain were blended into one, 'Twas in their case, as all who knew them own. He, working soon and late to rid his debt; She taking care of all he chanced to get. And, with sweet smiles upon her face, Dispelling of despondency each trace.

Too soon, the place in which their bliss begun. Was made too hot by our Canadian sun. A Bakery below, Sol's rays above, With heat from stove made them most glad to move. They next obtained a shop which answered well; For all he made, they could most freely sell. This place, however, they were forced to quit In three months after they had entered it. More than one person had on it a claim, And each law-suit fanned their litigious flame, Until at length it went to Chancery, And that sage Court could on this thing agree— To have it closed forthwith! And thus our friends Were forced to move, once more, to gain their ends. Each move brought double rent; but this became A thing remembered only by its name. Trade still increased, as did Experience, too, And WILLIAM now had more than he could do. But by this time he had assistance found In his wife's brother, as apprentice bound; A youth most active, and good-natured, too, Who took delight in what he had to do. The shop to which they went—last on the street— Was, as a residence, to them most sweet. Almost in front, a river calmly flowed; Close by, a plain wood bridge the stream bestrode. There, he could stand at his shop door and view A scene which called up feelings ever new. Above the bridge, for nearly half a mile, It is most lovely, clad in Summer's smile. Tall trees, of various kinds, its margins grace, While it flows on, with ever gentle pace, Past two small islands; each one like a gem Set in the stream so softly passing them. There, often has he sat, on summer's eve, With his fair bride, both loath the scene to leave. Lit up by Luna's beams, 'twould larger seem, And scope afford for sweet poetic dream. One island he would picture as the site Of a neat mansion, where he might, at night, Retire from business cares to take a boat. And on the surface of the river float With his most charming—his most loving wife; Content to leave behind all worldly strife. Such freaks would Fancy play, when he inclined To let her reign sole Monarch of his mind! Yet, when the spell was broke, the sweets of home Were such, that from them he ne'er wished to roam. And thus days, weeks and months most smoothly passed, Till Winter came, each beauteous scene to blast. Now, with new hopes, alas! came fears as well, The strength of which it is not mine to tell. But those who once have fond, young husbands been, May well conceive what hopes and fears I mean. Scarce bad December sealed the Frost-King's reign, Ere these true hearts a Love's-pledge did obtain.

Protracted labor, bringing sore distress, Came nigh extinguishing their happiness! This oft led WILLIAM to the Mercy Seat; And, oh, his visits there were truly sweet! Nor was it vain; two precious lives were spared, And the young parents were, afresh, prepared To grapple with their duties—growing large— Conscious of weakness in their full discharge. The babe proved cross and fretful; and, for years, Frequent convulsive fits filled them with fears; And quite unfitted her, in after life, For bearing a just share of toil and strife. This proved an exercise for faith and prayer, Until the fully felt that God's kind care Would be extended o'er their suffering child; And this thought made their souls more reconciled, To bear with patience this great, frequent trial, Which called on them so much for self-denial.

A growing interest now in Church affairs Filled that young father's mind with weighty cares. At this my readers need not be surprised; Nor should my notice of it be despised. That Church on Scripture truth had ta'en its stand, And wished to bend alone to God's command— To copy, in their government, the plan Marked out by Christ, when first His Church began. Now they sought one well qualified to take The Elder's office—not for lucre's, sake, Nor "as a lord o'er God's own heritage"— But one who humbly would, with warmth, engage To do His bidding, and bear peaceful rule O'er that small Church-that it might prove a school For Saints to grow in strict conformity To God's just will-as they that will may see.

One soon they found, who had for years been tried: Who by Paul's test was willing to abide; Well knowing the advice which he had given To Ephesian Elders; and how he had striven To labor with his hands for the support Of self and friends, oft made the worldling's sport.

Let none imagine that this flock obtained Another's labor for some selfish end; Large sums they raise to help the suffering poor, And freely give of their superfluous store To send the Bible into heathen lands— And that while all are laboring with their hands. This testimony I would bear of them; 'Tis strictly true, whoever may contemn.

As deacons they chose WILLIAM and another, Who was regarded as a worthy brother. In God's pure sight they viewed themselves unfit For such high office; yet accepted it In deference to their brethren, who made choice Of them at once, without dissenting voice. 'Twas thus it came that he had many cares, Beside his family's and trade's affairs. In preaching now he took his regular turn, And, though but weakly, did with ardor burn To tell poor sinners of a Savior's love, Or Saints instruct in lessons from Above. He 'midst those labors found, with sore distress, A constant warfare mar his happiness. Dyspepsia-fell disease-his stomach seized, And, like a demon, would not be appeased; But made his temper, far too quick and warm, By frequent outbursts often work him harm. This grieved the heart of his beloved wife, And might have led to constant family strife, Had not the Lord to him his folly shown, By greater chastisement than he had known.

And now our friends possessed sufficient means To pay their debt, or purchase those machines Which tinsmiths use; and WILLIAM asked his friend If he, conveniently, could longer lend What they were owing him? His kind reply Led COOPER soon the needful tools to buy. This was an era in their history, And they most gladly work more actively In manufacturing their humble wares, Or giving to old things their due repairs. While freely pushing their close labor through, They still found plenty for the two to do; Which called on them for greater thankfulness To their kind God, who did their business bless. While thus engaged, pray tell me where's the wrong, If they should sing the following "Tinsmith's Song?"

TINSMITH'S SONG.

What though our bench labor rob us of the favor Enjoyed by the farmer, 'midst fair Country scenes; What though 'tis confining to make up tins shining, There's naught in the trade which our conduct demeans, Then ply the shears, since it appears That our calling is honest and fair; Yet take good heed, lest, in our speed, We should send from our hands leaky ware!

In using the folder we then may grow bolder, And form and groove pans with our consciences clear; Drive each of the turners with skill beyond learners, And put in stout wire with our hearts full of cheer. Then take a burr and make it whirr, As the bottoms spin round like a "top;" And fit these tight, which is but right If we wish a good name for the shop.

In this case the setter will do the work better, And strong double seams will repay all our pains; But slight not the soldering, or customers ordering Their work at our hands will begrudge us our gains. This we can do and yet push through Quite a good share of labor each day, And in our sales of pans or pails Boldly ask those who buy for our pay.

We thus may be working, no selfishness lurking Within, though the weather be cloudy or cold; And lawfully striving our trade still be driving From far better motives than mere thirst for gold. Then we may serve and never swerve From strict duty's plain, straightforward path, Our country's weal with fervid zeal By skill which each artisan hath.

O! then our bench labor may bring us the favor Of a jaunt now and then midst the forests and fields, Which pleasure so joyous can never annoy us, If health and contentment it constantly yields. Then ply the shears, since it appears That our calling is honest and fair; Yet take good heed lest in our speed. We should send from our hands leaky ware.



And now these parents' hearts were rendered glad By a sweet babe as ever parents had; A lovely boy, a precious first-born son, An April flower ere Spring had well begun. Thus were their family and cares increased While pleasure was not lessened in the least. But a few months were destined to disclose A lengthy list of what some think are woes. Three serious accidents that year befel His aged father, and 'twere hard to tell The weary months of suffering he endured Ere loss of limb to him relief procured. Their patron, too, was by sore sickness brought Down to death's door, as all who saw him thought WILLIAM at last was on a sick-bed thrown For many weeks, and then was fully shown The fervent love and patience of his wife Increasing still through years of after life. Bereft of reason, as his friends declared, Rich consolation he at all times shared. Death—man's "last foe"—for him no terrors had, His blighted prospects did not make him sad. To leave his wife and babes he was resigned, And this while all deemed him of unsound mind. The tempter, true, his faith and feelings tried, But his suggestions met "God will provide." This simple text was strong enough to stay Each wavering thought that rose from day to day.

The time when he fell sick was in the Fall, When lively business made most pressing call. And yet he was enabled to abide Content with this, "Jehovah will provide," Ev'n so he did, and that in wondrous way, For his wife's brother worked both night and day, A striking instance of unselfishness But rarely seen in youths of such a class.

Though outward things looked dark, this chastisement Was plainly from a loving father sent; And they saw constant reason to rejoice That what is painful might be made their choice. For, while it weaned their thoughts from things of earth It made them prize the more their heavenly birth. And ev'n their fond affection for each other Was purified from that which tends to smother The noblest energies of Christian souls, And far too often their best thoughts controls. This sickness showed, and that most strikingly, How good a nurse this faithful wife could be. Through all her trials she was quite resigned, And not one murmuring thought rose in her mind. A more attentive or enduring nurse I'm very sure ne'er shone in poet's verse. When his recovery was manifested Her love and patience were severely tested. For calomel caused him such great distress He was oft found in fits of fretfulness. But yet she meekly bore with his caprice And her self-sacrifice did never cease.

He, when restored again to perfect health, Grew far more conscious of the store of wealth By him possessed in having such a wife To act as helpmate through the storms of life. And not long after, when their lovely boy Was very sick, he did his skill employ To soothe her sorrows by an artless lay Exhorting her to make God's love her stay; And holding up to view Heaven's perfect bliss, He aimed to show that naught can come amiss To those who all their hopes on Jesus rest, And "seek through His Atonement to be bless'd."

Their child restored, their joys again increase, For God's sweet service yields them constant peace. He, constantly employed in hard bench work, Let not a thirst for wealth within him lurk, And was enabled to preserve his mind So free from care that, when he felt inclined, He could with ease bring all his thoughts to bear On Scripture truths, and each with each compare, Or let his fancy take her random flight To bring from Dreamland some new-coined delight. At other times would raise his tuneful voice And sing sweet hymns which long had been his choice, Or else recite some charming poetry With touch of skill and much of energy. At times his spouse, too, did her sewing bring, And joined harmoniously God's praise to sing. Thus mostly passed their time for months and years In bliss too great to last, as it appears. Meanwhile their debt most honestly was paid, By which then prospects were much brighter made. Yet gratitude glowed brightly in each heart, To him who acted such a friendly part As to lend money and then wait for years In patience for the payment of arrears.

About this time they visited "The Falls," As business was not urgent in its calls. WILLIAM felt joyful in no trifling measure With such a wife to share so great a pleasure, And gladly spent his money and his time To view with her that scenery sublime. This jaunt gave both the most heartfelt delight, And furnished her the first and only sight She ever had of wonders there displayed, Which were in Spring's fresh beauty then arrayed. They stood and gazed, or sat in shady place, With glowing feelings pictured in each face. He greatly longed to have a dwelling near, That he might oftener view scenes grown so dear. But family needs would force themselves on him, And those bright visions very soon grew dim. Yet he inquiry made of settlers round To learn what prospects then might there be found Of earning a just living at his trade; But this quite threw the project in the shade. Then he thought fit to let "well be" alone Till clearer light should on the scheme be thrown. Hopes next arose that he might yet revisit Once every year, with pleasure more exquisite, Those grand, unrivalled Falls with her he loved, More lovely still now that her love was proved. The sequel shows how little we foresee Of good or evil in our destiny. 'Tis right; and this should make us place our trust In God, our Father, ever wise and just. Since naught can happen without His permission Who orders our affairs with wise precision.

At the appointed time they home returned, While love for it more strongly in them burned. One Winter and two Summers now had passed Since a fine boy upon their care was cast. Again stern winter came, with cloudy skies And howling blasts like some fell demon cries. Dark, chill November had been ushered in, With much of elemental strife and din, When came another daughter, bright and fair, To charm the hearts of that still loving pair. The new come love pledge, as time swiftly flew, In sweetest bands their souls more closely drew. Increasing means more household comforts brought, Not greatly coveted if they were sought. They asked God day by day for such supplies Of worldly blessings as He deemed most wise, Took those most thankfully He kindly sent, And with their lot, for most part, were content. 'Tis true that COOPER wished to spend more time For the improvement of himself in rhyme, But greater duties had a higher claim, Neglect of which would bring upon him blame. He therefore kept his muse in close subjection, And gained God's blessing and most kind protection. Yet now and then his pent up feelings broke Through all restraint, and his rude harp awoke To pour forth numbers with intent to cheer Parents or friends, who lent a willing ear To his effusions, void of learning's grace, But full of feeling, which supplied its place.

Another Spring and Summer passed away, Then Autumn, too, and Winter held the sway; While January, when half its course was run, Brought to our friends a second infant son. Two of each kind parental love now claim, As sharers of their destiny and name; While years of happiness might seem in store For, prosperous still, they loved each other more. That season was their best in way of trade, And thus their prospects wore no darkening shade.

Satan—arch enemy of all mankind— Beheld with envy their true peace of mind, And most maliciously employed his skill To work them woe—defiant of God's will. Their worldly property he did not touch, For loss of this would not be felt so much As trouble with their brethren in the church, Severed from whom they might be left in lurch. His plan succeeded, as I know too well, For some deemed wise were held as by a spell In hands of strongest preconceived opinion, While Ignorance held them in his dominion. WILLIAM had seen this long, and mourned in soul, With such emotion as scarce brooked control, And, knowing that they held it just and right For all to seek increasing Scripture light, He, in the search for truth, gave up his mind, And was well pleased some few choice pearls to find. These lustrous gems he had no wish to hide, So held them up to view, and earnest tried To lead his brethren to approve their worth; But such a course gave to contention birth. Nor was it long before occasion came For those opposed to lay upon him blame, The end of which was that they did him sever From sweet communion with their church forever! Under this blow he tried to bear up well, But all he suffered 'twould be hard to tell. His spouse and parents with him sympathised And broke the bands which each so long had prized. Naught now remained for them but to unite In holy fellowship with purer light. Soon some few other friends who knew their case Their humble cause did with much warmth embrace. One with our hero labored in the Word With what small skill and time he could afford. Things went on smoothly for about a year, And some success did much their hearts to cheer. Ere long, however, troubles unforeseen Burst on the little band with shafts so keen That WILLIAM'S faith and strength were sorely tried, And with his lot he was dissatisfied. One of the flock was easily led astray, And self-indulgence held him in its sway. Two others left because a change of view Made several seek to be baptized anew.

Slow passed another very trying year, And thick gloom gathered, filling them with fear. Our friend was sick from an unquiet mind, While Comfort—wonted guest—he failed to find. At last his loved, his idolized wife In her accouchment left this mortal life. Schooled long, he firmly bore this heavy stroke, And bowed his head submissive 'neath God's yoke. This brought him peace, and his sad muse ere long Found utterance in the following mournful song:

WILLIAM'S LAMENT ON THE DEATH OF HIS BELOVED WIFE.

Awake, my harp! give forth in solemn time Thy sweetest numbers in harmonious rhyme. 'Tis time to bid my dormant powers arise, Yet I would first dry up my weeping eyes. My full charged bosom heaves, and oh, how slow Conflicting thoughts in well timed numbers flow. Cease, rebel feelings, cease your dreadful strife; The theme's my love, the partner of my life. Her portrait is before me, and that smile Upon her features playing, shows no guile. What were thy thoughts, my loved one, on that day The artist's skill did our joint forms portray? Thou wast not then so foolish as to deem An early death a vain or idle dream. We oft had converse on that mournful theme, As oft looked forward to the solemn day When death, grim monster! should tear one away. I thought my time most surely first would come, And thou, expected'st, first to reach thy home! Thus were we apt to number out our days, And oft together led to seek God's ways. Most unfeigned pleasure did we take in this, And gained as fruit sweet tastes of heavenly bliss. Now, my belov'd one, thou art gone from me And our dear little ones! Oh! can it be? The sad reality comes o'er my mind. Thou'rt gone indeed, and we are left behind. Oh for that faith of which thou wast possessed, As thy pure spirit strove to gain her rest. Oh for that patience which thou didst display Beneath our Father's hand to thy last day. Methinks that thou art whispering in my ear: "Let God's sure promises thy spirit cheer; "Remember that our Jesus is the same "To all whose trust is in His precious name. "A few short days, perchance, or months, or years, "May flee away; yet he will still thy fears "And bear thee up as if on 'eagle's wings,' "Far, far above the reach of earthly things. "Remember what thou didst to comfort me; "Thou hast God's word, the same it is to thee. "Let fervent prayer ascend to God above; "He'll deign to listen for He still is love. "Rouse then, thy courage, let thy faith be strong, "Let Hope, 'an anchor sure,' to thee belong. "The time's not distant we again shall meet "To part no more. This is a thought most sweet. "But yet in patience do thy soul possess, "And wait God's time, and then He will thee bless." Enough my loved one, I will haste away To do my duties without more delay. And trust in God who can fresh strength impart To me to serve him with a perfect heart.



Here, then, kind reader, I must close my lay, As other duties call me now away. If you've had patience to go with me through My lengthened tale, I bid you warm adieu. If my small learning has called forth a sneer, Know you from such things I have naught to fear. For what is written I have this defense: My song at least lacks not for common-sense.



WILLIAM AND AMELIA [Footnote: For the benefit of such readers as are not acquainted with the locality of Lake Windermere, I may say it is the largest lake in England, and lies to the north.]

Near the side of Windermere, Down a gentle rising hill, Flowed a murmuring brook so clear Every portion of the year, And no doubt is flowing still.

Hard by stood a small, neat house, Tenanted by peasants poor. The mother was a loving spouse, One who never was a blowze, But most tidy evermore.

The husband was an honest man Working hard on working days, Deeming it the wisest plan. Each day's labor he began By pure prayer to God always.

We shall call them HUMBLEWORTH; They such name deserved quite well. In that country of the north All would speak their praises forth, With delight their worth would tell.

Three dear children graced their home, Lovely were they in their youth. When they chanced in woods to roam, Fairies seemed they to become; Full their hearts of love and truth.

AMIE, BESS and little ANN We their names at present call; AMIE'S bloom was richer than Any rose which zephyrs fan. She had, too, a lovely soul.

BESS was as a lily pale, Graceful as a fawn could be. She was never very hale, Parents' eyes could see her fail, And they felt anxiety.

Little ANN, a chubby lass, Was the youngest and the pet; Friends all thought naught could surpass That sweet child in loveliness Which they in their lives had met.

I have said that they were poor. This was true of worldly things; Yet they had an ample store, They were skilled in Bible lore; And from this sweet comfort springs.

Very close observers might Deem them once of higher rank, They defrauded of their right, But still blest with gospel light, Of rich consolation drank.

Near them lived a proud, rich man, Wide his lands, but small his heart. Of him a report there ran That he to be rich began Practicing a knavish part.

"GRIPEY" was the name he bore 'Mongst the country people round; They could reckon up a score Of vile actions, if not more, And from these this name they found.

Call I him "SIR FINGERNEED," Such a name is more genteel; Had he done one worthy deed I would not withold the meed Of sweet praise I truly feel.

He had but an only son, WILLIAM was his given name; He to love had not begun, Yet at times he liked to run In the woods when AMIE came.

There for her he'd try to find Hazel nuts and berries, too. Thus he showed his heart was kind— That he had no churlish mind When such actions he could do.



Time flew past; poor BESSIE lay— On her humble dying bed. Parents now beside her pray, AMIE watches her by day— Moving round with softest tread.

WILLIAM oft some dainty brought To her by his mother sent, And returned with sober thought, Musing as each mortal ought On a death-bed scene intent.

He had heard fair AMIE speak Of a place above the sky, Where dear BESS with spirit meek Would be taken, though so weak, If at present she should die.

Now he reaches that fine place Where he and his parents live. Marks of sadness on his face Make his father wish to trace What could him such trouble give.

WILLIAM, not inclined to guile, Did the truth at once disclose. This creates a scornful smile On that rich man's face the while, Then unto his wife he goes,

And in stern and angry mood Asks her why she sent the boy; Did she call that doing good Sending one of gentler blood, Just to watch a cottar die?

He no reasons deigns to hear, Bids the boy not go again. WILLIAM drops a silent tear While his parent still is near, Yet strict silence does maintain.



BESS has left this earthly scene, Sorrow therefore fills that home. They have to the churchyard been, And its clods are now between Them and charming BESSIE'S form.

They were not alone in grief, WILLIAM sorrowed much at heart, Knew not yet the saint's belief, And most slowly came relief To remove from him his smart.

Those who seek to curb the mind Of their offspring in their youth, Should show reason why they bind, Clothed in language very kind, Lest they tempt them from the truth.

Soon the youth began to feel Galled by most unjust restraint, And did oft in secret steal To enquire of AMIE'S weal, And to her would make complaint.

Then she told her father all. Calm but firm was his reply:— "WILLIAM shall no longer call; Some great ill might him befall, And he must himself deny."

This AMELIA saw was right And informed the gentle boy. Tears bedimmed his eyes that night For the loss of his delight, Which would all his peace destroy.

Said he now, "I will refrain From my visits, AMIE dear, If you'll true to me remain Till I can consent obtain From my father, whom I fear."

AMIE blushed, her word did pledge. WILLIAM snatched a parting kiss As he swiftly climbs the hedge, Fairest dreams his mind engage For he tastes of lovers' bliss.



Pass we o'er five tedious years. Years which saw great changes come To some thousands in all spheres, Raised by hopes or sunk by fears, Now alive, or in the tomb

WILLIAM had just come from school Summoned to his father's bed On an Autumn evening cool. Now dread thoughts began to rule Him who lay just like the dead.

Why that start, that vacant stare? Does he know his son is by? Guilty conscience who can bear? Hope shut out or blank Despair, When one's latter end is nigh?

Stood the youth with tearful eyes Fixed upon the dying man. He would speak, but when he tries His young soul within him dies As he views that face so wan.

Speaks the father now at last, "WILLIAM, listen to my tale. I through dreadful crime have passed, But while life is ebbing fast Now to you I would unveil