STRANGER.

You knew him, then, it seems ?

TOWNSMAN.

As all men know

The virtues of your hundred-thousanders;
They never hide their lights beneath a bushel.

STRANGER.

Nay, nay, uncharitable sir! for often
Doth bounty, like a streamlet, flow unseen
Freshening and giving life along its course.

TOWNSMAN.

We track the streamlet by the brighter green
And livelier growth it gives;-but as for this-
This was a pool that stagnated and stunk;
The rains of heaven engendered nothing in it
But slime and foul corruption.

STRANGER.

Yet even these

Are reservoirs whence public charity
Still keeps her channels full.

TOWNSMAN.

touch

Now, sir, you Upon the point. This man of half a million Had all these public virtues which you praise: But the poor man rung never at his door; And the old beggar, at the public gate, Who, all the summer long, stands hat in hand, He knew how vain it was to lift an eye To that hard face. Yet he was always found Among your ten and twenty pound subscribers, Your benefactors in the newspapers. His alms were money put to interest In the other world,-donations to keep open A running charity-account with heaven:Retaining fees against the last assizes, When, for the trusted talents, strict account Shall be required from all, and the old arch-lawyer Plead his own cause as plaintiff.

STRANGER,

I must needs

Believe you, sir these are your witnesses,

These mourners here, who from their carriages
Stare at the gaping crowd. A good March wind
Were to be prayed for now, to lend their eyes
Some decent rheum. The very hireling mute
Bears not a face blanker of all emotion
Than the old servant of the family!

How can this man have lived, that thus his death
Costs not the soiling one white handkerchief!

TOWNSMAN.

Who should lament for him, sir, in whose heart
Love had no place, nor natural charity?
The parlour spaniel, when she heard his step,
Rose slowly from the hearth, aud stole aside
With creeping pace; she never raised her eyes
To woo kind words from him, nor laid her head
Upraised upon his knee, with fondling whine.
How could it be but thus! Arithmetic
Was the sole science he was ever taught;
The multiplication-table was his Creed,
His Pater-noster, and his Decalogue.

When yet he was a boy, and should have breathed
The open air and sunshine of the fields,

То

give his blood its natural spring and play, He in a close and dusky counting-house, Smoke-dried and sear'd and shrivell'd

up

his heart.

So, from the way in which he was train'd up,
His feet departed not; he toil'd and moil'd,

Poor muck-worm! through his threescore years and ten:
And when the earth shall now be shovell'd on him,-
If that which served him for a soul were still
Within its husk,-'twould still be dirt to dirt.

Yet

STRANGER.

your next newspapers will blazon him For industry and honourable wealth

A bright example.

TOWNSMAN.

Even half a million

Gets him no other praise. But come this way

Some twelve-months hence, and you will find his virtues
Trimly set forth in lapidary lines,

Faith, with her torch beside, and little Cupids
Dropping upon his urn their marble tears.

BALLADS AND METRICAL PIECES.

JASPAR.

JASPAR was poor, and vice and want
Had made his heart like stone,
And Jaspar look'd with envious eyes
On riches not his own.

On plunder bent abroad he went
Towards the close of day,
And loitered on the lonely road
Impatient for his prey.

No traveller came, he loiter'd long,
And often look'd around,
And paused and listen'd eagerly
To catch some coming sound.

He sat him down beside the stream
That cross'd the lonely way,
So fair a seene might well have charm'd
All evil thoughts away:

He sat beneath a willow tree
That cast a trembling shade,
The gentle river full in front
A little island made,

Where pleasantly the moon-beam shone
Upon the poplar trees,

Whose shadow on the stream below
Play'd slowly to the breeze.

He listen'd-and he heard the wind
That waved the willow tree;
He heard the waters flow along
And murmur quietly.

He listen'd for the traveller's tread,
The nightingale sung sweet,—
He started up, for now he heard
The sound of coming feet;

He started up and graspt a stake
And waited for his prey:
There came a lonely traveiler
And Jaspar crost his way.

But Jaspar's threats and curses fail'd
The traveller to appal,

He would not lightly yield the purse
That held his little all.

Awhile he struggled, but he strove
With Jaspar's strength in vain ;
Beneath his blows he fell and groan'd
And never spoke again.

He lifted up the murdered man
And plunged him in the flood,
And in the running water then
He cleansed his hands from blood.

The waters closed around the corpse And cleansed his hands from gore, The willow waved, the stream flowed on And murmured as before.

There was no human eye had seen
The blood the murderer spilt,
And Jaspar's conscience never knew
The avenging goad of guilt.

And soon the ruffian had consum'd
The gold he gain'd so ill,
And years of secret guilt pass'd on
And he was needy still.

One eve beside the alehouse fire

He sat as it befell,

When in there came a labouring man
Whom Jaspar knew full well.

He sat him down by Jaspar's side
A melancholy man,

For spite of honest toil, the world
Went hard with Jonathan.

His toil a little earn'd, and he
With little was content,
But sickness on his wife had fallen
And all he had was spent.

Then with his wife and little ones
He shared the scanty meal,
And saw their looks of wretchedness,
And felt what wretches feel.

That very morn the landlord's power
Had seized the little left,

And now the sufferer found himself
Of everything bereft.

He leant his head upon his hand,
His elbow on his knee,
And so by Jaspar's side he sat,
And not a word said he.

Nay-why so downcast? Jaspar cried,
Come cheer up, Jonathan!
Drink,neighbour, drink! 'twill warm thy heart,
Come! come! take courage, man!

He took the cup that Jaspar gave,
And down he drain'd it quick;
I have a wife, said Jonathan,
And she is deadly sick.

She has no bed to lie upon,

I saw them take her bed:-
And I have children-would to God
That they and I were dead!

Our landlord he goes home to-night,
And he will sleep in peace→→→
I would that I were in my grave,
For there all troubles cease.