To you I appeal who my folly have known, Which has brought me with grief to your door, My earnings were small, and my friends have withdrawn, I own that my conduct has caus'd this disgrace, Yet pity may lend her kind aid in this case, By a pittance in help my garb to renew, Whilst giving a sample of this poor man's poetry, I may take the opportunity of giving one of his wit. A woman, meeting him in the street, accused him of being drunk six days in the week. He immediately revenged himself by writing the following epigram There is a lying woman says That I am drunk six out of seven days; She's drunk the six, and seventh too. It was on a cold rainy evening and nearly dark, that little Mary ran to her mother to tell her that a poor man was lying on the ground near the garden gate. The widow hurried out, and finding the miserable object insensible, she went to the This was soon nearest cottage for assistance. procured, and by the kind consideration of her neighbour, the poor man was deposited on a bed in it, the widow having only one. Here by stimulants and other means, he was restored to a state of consciousness, and soon afterwards, by the care bestowed on him, to one of recovery. He was the wanderer from the sea-port. Cold and hunger had nearly destroyed him, but here he was humble, penitent, and grateful. And who had watched over, and nursed, and fed him, and washed the dirt from his face and hands, and bent over him with her meek pale face, and pitying eye, and adjusted his pillow, and raised his head upon it? He knew her well. It was the widow, and as he recognized her, the tears ran silently down his cheeks, and a convulsive sob would now and then escape him. He beheld one, who, like himself, had been an outcast from his native town -a wanderer, no one knew where, but who he recollected well as the beauteous Mary (for that was her Christian name) of the sea-shore-the laughing, good humoured Mary, who had been admired and beloved by all who knew her. And could he see her pale face now her sad and altered looks, without contrasting them with those of other days when she would jump into a boat with her father amongst the dancing waves, her long black hair streaming in the wind, and looking so joyous -- and happy? And did he forget those days when industrious and sober himself, he had thought how happy he could be with Mary, and had walked with her on the sea-shore, and almost told her that he loved her? Did not his heart now tell him that if he had married Mary he would not have been the miserable outcast he now was? And what was Mary's story. It is soon told. Mary's father was an agent, and a shipper of coals in the sea-port already mentioned. He had a small house near the harbour, and resided there with his daughter, his only child and companion, as she lost her mother when very young. When a ship was outside the harbour at low water, he would frequently go on board in his boat, and on these occasions was frequently accompanied by Mary. As she grew up, she was remarkable for her beauty, and light heartedness, enthusiastic in what she did, but at the same time possessing good principles, and a great readiness to do a kind action whenever an opportunity presented itself. All this made her a general favourite, and many offers had been made her by the rough sailors who frequented the port, but she had as yet seen no one who gained her heart. On one of the occasions when Mary accompanied her father to board a collier at a short distance from the harbour, the wind blowing rather strongly, she was assisted on board by the mate of the vessel, a young man dressed in a sailor's blue jacket and trousers, a glazed hat on his head, with his hair hanging in ringlets below it. His countenance was decidedly handsome, and his figure good. If Mary was struck with his appearance, he was equally so with her beauty. She remained on board till the brig was moored in the harbour; and during the time she took in loading, Mary and her lover, for such he was, were inseparable companions. Before the collier sailed for Dublin, Mary was a bride and a happy one, but the moment of separation at last came, and the parting took place, with an assurance that the ship would probably be in the harbour again in the course of a month. Mary counted the days and almost the hours. As the time approached, she took her father's glass, and seated at the end of the pier, she watched day after day for the expected vessel. It came at last, and Mary was again happy in the society of her husband. These occasional absences continued for three or four years. Mary had a little girl, the joy of her heart, but she had lost her affectionate father. He left her his small house, and a little income derived from his savings, amounting to about thirty pounds a year. Still she was happy, for she had her husband and child left, when one seated on her knee, a It was an anonymous morning, as the latter was letter was brought to her. I one, acquainting her that her husband had married some years before she thought herself his wife, and had a wife and children at Dublin. It is needless to attempt a description of Mary's distress and misery. A kind and benevolent lady in the neighbourhood heard the circumstances above related, visited and endeavoured to console the sufferer, and soon ascertained the truth of the anonymous communication. As Mary firmly refused to prosecute the heartless man for bigamy, and expressed her determination not to remain at the sea-port, her present cottage was appropriated for her use, her furniture transferred to it, and her small income so settled that she should receive it regularly. Nor was she deserted in her retirement. Her kind protectress visited her occasionally, and did her utmost to lessen her sufferings. On one of these occasions she brought her the intelligence of the death of the man who had so basely deceived her. Mary mourned, for her's was a heart which could not cease to mourn for one she had once so ardently loved. But we must leave her, and return to the bookbinder, for whom, notwithstanding his sins and follies, we cannot but feel some interest. He had recovered, and Mary, from her savings had purchased him some decent clothes. She was, as usual employed at her spinning wheel, and her daughter sitting on a low stool beside her, when |