Thus from gossip to gossip, the story goes round,

And the list of her crimes is enlarged every dayBut the best of the bunch may be glad if they 're found As clear of all evil as Margery Gray.

The stranger who strayed to her humble abode

Had a friend who came with him a part of the way, But the cold was so piercing, he froze on the road, His bones by the side of the laurel-bush lay.

Now the boots he had on were too good to be lost,
But to get them was far from a matter of ease,
For the leather was stiffened to horn by the frost,
So he took off the legs of his friend by the knees.

In Margery's cottage the business of thawing
The leather and legs did the stranger begin,
While Margery slumbered--and, after much drawing,
Succeeded in getting the legs from within.

This object attained, he would carry no further
A useless incumbrance, but left them to raise
Doubt, fear and suspicion of witchcraft and murther,
And embitter the remnant of Margery's days.

Ye travellers all! when about to do aught

That may multiply wo where you happen to stay, Make a pause, and bestow, I beseech you, a thought

On the legs that were left with old Margery Gray.

COURTSHIP.

ADDRESSED TO A FEMALE FRIEND.

I've had a thought or two of late,
Respecting courtship, and I seem inclined
To let thee know a little of my mind
About that awkward, purgatorial state.

If, haply anxious to obtain a wife,

Some seeking youth should try thy hand to gain, I know thou wouldst not trifle with his pain, Nor waste in courtship half the morn of life.

How blest mankind if all the race were so,
But ah! a different spirit rules the sex:
By nature pitiless, and prone to vex
Their hapless captives with a world of wo.

What numerous years of toil, fatigue and wo,

What doubt and fear-what risk of limbs and life,

By land and water, to obtain a wife,

Some poor afflicted creatures undergo.

An aching heart, with brazen front to hide,

With outward smiles to veil internal wo,

With stammering tongue propound the yes or no! To do all this and more--and be denied!

And lo! if once denied, though ne'er so clever,
Wide spreads the rumour of the foul defeat,
In council dire the female despots meet,
And doom the wretch to singleness for ever.

In amorous ditty if he mourn his doom,

The luckless scrawl produced in evil hour, Proof of his folly and the fair one's power, Is borne in triumph round the tittering room.

I would not wish my notions to be known,
But truly I have thought, the ills that wait
On courtship, are so numerous and so great,
"T is better far to let the thing alone.

A MORNING HYMN.

Arise, my soul! with rapture rise,
And filled with love and fear, adore
The awful sov'reign of the skies,

Whose mercy lends me one day more.

And may this day, indulgent Power!
Not idly pass, nor fruitless be;
But, may each swiftly-flying hour
Advance my soul more nigh to thee.

But can it be that Power divine,

Whose throne is light's unbounded blaze, While countless worlds, and angels join To swell the glorious song of praise,

Will deign to lend a favouring ear,
When I, poor abject mortal, pray?
Yes, boundless Goodness, he will hear,
Nor cast the meanest wretch away.

Then let me serve thee, all my days,
And may my zeal with years increase;
For, pleasant, Lord, are all thy ways,

And all thy paths are paths of peace.

SOME ACCOUNT OF MY NEIGHBOUR EPHRAIM.*

No. I.

I have thought sometimes, that the world would be none the worse, if it knew a little of my old neighbour Ephraim Heartfree, his notions of farming, and his notions about some other matters; and I may possibly, if nothing more important engages my attention, endeavour to make the public somewhat acquainted with him and his family. But let no one be startled at this intimation; my tediousness shall be bestowed in no overwhelming portions; I am not disposed to fatigue myself and annoy my readers with a tiresome tissue of long-winded essays; my communications shall be short, and

"Like angels' visits, few, and far between."

I have myself, too often, shrunk from the appalling countenance of a dissertation of three or four columns, to offend in the same sort; and in thus attempting to retail some scraps of the practices and opinions of my old friend, I have no apprehension of offending him; he will not

* These essays were written for the "Rural Visiter," a small literary paper then published weekly in Burlington.