The Nobleman, Fisherman and Porter. 163

A WORD TO THE DISCONTENTED.

A. NICCHOLES.

HERE'S discontent from sceptre to the swain, And from the peasant to the king again. Then whatsoever in thy will afflict thee, Or in thy pleasure seem to contradict thee, Give it a welcome as a wholesome friend, That would instruct thee to a better end. Since no condition from defect is free, Think not to find what here can never be.

THE NOBLEMAN, THE FISHERMAN, AND THE PORTER.

"Indeed!" exclaimed the nobleman,
"Then buy it in a trice;
The finest fish that ever swam

Must needs be very nice;
Go, buy it of the fisherman,
And never mind the price."

"And so I would," the steward said,
"But, faith, he wouldn't hear

A word of money for his fish,

(Was ever man so queer?)

But said he thought a hundred stripes
Could not be counted dear!"

164 The Nobleman, Fisherman, and Porter.

"Go bring him here," my lord replied;

The man I fain would see;

A merry wag, by your report,

This fisherman must be!"

"Go bring him here! Go bring him here!" Cried all the company.

The steward did as he was bid,

When thus my lord began:

"For this fine fish what may you wish?
I'll buy it, if I can."

"One hundred lashes on my back!"
Exclaimed the fisherman.

"Now, by the rood! but this is good,"
The laughing lord replied;
"Well, let the fellow have his way;
Go, call a groom," he cried;
"But let the payment he demands
Be modestly applied."

He bared his back and took the lash
As it were merry play;

But at the fiftieth stroke, he said,
"Good master groom, I pray
Desist a moment, if you please;
I have a word to say.

"I have a partner in the case-
The fellow standing there;
Pray take the jacket off his back,
And let him have his share;

That one of us should take the whole
Were surely hardly fair!"

"A partner?" cried the nobleman,
"Who can the fellow mean?"
"I mean," replied the fisherman,
With countenance serene,

"Your porter there!-the biggest knave
That ever yet was seen!

"The rogue who stopped me at the gate, And wouldn't let me in

Until I vowed to give him half

Of all my fish should win ;

I've got my share !-Pray let, my lord,
His payment now begin!"

"Watch ye."

"What you propose," my lord replied,
"Is nothing more than fair;

Here, groom,-lay on a hundred stripes,
And mind you do not spare;
The scurvy dog shall never say
He didn't get his share!"
Then all that goodly company,

They laughed with might and main,
The while beneath the stinging lash
The porter writhed in pain.
"So fare all villains," quoth my lord,
"Who seek dishonest gain!"

Then, turning to the fisherman,
Who still was standing near,
He filled his hand with golden coins,
Some twenty sequins clear,
And bade him come and take the like
On each succeeding year.

165

"WATCH YE."

WHEN summer decks thy path with flowers,

And pleasure's smile is sweetest;

When not a cloud above thee lowers,
When sunshine leads thy happy hours,
Thy happiest and thy fleetest:

Oh! watch thou then, lest Pleasure's smile
Thy spirit of its hope beguile.

When round thee gathering storms are nigh,
And grief thy days hath shaded;
When earthly joys but bloom to die,
And tears suffuse thy weeping eye,

And hope's bright bow hath faded :

Oh! watch thou then, lest anxious Care

Invade thy heart and rankle there.

Through all life's scenes, through weal and woe,
Through days of mirth and sadness,
Where'er thy wandering footsteps go,
Oh! think how transient here below
Thy sorrow and thy gladness;
And watch thou always, lest thou stray
From Him who points the heavenward way.

Go on! go on! No guerdon seek
For thy reward;

But while heroic, be thou meek,
And from thy heart, and from thy cheek,
Be pride debarred-Go on!

Go on! go on! Thy Master's ear,
And constant eye,

Observe each groan, each struggling tear :
He, midst the shadows dark and drear,
Is standing by-Go on!

Go on! go on! Thy onward way
Leads up to light :

The morning now begins to grey,
Anon the cheering beams of day

Shall chase the night-Go on!

A Word in Season.

Go on! go on! Oh, doubt it never-
This strife with wrong

Is fated not to last for ever,

But, if we boldly make endeavour,
Will cease ere long !-Go on!

167

A WORD IN SEASON.

THOMAS GUTHRIE, D.D.

A WILD cry from groups of people scattered up and down

the banks of the flooded river, and a sudden rush to

where a dam-dyke stretched across it, startled me. Hurriedly climbing a stiff brae, and dashing through a small wood that fringed a ravine, I came in view of the point to which the crowd were running, and saw a sight I shall never forget.

A strong man, up to the middle in the broken watersteadily breasting the flood, was making for the shore, with a child seven or eight years of age in his arms. Her head lay on his shoulder, and her long flaxen hair, dripping with water, almost swept the stream; her face was turned to the sky, and while one arm hung down, the other, resting on his, was stretched right out-pointing up as it were to the heavens, where her spirit had gone. The attitude and face were so life-like, that at first I fancied it to be some girl who had fallen in and been swept away; and that the man on whom all eyes were bent was a father perilling his own life to save his child's. But women weeping, men looking on with faces pale with pity and wrath, and especially the frantic excitement of a poor, ragged old woman, who, in a voice almost choked with grief, cried, as she tossed aloft her bare and withered arms, "The sweet lamb, the puir drooned lamb! oh, the monster, to droon his ain sweet bairn," soon undeceived me. It was the body of one that men and women, peasants and mill-workers, with boats, and drags, and long poles shod with iron, had deserted their homes and business to search for in the foaming river, and its dark, sullen pools. It was not