STANZAS.

So rapid fly the moments on,

That years seem but a dream;
How cautious then ought every man
To guard life's passing scene.
As soon as e'er from tender years
In life we can embark,

By tempests tost we feel the fears
Of many an aching heart.

If cruel fate should thwart our ends,
Let patience bear us up,
And virtue will produce us friends
To sweet the bitter cup.

Should fortune on us deign to smile,
Let prudence be our guide,
So shall we 'scape the dang'rous wile,
Which often follows pride.

It was evening, and all was hushed in the cottage of the wife of Andrew Walton. Over the blazing hearth hung a huge iron pot, suspended by a crook of iron fastened up the spacious chimney. On either side of the fire two children-one asleep, the other and younger of the two amusing its mother with its innocent prattle, while her wasted form and tattered clothing contrasted strangely with the gaiety of the child; her countenance too bespoke traces of former beauty-perchance cut off in their blossom and left to wither neglected and uncared for. Ever and anon did Martha glance anxiously at the door, and then, seemingly disappointed, would unfix her gaze and again watch

the movements of her babe.

"What makes father so late?" at length enquired the child.

"Oh! he will be home presently;" and then she shuddered as if a horrible thought presented itself to her imagination as she continued, loves, let me put you to bed." "No, I cannot go to bed until father has kissed

me.

come

"Oh, would to heaven he was here! My child, your father-no, no, I cannot teach you to hate him-Michael, your father has gone to catch the hares and pheasants belonging to Squire Moatley." "Then," answered the child reflectingly, "he should not do so, for the squire is so kind to you and me, mother."

"What!" emerging from his concealment"What!" he again repeated, as he stood before them with an air of defiance; "Clement, say ye?" The keepers made no answer, but Jonathan rushed on him and held him down. Andrew struggled, and at last succeeded in drawing forth a pistol-he held it to the head of Jonathan, exclaiming, "Now, on your life and by all your hopes hereafter, which is my victim?"

"Clement," cried the keeper, struggling. "Hall and Wilks, come on, or I shall be shot."

murdered-you shrink back in horror-I know
'twas a dreadful deed-quick, bar the door, and
I'll tell ye all." Martha, almost faiting with
emotion, did as she was desired, and then drew
towards her husband, who continued, "When I
left here with my gun and dog, I fell in with
another companion; we pursued our sport until
about twenty minutes ago, and was in the act of
unwiring the last hare, when they pounced upon
us. The only two I thought I recognized were
long George and Jonathan-the former I singled
out, and lifting the gun to my shoulder, fired; the
charge entered his body-in an instant I was
struck to the ground, and now look here," and he
bared his brawny arm, exhibiting a frightful
wound, as he continued, "Well, I managed to
escape, and with difficulty crawled here; but I am
known-they are perhaps even now on their road
to this cottage. Wife, reach me those pistols by
the soul of my father, they shall have warm work
ere they capture Andrew Walton."
"Gracious heavens!" interrupted Martha, "you"
do not mean to shed more blood?"

"Hold your silly tongue and give me the pistols.
What! think you that they shall come here and
drag me tamely before a court of justice, to be
questioned by pettifogging lawyers? Pshaw! if
they enter the lion's den, by heaven they shall
suffer for it." His wife handed him the pistols
and he renewed the priming.

"For your wife's sake," exclaimed Martha, "for the sake of your children and your name hereafter, use not those dreadful weapons-fly, they are not yet here-save yourself by more honourable means than those of bloodshed."

They sprang on him and Andrew combatted against the three; but such an unequal contest could not last long. Andrew fired one pistol in the air-the other was pointed towards Jonathan, when he rushed forward, and the pistol in the struggle was held towards Andrew-the trigger was pulled and the bullet leapt into the breast of Walton. He sank on the ground, and his life blood gushed like a fountain from the wound.

""Tis all over," he said in a feeble tone; Martha-my wife, come hither; for you and your helpless babes alone I feel, else I could die happy. One thing alone grieves me-my great revenge is baulked-long George is alive-the bitterest enemy I had on earth is living and Clement is my innocent victim." His eyes now glared wildly around, as he continued, "but the prediction is unfulfilled-I shall not expiate my crimes on a scaffold-thank God for that. Jonathan you will take care of these little innocents; you will not let them starve-I know you will not; it is the last request of a dying man-you will not refuse me-say I have your promise," and he looked imploringly in the face of the keeper, who faintly articulated, "Yes, Andrew, I swear, while I am alive, your children shall never want."

heart I thank you. Ah! I feel my life is going "Thank you," replied the poacher," from my

fast.

Martha, now I die happy-do not fret yourself on my account bury me in the corner of the old church-yard, the part least frequented, and let my fate be a fearful warning to all poachers." As he concluded these words, the hand of Martha, which he had firmly grasped, gradually relapsedhis whole frame became strongly convulsed-his eyes glared unnaturally bright-a glassy film o'erspread them-a shudder of the frame-one breath and all was over-Andrew Walton, the poacher, was dead!

"Honourable means!" replied Andrew, as he primed the last pistol, his manly features assuming a livid hue" Can a man fall better than by meeting his foes face to face? I will fly-yes; but not without these weapons Martha. I'll not be taken alive; sooner should you see me a stiff corse, or my pursuers the same, than expiate my life on a scaffold. An old sorceress once predicted that that should be my fate-that I should be launched into eternity amid the jeers and scoffs of a ragged multitude. My whole life has been to avoid this prediction, and though I now fly 'tis more for the sake of your poor helpless children than myself; and thou Martha hath endured sad trials since I took you from a home of luxury and independence, where pampered and liveried menials were at your beck and call; yet you bear up Since, I have passed through the village churchagainst them all with that fortitude and resigna-yard in one corner there stands a rough and tion, which the all gentle spirit of woman alone moss-covered tomb-stone, inscribed to the memory of Andrew Walton, and underneath the following simple inscription

can endure." As he concluded, he advanced to-
wards the door and throwing it open, continued,
"See Martha, they are now approaching-you
must remain here; endeavour to keep them back
by saying I am concealed-by this I shall gain
time. Farewell, Martha; if I escape, to-morrow's
dawn shall see me at this cot; if I fall, you will
not, must not, grieve-bring up the children in
hatred of my avocation, and above all keep their
father's dreadful fate from their knowledge-again,
farewell!" So saying, he imprinted a hasty kiss
on her forehead, cast one long lingering look at
the children and disappeared in the surrounding
wood.

So so," exclaimed Jonathan, the foremost of them, "so then Martha, we have found him out at last-he'll not get off this time—I warrant he'll swing for this."

The conclusion of the sentence passed unnoticed. Martha, who suddenly and eagerly strained her eyes towards the door, and the same time exclaiming hurriedly, "Hark!"-a gun now reverberated About ten minutes had elapsed and the gamethrough the wood outside-"Tis your father's-keepers were at Andrew's door. ha! another!-another still!-a fourth!-gracious God the gamekeepers must be there. What was that?-a cry, a moan-I hear the clashing of weapons. What can it be?" The terrified wife ran to the door and opening it listened in dread- Martha shrunk back at this unfeeling remark, ful suspense; but she heard no more. All was and looking behind, her affrighted gaze met the again still she returned to the fire in dull silence form of her husband emerging from the wood. and brooded the passing events over in her mind. He put his finger to his lips, as he listlessly adFootsteps were heard-again the anxious wife lis-vanced, until he was within a dozen yards of the tened as they approached-she sprang up, and had three keepers, separated only by the party wall. scarce opened the door, when her husband rushed in and threw himself in a chair.

"Close the door, Martha, for your own sake as well as mine," he gasped; "the blood-hounds are on the hunt-I met them and long George, the devil whom I have sworn revenge against-I have

"Ah, poor fellow," exclaimed Hall, a stout Iswarthy looking keeper, "he's gone to his last long home to seek that repose his murderer can never feel. And his poor wife too little thought, when he left his home, that he should be brought back dead. Poor Clement!"

:

Oh! say not that my brow is fair,
Nor place that costly circlet there,
Look, look again, and see that thought
A change hath on its surface wrought.
Nor must those flowers of hue so fair
Be placed amidst my clustering hair ;
Oh! see you not that care hath set
Her mark among my locks of jet!
Why should those lustrous diamonds shine
Upon this altered brow of mine;
No! place them where the beaming eye
May with their brilliant beauty vie.
Why should that lovely wreath entwined
With simple grace, my tresses bind?
Ah! no, some youthful beauty seek,
'Twould mock the paleness of my cheek.
Let gems and flowers their aid bestow
On eyes that smile, and cheeks that glow;
They are not meet that form to deck,
Of all it once could boast, a wreck.