Steward. Over ate himself, Sir. Mr. G. Did he, faith ?-a greedy dog! Why, what did he get that he liked so well? Steward. Horse-flesh, Sir. He died of eating horseflesh. Mr. G. How came he to get so much horse-flesh? Steward. Aye, Sir. They died of over-work. Mr. G. To carry water! And what were they carrying water for? Steward. Sure, Sir, to put out the fire! Mr. G. Fire! What fire? Steward. Oh, Sir, your father's house is burnt down to the ground! Mr. G. My father's house burnt! And how came it to be set on fire? it! Steward. I think it must have been the torches ! Mr. G. Torches! What torches ? Steward. At your mother's funeral ! Mr. G. My mother dead? Steward. Aye, poor lady! She never looked up after Mr. G. After what? Steward. The loss of your father, Sir! Mr. G. My father gone too? Steward. Yes, poor gentleman, he took to his bed as soon as he heard of it! Mr. G. Heard of what? Steward. The bad news, sir, an' please y'r honor! Mr. G. What! More miseries! More bad news? Steward. Yes, Sir! Your bank has failed-your credit is lost—and you are not worth a shilling in the world! I made bold, Sir, to come and wait on you, to tell you about it, for I thought you would like to hear the news! ANONYMOUS. THE MOTHER WHO HAS A CHILD AT SEA. THERE's an eye that looks on the swelling cloud, That watches the stars dying one by one, Till the whole of heaven's calm light hath gone. There's a cheek that is getting ashy white, That cheek that form! oh, whose can they be, But a mother's who hath a child at sea? The rushing whistle chills her blood, As the north wind hurries to scourge the flood: She conjures up the fearful scene Of yawning waves, where the ship between, She presses her brow, she sinks and kneels ; Than the mother's prayer for her child at sea. Oh! I love the winds when they spurn control, To soften my spirit, and sink my joy, When I think how dismal their voices must be ELIZA COOK. THE SICK MAN AND THE ANGEL. "Is there no hope?" the sick man said. And took his leave with signs of sorrow, When thus the man with gasping breath; Let me my former life review. I grant, my bargains well were made, The little portion in my hands, Is well increased. If unawares, My justice to myself and heirs, My will hath made the world amends; When I am numbered with the dead, By heaven and earth 'twill then be known 66 An angel came. Ah, friend!" he cried, Prove your intention is sincere. This instant give a hundred pound; Your neighbours want, and you abound." "But why such haste?" the sick man whines; "Who knows as yet what Heaven designs? Perhaps I may recover still; That sum, and more, are in my will." 66 Fool," says the angel, "now 'tis plain, Your life, your soul, your heaven was gain, |