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The words that were sung as she retired from the church, were peculiarly apt and affecting :- .
“ He came the broken hearts to bind,
The bleeding souls to cure." This was the last and only time she had left her house since she heard of poor Colin's melancholy death; and, on the Friday following, she was laid in that place where change affects not, and where the weary are at rest.
PISA EDITION OF MOORE'S MELODIES. No. V.
ADDITIONAL STANZAS. *
« Erin! the Tear and the Smile in thine Eyes."
Erin! within that broad arc's radiant span,
Loyalty, brave and true,
Ere strife began !
“ Oh! breathe not his Name!”
« When he who Adores thee."
To think that, by ceasing to be,
And make thy young heart again free.
Heaven now wills it a nobler lot:
My alone wish is to be forgot.
THE GOLDEN FRAME. Matches are made for love, convenience, or cash, Slowly, securely, heedlessly, or rash; And oft fond youths, when from love's dreams they waken, Find they have been mis-led as well's mis-taken ; Then curse their fate, at matrimony swear, And, like poor Adam-have a rib to spare ! Old men young women wed to get 'em nurses ; Young men old women, that their lengthy purses From debts and duns may bring at length relief,
And sure the plan's as prudent as 'tis bold, Since, if to wed is to turn o'er a leaf,
'Tis just as well the leaf should be of gold ; And virgin gold, or saws and proverbs cheat, Is just the sort that it is best to beat!
A worthy knight, Sir Harry Sportaway,
Who not unmoved could hear a lover sue,
Blear-eyed, red-haired, and turned of sixty-two.
The wedding past-retired the bride-
And thus began :“ Confound it, Harry, how came you to pitch “ On such an ugly squinting witch ? “ What spell could into such a folly throw you?" “ Just step up stairs," says Harry, " and I'll show you." Up stairs they went: “ There, there's her picture, say, “ Is it not like her, Sir? Your judgment, pray ?” " Like her, Sir Harry!--take it not uncivil, “ 'Tis like her, and as ugly as the devil; “ As black-as crooked—although, confound it, “ It has got such a splendid frame around it, “ So richly gilt, and so superbly wrought.” " You're right," says Harry, “ it was that that caught. “ I grant my wife is ugly, squab, and old, “ But still she pleases,-being set in gold!”
THE RESCUED. AN INCIDENT OF RURAL LIFE. FROM BLACKWOOD's
MAGAZINE. FANCY to yourself, gentle reader, the hideous mouth of an old coal-pit, that had not been worked for time immemorial, overgrown with thorns, and briars, and brackens, but still visible from a small mount above it, for some yards down its throat-the very throat of death and perdition. But can you fancy also, the childish and superstitious terror with which we all regarded that coal-pit, for it was said to be a hundred fathoms deep, with water at the bottom, so that you had to wait many momentsalmost a minute-before you heard a stone, first beating against its sides, from one to the other, plunge at last into the pool profound. In that very field, too, a murder had been perpetrated, and the woman's corpse flung by her sweetheart into that coal-pit. One day some unaccountable impulse had led a band of us into that interdicted field, which, I remember, was not arable, but said to be a place where a hare was always sure to be found sitting among the binweeds and thistles. A sort of thrilling horror urged us on closer and closer to the mouth of the pit—when Willie Logan's foot slipping on the brae, he bounded with inexplicable force along-in among the thorns, briars, and brackens—through the whole hanging mat, and, without - a shriek, down-down-down into destruction. We all saw it happen-every one of usand it is scarcely too much to say, that we were for a while all mad with distraction. Yet we felt ourselves borne back instinctively from the horrible grave—and as aid we could give none, unless God had granted to our prayers an angel's wings, we listened if we could hear any cry—but there was none-and we all flew together out of the dreadful field, and again collecting ourselves together, feared to separate on the different roads to our homes. “Oh! can it be that our Wee Wise Willie has
this moment died sic a death, and no a single ane amang us greetin' for his sake?” said one of us aloud; and then, indeed, did we burst out into rueful sobbing, and ask one another who could carry such tidings to Logan Braes. All at once we heard a clear, rich, mellow whistle, as of a blackbird, and there, with his favourite colley, searching for a stray lamb among the knolls, was Laurie Logan, who hailed us with a laughing voice, and then asked us, “ Whare is Wee Willie ?-hae ye flung him, like anither Joseph, into the pit?” The consternation of our faces could not be misunderstood: whether we told him or not what had happened, I do not know, but he staggered as if he would have fallen down, and then ran off with amazing speed --not towards Logan Braes—but the village. We continued, in a helpless horror, to wander about backwards and forwards along the edge of a wood, when we beheld a multitude of people rapidly advancing, and in a few minutes they surrounded the mouth of the pit. It was about the very end of the hay-harvest, and a great many ropes, that had been employed that very day in the leading of the hay of the Landlord of the Inn, who was also an extensive farmer, were tied together to the length of at least fifty fathoms. Hope was quite dead, but her work is often done by Despair. For a while, great confusion prevailed all round the pitmouth, but, with a white fixed face and glaring eyes, Laurie Logan advanced to the very brink, with the rope bound in many firm folds around him, and immediately behind him stood his gray-headed father, unbonnetted, just as he had risen from a prayer.“ Is't my ain father that's gaun to help me to gang doon to bring up Willie's body ?-Oh! merciful God, what a judgment is this! Father-father-oh! lie down at some distance, awa' frae the sight o' this place. Robin Allison, and Gabriel Strong, and John Borland 'll haud the ropes firm and safe. O, father father-lie doon a bit apart frae the crowd; and have mercy upon him, O thou great God,
have mercy upon him!” But the old man kept his place; and the only one that now survived to him, disappeared within the jaws of the same murderous pit, and was lowered slowly down, nearer and nearer to his little brother's corpse. They had spoken to him of foul air, of which to breathe is death, but he had taken his resolution, and not another word had been said to shake it. And now, for a short time, there was no weight at the line, except that of its own length. It was plain that he had reached the bottom of the pit. Silent was all that congregation, as if assembled in divine worship. Again there was a weight at the rope, and in a minute or two, a voice was heard får down the pit that spread a sort of wild hope, else, why should it have spoken at all ? and, lo! the child—not like one of the dead-clasped in the arms of his brother, who was all covered with dust and blood! “ Fall all down on your knees, in the face o’ heaven, and sing praises to God, for my brother is yet alive!” And, as if with one heart, the congregation sang aloud:
All people that on earth do dwell,
Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice;
&c. &c. &c. But during that Psalm, father, mother, and both their sons--the rescuer and the rescued—and their sweet cousin too, Annie Raeburn, the orphan, were lying embraced in speechless-almost senseless trances-for the agony of such a deliverance was more than could well by mortal creatures be endured.
The child himself was the first to tell how his life had been miraculously saved. A few shrubs had for many years been growing out of the inside of the pit, almost as far down as the light could reach, and among them had he been entangled in his descent, and held fast. For days, and weeks, and months after that deliverance, few per