Conjecture anty as the wine!

And zoon did he het's faleshood vine.

_John c.o.x_ took up his father's cloaths-- Poor fellow! he beginn'd to cry!

Than, Evans vrom the water rose; "A hunderd vawk'll come bimeby,"

A zed; whun, short way vrom the sh.o.r.e.

We zeed, what zeed we not avore, The _head_ of Doctor c.o.x appear-- Het floated in the water clear!

Bolt upright war he, and his hair, That pruv'd he sartainly war there, Zwimm'd on the water!--Evans than, The stupid'st of a stupid man, Call'd _Vigo_--pointed to that head-- In _Vigo_ dash'd--_c.o.x was not dead_!

But seiz'd the dog's lag--helt en vast!

One struggle, an het war the last!

Ah! well do I remember it-- That struggle I sholl ne'er forgit!

Vigo was frightened and withdrew; The body zink'd at once vrom view.

Did _Evans_, gallid _Evans_ then, Call out, at once, vor father's men?

(Tha war at work vor'n very near A mendin the old Highbridge pier,) A did'n call, but 'mus'd our fear-- "A hundred vawk ool zoon be here!"

A zed.--We gid the hue and cry!

And zoon a booat wi' men did vly!

But twar all auver! _c.o.x_ war voun Not at the bottom lyin down, But up aneen, as jist avore We zeed en floatin nigh the sh.o.r.e.

But death 'ad done his wust--not all Tha did could life's last spork recall.

Zo Doctor c.o.x went out o' life A vine, a, and as honsom mon, As zun hath iver shin'd upon; A left a family--a _wife_, Two _sons_--one_dater_, As beautiful as lovely Ma, Of whom a-ma-bi I mid za Zumthin hereater: What tha veel'd now I sholl not tell-- My hort athin me 'gins to zwell!

Reflection here mid try in vain, Wither particulars to gain, _Evans_ zim'd all like one possest; Imagination! tell the rest!

L'ENVOY.

To all that sholl theeaze storry read, The _Truth_ must vor it chiefly plead; I gee not here a tale o' ort, Nor snip-snap wit, nor lidden smort.

But oten, oten by thie river, Have I a pa.s.s'd; yet niver, niver, Athout a thought o' _Doctor c.o.x_-- His dog--his death--his floatin locks!

The mooast whun Brue war deep and clear, And Lammas da an harras near;-- Whun zummer vleng'd his light abroad,-- The zun in all his glory rawd; How beautiful mid be the da A zumthin alles zim'd to za, _"Whar whing! the water's deep an' clear, But death mid be a lurkin near!"_

A DEDICATION.

Thenk not, bin I ood be tha fashion, That I, ZIR, write theaze Dedication; I write, I haup I dwon't offend.

Bin I be proud ta call You FRIEND.

I here ston vooath, alooan unbidden To 'muse you wi' my country lidden;-- Wi' remlet's o' tha Saxon tongue That to our Gramfers did belong.

Vor all it is a little thing, Receave it--Friendship's offering-- Ta pruv, if pruf I need renew, That I esteem not lightly YOU.

THE FAREWELL.

A longful time zunz I this vust begun!

One little tootin moor and I a done.

"One little tootin moor!--Enough, Vor once, we've had o' jitchy stuff; Thy lidden to a done 'tis time!

Jitch words war niver zeed in rhyme!"

Vorgee me vor'm.--Goo little Reed!

Aforn tha vawk an vor me plead: Thy wild nawtes, ma-be, tha ool hire Zooner than zater vrom a _lyre_.

Za that, _thy maester's pleas'd ta blaw 'em, An haups in time tha'll come ta knaw 'em; An nif zaw be tha'll please ta hear A'll gee zum moor another year._ Ive nothin else jist now ta tell: Goo, little Reed, an than forwel!

FARMER BENNET AN JAN LIDE,

_A DIALOGUE._

_Farmer Bennet.--_ Jan! why dwon't ye right my shoes?

_Jan Lide.--_ Bin, maester 'tis zaw cawld, I can't work wi'

tha tacker at all; I've a brawk it ten times I'm shower ta da-- da vreaze za hord. Why Hester hanged out a kittle-smock ta drowy, an in dree minits a war a vraur as stiff as a pawker; an I can't avoord ta keep a good vier--I wish I cood--I'd zoon right your shoes and withers too--I'd zoon yarn [Footnote: Earn.] zum money, I warnt ye. Can't ye vine zum work vor me, maester, theaze hord times--I'll do any theng ta sar a penny.--I can drash--I can cleave brans--I can make spars--I can thatchy--I can shear ditch, an I can gripy too, bit da vreaze za hord. I can wimmy--I can messy or milky nif ther be need o't. I ood'n mine dreavin plough or any theng.

_Farmer Bennet.--_ I've a got nothing vor ye ta do, Jan; bit Mister Boord banchond ta I jist now that tha war gwain ta wimmy, ond that tha wanted zumbody ta help 'em.

_Jan Lide._--Aw, I'm glad o't, I'll him auver an zee where I can't help 'em; bit I han't a bin athin tha drashel o' Maester Boord's door vor a longful time, bin I thawt that missis did'n use Hester well; but I dwon't bear malice, an zaw I'll goo.

_Farmer Bennet._--What did Missis Boord za or do ta Hester, than?

_Jan Lide._--Why, Hester, a ma-be, war zummet ta blame too: vor she war one o'm, d'ye zee, that rawd Skimmerton--thic ma game that frunted zum o' tha gennel-vawk. Tha zed 'twar time to a done wi'jitch litter, or jitch stuff, or I dwon knaw what tha call'd it; bit tha war a frunted wi' Hester about it: an I zed nif tha war a frunted wi' Hester, tha mid be frunted wi' I. This zet missis's back up, an Hester han't a bin a choorin there zunz. Bit 'tis niver-the-near ta bear malice; and zaw I'll goo auver an zee which wa tha wine da blaw.

THOMAS CAME AN YOUNG MAESTER JIMMY.

_Thomas Came._--Aw, Maester Jimmy! zaw you be a come whim vrom school. I thawt we shood niver zeenamoor. We've a mist ye iver zunz thic time, when we war at zea-wall, an cut aup tha girt porpus wi' za many zalmon in hiz belly--zum o'm look'd vit ta eat as thaw tha wor a bwiled, did'n tha?--

_Jimmy._--Aw eese, Thomas; I da mine tha porpus; an I da mine tha udder, an tha milk o'n, too. I be a come whim, Thomas, an I dwon't thenk I shall goo ta school again theaze zumrner. I shall be out amangst ye. I'll goo wi' ta mawy, an ta ha-makin, an ta reapy--I'll come ater, an zet up tha st.i.tches vor ye, Thomas. An if I da sta till Milemas, I'll goo ta Matthews fayer wi'. Thomas, ave ye had any zenvy theaze year?--I zeed a gir'd'l o't amangst tha wheat as I rawd along. Ave you bin down in ham, Thomas, o'

late--is thic groun, tha ten yacres, haind vor mawin?

_Thomas Came._--Aw, Maester Jimmy! I da love ta hire you tak- -da zeem za naatal. We a had zum zenvy--an tha ten yacres be a haind--a'll be maw'd in veo das--you'll come an ha-maky, o'nt ye?- -eese, I knaw you ool--an I da knaw whool goo a ha-makin wi', too --ah, she's a zweet maid--I dwon't wonder at ye at all, Maester Jimmy--Lord bless ye, an love ye booath.

_Jimmy._--Thomas, you a liv'd a long time wi' Father, an' I dwont like ta chide ye, bit nif you da tak o' Miss c.o.x in thic fashion, I knaw she on't like it, naw moor sholl I. Miss c.o.x, Thomas, Miss c.o.x ool, a-ma-be, goo a ha-makin wi' I, as she a done avaur now; bit Sally, Miss c.o.x, Thomas, I wish you'd za naw moor about er.--There now, Thomas, dwon't ye zee--why shee's by tha gate-shord! I haup she han't a hird what we a bin a takin about.-- Be tha thissles skeer'd in tha twenty yacres, Thomas?--aw, tha be.

Well, I sholl be glad when tha ten yacres be a mawed--an when we da make an end o' ha-corrin, I'll dance wi' Sally c.o.x.

_Thomas Came_.--There, Maester Jimmy! 'tword'n I that tak'd o' Sally c.o.x!

MARY RAMSEY,