O’er the path, so well known, still proceeded the maid,

Where the Abbey rose dim on the sight;
Through the gateway she entered,-she felt not afraid ;
Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade

Seemed to deepen the gloom of the night.
All around her was silent, save when the rude blast

Howled dismally round the old pile ;
Over weed-covered fragments still fearless she passed,
And arrived at the innermost ruin at last,

Where the elder-tree grew in the aisle. Well pleased did she reach it, and quickly drew near,

And hastily gathered the bough; When the sound of a voice seemed to rise on her ear,--She paused, and she listened, all eager to hear,

And her heart panted fearfully now. The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head :

She listened ;—nought else could she ntas.
The wind ceased, her heart sunk in her bosom with dread,
For she heard in the ruins distinctly the tread

Of footsteps approaching her near.
Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear,

She crept to conceal herself there;
That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear,
And she saw in the moonlight two ruffians appear,

And between them a corpse did they bear.
Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold;

Again the rough wind hurried by—
It blew off the hat of the one, and behold!
Even close to the feet of poor Mary ít rolled ;-

She fell—and expected to die !
Plague the hat !” he exclaims,—"Nay, come on, and

fast hide
“The dead body," his comrade replies.
She beholds them in safety pass on by her side,
She seizes the hat, fear her courage supplied,

And fast through the Abbey she flies.

E

She ran with wild speed, she rushed in at the door,

She cast her eyes horribly round;
Her limbs could support their faint burden no more;
But, exhausted and breathless, she sunk on the floor,

Unable to utter a sound.
Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart,

For a moment the hat met her view;
Her eyes from that object convulsively start,
For, O God! what cold horror thrilled through her heart

When the name of her Richard she knew! Where the old Abbey stands on the common hard by,

His jibbet is now to be seen ; Not far from the road it

engages

the

eye, The traveller beholds it, and thinks, with a sigh,

Of poor Mary, the Maid of the Inn.

THE THREE WARNINGS..
The tree of deepest root is found
Least willing still to quit the ground ;
'Twas therefore said by ancient sages,

That love of life increased with years'
So much, that in our latter stages,
When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages,

The greatest love of life appears.
This strong affection to believe,
Which all confess, but few perceive,
If old assertions can't prevail,
Be pleased to hear a modern tale.

When sports went round, and all were gay,
On neighbour Dobson's wedding-day,
Death called aside the jocund groom
With him into another room ;
And, looking grave,_“You must,” says he

Quit your sweet bride, and come with me.”
“With you! and quit my Susan's side !
“ With you!" the hapless husband cried ;

< Young as I am, 'tis monstrous hard !
“ Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared :
“My thoughts on other matters go ;
66 This is my wedding-day, you know.”
What more he urged I have not heard,

His reasons could not well be stronger;
So death the poor delinquent spared,

And left to live a little longer. Yet calling up a serious look, His hour-glass trembled while he spoke, “ Neighbour,” he said, “farewell! no more “ Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour; “ And farther, to avoid all blame “Of cruelty upon my name, “ To give you time for preparation, “ And fit you for your future station, “ Three several warnings you shall have, “ Before you're summoned to the grave, “ Willing for once I'll quit my prey,

" And grant a kind reprieve;

In hopes you'll have no more to say ; 6 But, when I call again this way,

“Well pleased the world will leave.”
To these conditions both consented,
And parted perfectly contented.
What next the hero of our tale befell,
How long he lived, how wise, how well,
How roundly he pursued his course,
And smoked his pipe, and stroked his horse,

The willing muse shall tell :
He chaffered then, he bought, he sold,
Nor once perceived his growing old,

Nor thought of Death as near:
His friends not false, his wife no shrew,
Many his gains, his children few,

He passed his hours in peace;
But while he viewed his wealth increase,
While thus along Life's dusty road,
The beaten track content he trod,

Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares,
Uncalled, unheeded, unawares,

Brought on his eightieth year.
And now, one night, in musing mood,

As all alone he sate,
The unwelcome messenger of Fate

Once more before him stood.

Half killed with anger and surprise, “So soon returned !" old Dobson cries.

“So soon, d'ye call it ?” Death replies : “ Surely, my friend, you're but in jest !

“Since I was here before, “ 'Tis six-and-thirty years at least,

“ And you are now fourscore.”

“ So much the worse,” the clown rejoined ; " To spare the aged would be kind: “However, see your search be legal ; “ And your authority-is't regal ? “ Else you are come on a fool's errand, “ With but a secretary's'warrant. “ Besides, you promised me Three Warnings, “ Which I have looked for nights and mornings ; “ But for that loss of time and ease, “ I can recover damages.”

“I know,” cries Death, “ that at the best, “ I seldom am a welcome guest; “ But don't be captious, friend, at least; “ I little thought you'd still be able “To stump about your farm and stable; “ Your years have run to a great length ; “ I wish you joy, though, of your strength !”

“Hold,” says the farmer, “not so fast ! “I have been lame these four years past.”

“And no great wonder,” death replies ; “ However, you still keep your eyes ; “ And sure to see one's loves and friends, “ For legs and arms would make amends."

“Perhaps," says Dobson, “ so it might; “But latterly I've lost my sight.

<. This is a shocking story, faith ;
* Yet there's some comfort still,” says Death.
* Each strives your sadness to amuse;
“I warrant you hear all the news.”
. “There's none,” cries he ; “ and if there were,
“ I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear.”
“ Nay, then," the spectre stern rejoined,

“These are unjustifiable yearnings ;
“ If you are Lame, and Deaf, and Blind,

“You've had your Three sufficient Warnings,
" So come along, no more we'll part ;”.
He said, and touched him with his dart.
And now Old Dobson, turning pale,
Yields to his fate—so ends my tale.

A CONTEST BETWEEN THE NOSE AND

THE EYES.
Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose,

The spectacles set them unhappily wrong;
The point in dispute was, as all the world knows,

To which the said spectacles ought to belong.
So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause

With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning; While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws,

So famed for his talent in nicely discerning. In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear,

And your Lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find, That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear,

Which amounts to possession time out of mind. Then, holding the spectacles up to the court

Your Lordship observes they are made with a straddle, As wide as the ridge of the Nose is ; in short,

Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle. Again, would your Lordship a moment suppose

('Tis a case that has happened, and may be again,) That the visage or countenance had not a Nose,

Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then ?