Obrazy na stronie



Oh! what's the matter? what's the matter?

What is't that ails young Harry Gill ? That evermore his teeth they chatter,

Chatter, chatter, chatter still. Of waistcoats Harry has no lack,

Good duffel gray, and flannel fine; He has a blanket on his back,

And coats enough to smother nine.

In March, December, and in July,

'T is all the same with Harry Gill; The neighbors tell, and tell you truly,

His teeth they chatter, chatter still. At night, at morning, and at noon,

'T is all the same with Harry Gill; Beneath the


beneath the moon, His teeth they chatter, chatter still.

Young Harry was a lusty drover,

And who so stout of limb as he ? His cheeks were red as ruddy clover,

His voice was like the voice of three. Auld Goody Blake was old and poor,

Ill fed she was, and thinly clad; And any man who passed her door,

Might see how poor a hut she had.

All day she spun in her poor dwelling,

And then her three hours' work at night, Alas,'t was hardly worth the telling;

It would not pay for candle light. This woman dwelt in Dorsetshire,

Her hut was on a cold hill-side, And in that country coals are dear,

For they come far by wind and tide.

By the same fire to boil their pottage,

Two poor old dames, as I have known, Will often live in one small cottage,

But she, poor woman, dwelt alone.

"T was well enough when summer came,

The long, warm, lightsome summer day, Then at her door the canty dame,

Would sit, as any linnet gay.

But when the ice our streams did fetter,

Oh! then, how her old bones would shake, You would have said, if you had met her,

"T was a hard time for Goody Blake. Her evenings then were dull and dread;

Sad case it was, as you may think, For very cold to go to bed,

And then for cold not sleep a wink.

Oh, joy for her! whene'er, in winter,

The winds at night had made a rout, And scattered many a lusty splinter,

And many a rotten bough about. Yet never had she, well or sick,

As every man who knew her says, A pile beforehand, wood or stick,

Enough to warm her, for three days.

Now when the frost was past enduring,

And made her poor old bones to ache, Could any thing be more alluring

Than an old hedge to Goody Blake? And now and then, it must be said,

When her old bones were cold and chill, She left her fire, or left her bed,

To seek the hedge of Harry Gill.

Now Harry, he had long suspected

This trespass of old Goody Blake, And vowed that she should be detected,

And he on her would vengeance take. And oft from his warm fire he'd go,

And to the fields his road would take, And there, at night, in frost and snow,

He watched to seize old Goody. Blake.

And once, behind a rick of barley,

Thus looking out, did Harry stand; The moon was full, and shining clearly,

And crisp with frost the stubble land.

He hears a noise,-he's all awake,

Again !-on tiptoe down the hill
He softly creeps. 'Tis Goody Blake!

She's at the hedge of Harry Gill!

Right glad was he when he beheld her:

Stick after stick did Goody pull : He stood behind a bush of elder,

Till she had filled her apron full. When with her load she turned about,

The by-road back again to take, He started forward with a shout,

And sprang upon poor Goody Blake.

And fiercely by the arm he took her,

And by the arm he held her fast, And fiercely by the arm he shook her,

And cried, “I've caught you, then, at last !" Then Goody, who had nothing said,

Her bundle from her lap let fall ;
And, kneeling on the sticks, she prayed

To God who is the judge of all.

She prayed, her withered hand uprearing,

While Harry held her by the arm: “God! who art never out of hearing,

0, may he never more be warm !" The cold, cold moon above her head,

Thus, on her knees did Goody pray, Young Harry heard what she had said,

And icy cold he turned away.

He went complaining all the morrow,

That he was cold and very chill;
His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow,

Alas that day for Harry Gill!
That day he wore a riding coat,

But not a whit the warmer he: Another was on Thursday brought,

And ere the Sabbath he had three.

"T was all in vain! a useless matter!

And blankets were about him pinned, But still his jaws and teeth they clatter,

Like a loose casement in the wind.

And Harry's flesh it fell away,

And all who see him say 't is plain,
That live as long as live he may,

He never will be warm again.
No word to any man he utters,

Abed or up, to young or old;
But ever to himself he mutters,

“ Poor Harry Gill is very cold."
Abed or up, by night or day,

His teeth they chatter, chatter still;
Now think, ye farmers, all, I pray,

Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill.




A young lady may excel in speaking French and Italian; may repeat a few passages from a volume of extracts; play like a professor, and sing like a siren; have her dressing-room decorated with her own drawings, tables, stands, flower-pots, screens, and cabinets; nay, she may dance like Sempronia herself, and yet we shall insist that she may have been very badly educated. I am far from meaning to set no value whatever on any or all of these qualifications. They are all of them elegant, and many of them properly tend to the perfecting of a polite education. These things, in their measure and degree, may be done; but there are others, which should not be left undone. Many things are becoming, but one thing is needful.” Besides, as the world seems to be fully apprised of the value of whatever tends to embellish life, there is less occasion here to insist on its importance.

But, though a well-bred young lady may lawfully learn most of the fashionable arts; yet, let me ask, does it seem to be the trve end of education, to make women of fashion, dancers, singers, players, painters, actresses, sculptors, gilders, varnishers, engravers, and embroiderers ? Most men are commonly destined to some profession, and their minds are consequently turned, each to its respective object. Would it not be strange, if they were called out to exercise their profession, or to set up their trade, with only a little general knowledge of the trades and professions of all other men, and without any previous definite application to their own peculiar calling ?

The profession of ladies, to which the bent of their instruction should be turned, is that of daughters, wives, mothers, and mistresses of families. They should be, therefore, trained with a view to these several conditions, and be furnished with a stock of ideas, and principles, and qualifications, and habits, ready to be applied and appropriated, as occasion may demand, to each of these respective situations. For though the arts, which merely embellish life, must claim admiration ; yet, when a man of sense comes to marry, it is a companion whom he wants, and not an artist, It is not merely a creature who can paint, and play, and sing, and draw, and dress, and dance. It is a being who can comfort and counsel him; one who can reason, and reflect, and feel, and judge, and discourse, and discriminate; one who can assist him in his affairs, lighten his cares, soothe his sorrows, purify his joys, strengthen his principles, and educate his children.

Hannah MORE,



It is to mothers and to teachers, that the world is to look for the character, which is to be enstamped on each succeeding generation; sor it is to them that the great business of education is almost exclusively committed. And will it not appear by examination, that neither mothers nor teachers have ever been properly educated for their profession? What is the profession of a woman? Is it not to form immortal minds, and to watch, to nurse, and to rear the bodily system, so fearsully and wonderfully made, and upon the order and regulation of which, the health and well-being of the mind so greatly depend ?

But let most of our sex, upon whom these arduous duties devolve, be asked, “ Have you ever devoted any time and study, in the course of your education, to a preparation for these duties? Have you been taught any thing of the structure, the

« PoprzedniaDalej »