Behind a surgeon's counter, novels read—
Shut shop-went out at two, came home to bed.

Kate Logan bloom'd-a beauty of sixteen,
And was what girls in nonage oft are seen.
In short, the maiden was John's counterpart,
Her head as empty, and as light her heart;
She dress'd, she flirted, flutter'd on the wing,
A gaudy butterfly, in early spring;
Unapprehensive of the April storm,

That yet might come, to spoil her slender form.
Her father's house was just across the street;
And from the window oft their eyes would meet;
He gaz'd delighted on the lovely fair,
And she admir'd his gait and graceful air:
He sent a ticket to an annual ball,
Her heart exulted at the welcome call:
How slowly pass'd the lingering hours away,
Till came the dear, the long-expected day!
She gaz'd around her in the crowded room,
On every side a blaze of youthful bloom;
Delight and envy whirl'd her teeming brain;
But John's attentions sooth'd her mental pain;
He led her out, to join a country-dance,

They pair'd and cross'd, exchanging glance for glance;
With fairy lightness, gliding o'er the floor,
She ne'er had felt such dear delight before;

Beaux ogled, smil'd, and bow'd on every side,

She simper'd, blush'd, and spread her triumphs wide; Well did her cheek and sparkling eyes impart

The foolish fluttering of her little heart.

John led her home-next morning made his call----
Discuss'd the pleasures of the festive ball;
The mother soon invited him to tea,

Next daily visits follow'd, frank and free;
He in the parlour chatted, laugh'd and talk'd,
And then, with Kate, alone in twilight walk'd.
With fond romantic girls, and giddy boys,
Love seems a paradise of fairy joys;
And, to secure a lease of bliss for life,
They blindly hasten to be man and wife:
So thought and felt, so acted John and Kate,
Resolv'd to wed, and rush upon their fate.
Both parents tried their ardour to restrain,
But found all counsel and remonstrance vain;
For when the fond impatient lovers felt,

That nought the stubborn parents' hearts would melt,
To reach the promis'd land they changed the scene,
And tied the mystic knot at Gretna Green!
The sun of love ne'er shed a brighter noon,
Than the rich splendour of their honey-moon;
Entranced the pair in necromantic bower,
Without a thought beyond the present hour,
They home return'd, and, kneeling, were forgiven;
That cloud dispell'd from their connubial heaven,
Another came they could not turn aside,
How they should for their future wants provide.
The parents tried to make the best of bad,
And took a shop, therein to fix the lad;
Above the door a gilded mortar placed,
The window shelves with colour'd water graced,

Invited all, who held their lives in care,

To purchase physic, health, and safety there.
The field was narrow-John, unknown to fame,
His rival thriving, and had gain'd a name ;
John's custom little, and his practice less,
Kate kill'd his languor in a game at chess;
Then they would fondle, trifle, flirt, and toy;
But sweets too luscious still the soonest cloy :
And daily groping in an empty till,

Was not the way life's growing cares to kill;
Yet Love, intent his drooping mind to cheer,
Gave hopes a father's name would glad his ear;
These hopes fulfill'd, with joyous heart he saw,
He kiss'd his son and Katherine, in the straw;
"His lovely cherub, with his mother's smile,"
He cried, "will now life's languid hours beguile."
A month or two both parents hugg'd the boy,
As Miss her doll, or any darling toy;
But soon they found him turn'd a squalling brat,
Whose cries and clamour spoil'd their fondling chat.
If mortals laugh, or cry, or wake, or sleep,
The wheels of time their constant motion keep:
Slow o'er their heads another year has pass'd,
And Poverty's dark shades were thickening fast.
John found that Katherine's cheek had lost its bloom;
And on his brow she mark'd the low'ring gloom;
On love they once could breakfast, dine, and sup,
But found it now an almost empty cup.

She sigh'd and wept ; John frown'd and rail'd at fate,
His sidelong glance accusing hapless Kate;

And both deplor'd their folly, when too late.

While they with want, and growing coldness strove,
A daughter came, a second pledge of love;

But credit gone-accounts and bills unpaid,
Their ruin could no longer be delay'd,

What could he do? or whither steer his course?
A Greenland whale-ship seem'd his best resource.
He sail'd to lasting day, and polar frost;
By icebergs crush'd, the hapless ship was lost!
On board a vessel bound for Aberdeen,

The shipwreck'd crew forsook the dreary scene:
O'ercome with travel, hunger, care, and pain,
And cloth'd in rags, John found his home again;
And came in time an infant boy to bring,
For holy unction, from the sacred spring:
Before the font he stood, with aspect wild;
I mourn'd the parents, while I bless'd the child!
Ah! how unlike the giddy, thoughtless pair,
When John was gay, and Kate a blooming fair!
His mirth forgot, her blushing beauty fled,
They hide their sorrows in an humble shed.

Such are the woes by childish folly wrought;
Such is experience-Ah! too dearly bought!
To cool the fever of the youthful brain,

Ye fond and thoughtless, read-let me not sing in vain.

Register of Marriages.—Widow Wilmot. THE prudent surgeon, with a tender heart, In danger's hour performs a painful part;

With daring hand, essays his nicest skill,
Unknowing whether he shall cure or kill:
But there are others, in a different sphere,
Who, if in duty's track they onward steer,
Must often ponder, and proceed with pain,

Then grieve, to find they've thought and toil'd in vain.

The faithful shepherd, who his flock would guide,
Must, for their safety, with their food provide ;
With watchful eye, and arm in duty bold,
From foul infection must preserve the fold:
In barren wastes if they, untended, stray,
They fall the victims of the beasts of prey;
Or, faint with hunger, in the desart die,
The guilty shepherd loitering careless by.
But he may err, by too much care and toil;
For there is danger in too rank a soil;
Disease will often from indulgence rise,
Too flowery pastures, and too humid skies;
Thus some, neglected, mourn their hapless lot,
And others, fed to foul repletion, rot.

Hence judgment ever should with care unite,
In all who wish to guide their flocks aright;
But stragglers still their wayward course will hold,
Leap o'er the fence, and wander from the fold.
-Enough-I check my moralising strain;
For shepherds watch, and parsons preach in vain.
Dame Wilmot was a farmer's widow meek,
The rose of summer faded on her cheek;
But still the lustre of her sparkling eye
Seem'd like the sun in autumn's cloudless sky;
Ten times had winter howl'd around her head,
Since David Wilmot mingled with the dead;
His call was sudden, and his death deplor'd,
The rich esteem'd him, and the poor ador'd;
Of gentle manners, independent mind,
His hand was liberal, and his heart was kind;
The counsellor of youth, the friend of age,
His name was blazon'd fair on virtue's page;
And in my flock, when David Wilmot died,
I felt a blank not easily supplied.
He left one son, his cultur'd farm to heir,
A minor still, besides three daughters fair,
In nonage all, left to no guardian's trust;
For he was hurried to his kindred dust;
But he died well, as Cits and Bankers say,
And left his family in a thriving way;

His farm well stock'd, with store of treasur'd wealth,
The children stout, the widow rich in health:
Dame Wilmot (ever seen, in wedded life,
The careful mother and the bustling wife,)
Sat with her children, plunged in grief profound;
But Time, that brings a balm for every wound,
Remov'd the load which press'd upon her mind,
And bade her live for those still left behind;
She wip'd her tears, the rising sigh suppress'd,
For business, with its crowding cares, distress'd.
Her debts discharged, and each incumbrance clear'd,
Beyond her hopes the surplus stock appear'd;
And still she hop'd, beneath her guardian charge,
To see each annual balance yet enlarge.

For this she rose with morning's earliest light,
Her eye was everywhere till closing night;
Whether the summer scorch'd, or winter froze,
The first to rise, the last to seek repose.
Thus time stole on, and John, her only son,
Had reach'd the long-wish'd age of twenty-one;
And, farther, her maternal heart to cheer,
Her daughters now in beauty's bloom appear;
But few without a sigh have power resign'd;
It sheds a secret pleasure o'er the mind;
From Dowager Queen, down to the yeoman's dame,
The joy is equal, and the sigh the same;
And widow Wilmot, stript of her command,
Laid down the reins with cold, reluctant hand ;
Her daughters, too, were grown like may-poles tall;
She felt her pleasure with their romping pall;
She thought it strange "Mamma" from such to hear,
And "Mother" was as hateful to her ear;
Erewhile, the maidens were her joy and pride;
But now, she loath'd to find them at her side;
Thus housewives say, at seasons hens are seen
To peck and chace their chickens from the green;
For though Dame Wilmot's fortieth year was past,
She round her still a twinkling eye could cast.
Ten years of widowhood had stole behind,
And no such dreams disturb'd the woman's mind;
But she was then employ'd in worldly care;
She now was idle, and had cash to spare;
And Fancy will the vacant mind employ,
In fairy dreams of fond ideal joy;

Can paint anew youth's dear enraptur'd reign,
And whisper-We can live it o'er again.

So thought Dame Wilmot, when her mirror shew'd
A cheek, where late and lingering beauty glow'd:
'Twas not, 'tis true, the blush that youth bestows-
The glowing richness of the half-blown rose;

But while she gaz'd, she thought her face might charm,
And dreams of former days would all her bosom warm.

Frank Dickson was a father's only child,
And born when fortune's sun serenely smil'd;
Parental fondness, to each failing blind,
Believ'd that pertness spoke superior mind;
Indulg'd, caress'd, the lad was sent to school,
And from the college came, not quite a fool :
For he could Logic chop, and Latin speak,
And read my weekly text in pot-hook Greek:
He every Sunday sought the house of pray'r,
And most devout was his appearance there;
In penitential chaunt, or cheerful song,
His voice resounded o'er th' assembled throng;
In this it rose, with full-ton'd, mellow swell,
In that, with melting cadence, softly fell;
And then, so much expression in his face,
He seem'd a pattern in our holy place.
Few could with him in form and mien compare,
His stature tall, and graceful was his air;
No essenced fop, his dress was neat and trim,

His shoulders broad, full chest, and well-turn'd limb;

The piercing lustre of his keen dark eye

Was like the bird's that braves the sun-bright sky;

Of smooth address, and eloquent of tongue-
To these externals add-the lad was young.
Such was Frank Dickson forty years ago;
What he is now, some future page may show.

Dame Wilmot met him in a joyous hour,
When jest and frolic flew with licens'd power;
"Twas at a wedding-feast, where all were gay,
Courtship and love the topics of the day:
He was engaging, courteously polite;

And unperceiv'd stole on the shades of night:
With mirth surrounded, and the circling glass,
The light-wing'd hours like minutes o'er us pass;
The purple tide flows brisk in ev'ry vein,

And Prudence rules the tongue with slacken'd rein.
Frank saw the widow safe to her abode ;

And some folks say they linger'd on the road-
Why should I here prolong my limping strain?
Each with the other pleas'd, they met again.
On Rumour's wings the tale was blaz'd abroad-
I paus'd, and felt, the duty which I ow'd
As shepherd, placed o'er all my flock to watch,
Bade me prevent this wild, preposterous match.
I sought the widow, and with plainness spoke-
She thank'd me kindly-said 'twas all a joke;
But though her tongue the gossip tale denied,
I mark'd a blush which Nature could not hide;
Methought her sparkling eyes, too, seem'd to say,
"Preach as you please! I will my heart obey!"

Frank well was skill'd in flattery's pleasing art,
And knew the way to win a widow's heart;
She might assume the matron's stately pride,
But had no fears-no virgin blush to hide;
Ere long, Love found them in a melting mood-
And they before me at the altar stood!

Love, said I?-'twas a passion less sublime!
In both a folly, bordering on a crime;
For since his reign on earth was first begun,
Love never match'd the mother with the son.
I grant, where principle and prudence meet,
The bridegroom virtuous, and the bride discreet,
That both may lead a calm and easy life;
But not what Nature meant for man and wife!

She blush'd and simper'd, as her hand he took;
But careless ease was in her bridegroom's look;
I mark'd with sorrow his indifferent air,
While I, with fervour, pour'd the nuptial pray'r:
'Twas not, indeed, the pray'r of faith with me-
From what I saw-I fear'd for what might be !
And when the bride was from the altar led,
I thought Misfortune hover'd o'er her head.

The torch of Hymen gleam'd, and both were bless'd;
He of a wife and treasur'd wealth possess'd;
Fond and confiding in the favour'd youth,
She trusted all to honour, love, and truth;
Gold, bills, and bonds, all given to his control-
The longest liver to possess the whole.

Two months, or so, young Four-and-twenty's arms Were fondly clasp'd round Five-and-forty's charms;