can fill nobody's dish,
Or clothe them, or build them a fire.
And now I will give you the money, my sons,
Which I promised, you know, for your drum and your guns,
To spend in the way you desire."

The brothers went home, thinking o'er by the way,
For how many comforts this money might pay,
In something for clothing or food:
At length they resolved, if their mother would spend it,
For what she thought best, they would get her to send it
Where she thought it would do the most good.

=The Mountain Minstrel=.

On our mountain of Savoy,
In the shadow of a rock,
Once I sat, a shepherd-boy,
Watching o'er my father's flock.

We'd a happy cottage-home,
Peaceful as the sparrow's nest,
Where, at evening, we could come
From our roamings to our rest.

I'd a minstrel's voice and ear:
I could whistle, pipe and sing,
While I roving, seemed to hear
Music stir in every thing.

But misfortune, like a blast.
Swift upon my father rushed;
From our dwelling we were cast--
At a stroke our peace was crushed.

All we had was seized for debt:
In the sudden overthrow,
Even my fond, fleecy pet,
My white cosset, too, must go.

Then I wandered, sad and lone,
Where I'd once a flock to feed;
All the treasure now my own
Was my simple pipe of reed.

But a noble, pitying friend,
Who had seen me sadly stray,
Made me to his lute attend;
And he taught me how to play.

Then his lute to me he gave;
And abroad he bade me roam,
Till the earnings I could save
Would redeem our cottage-home.

Glad, his counsel straight I took--
I received his gift with joy;
All my former ways forsook,
And became a minstrel-boy.

With my mountain airs to sing,
Forward then I roamed afar,
Sweeping still the tuneful string--
Having hope my leading star.

In the hamlets where I've gone,
Groups would gather--music-bound:
In the cities I have drawn
List'ners till my hopes were crowned.

Ever saving as I earned,
I of one dear object dreamed;
To my mountain then returned,
And our cottage-home redeemed.

Time has wiped away our tears;
Here we dwell together blest;
All our sorrows, doubts and fears
I have played and sung to rest.

Here my aged parents live
Free from want, and toil, and cares;
All the bliss that earth can give
Deem they in this home of theirs.

Life's night-shades fast o'er them creep;
All their wrongs have been forgiven--
They have but to fall asleep
In