brought about
By Providence, noo tongue can tell,
She minded house, when vo'k wer out,
An' zoo mus' bid the house farewell;
The bees mid hum, the clock mid call
The lwonesome hours 'ithin the hall,
But in behind the woaken door,
There's now noo mwore a Fanny Deaene.

THE LOVELY MAID OV ELWELL MEAeD.

A maid wi' many gifts o' greaece,
A maid wi' ever-smilen feaece,
A child o' yours my chilhood's pleaece,
O leaenen lawns ov Allen;
'S a-walken where your stream do flow,
A-blushen where your flowers do blow,
A-smilen where your zun do glow,
O leaenen lawns ov Allen.
An' good, however good's a-waigh'd,
'S the lovely maid ov Elwell Meaed.

An' oh! if I could teaeme an' guide
The winds above the e'th, an' ride
As light as shooten stars do glide,
O leaenen lawns ov Allen,
To you I'd teaeke my daily flight,
Drough dark'nen air in evenen's light,
An' bid her every night "Good night,"
O leaenen lawns ov Allen.
Vor good, however good's a-waigh'd,
'S the lovely maid ov Elwell Meaed.

An' when your hedges' slooes be blue,
By blackberries o' dark'nen hue,
An' spiders' webs behung wi' dew,
O leaenen lawns ov Allen
Avore the winter air's a-chill'd,
Avore your winter brook's a-vill'd
Avore your zummer flow'rs be kill'd,
O leaenen lawns ov Allen;
I there would meet, in white array'd,
The lovely maid ov Elwell Meaed.

For when the zun, as birds do rise,
Do cast their sheaedes vrom autum' skies,
A-sparklen in her dewy eyes,
O leaenen lawns ov Allen
Then all your mossy paths below
The trees, wi' leaves a-vallen slow,
Like zinken fleaekes o' yollow snow,
O leaenen lawns ov Allen.
Would be mwore teaeken where they stray'd
The lovely maid ov Elwell Meaed.

OUR FATHERS' WORKS.

Ah! I do think, as I do tread
Theaese path, wi' elems overhead,
A-climen slowly up vrom Bridge,
By easy steps, to Broadwoak Ridge,
That all theaese roads that we do bruise
Wi' hosses' shoes, or heavy lwoads;
An' hedges' bands, where trees in row
Do rise an' grow aroun' the lands,
Be works that we've a-vound a-wrought
By our vorefathers' ceaere an' thought.

They clear'd the groun' vor grass to teaeke
The pleaece that bore the bremble breaeke,
An' drain'd the fen, where water spread,
A-lyen dead, a beaene to men;
An' built the mill, where still the whee