The Poacher.
Pubd. May 1, 1831, by J. Harris, St. Pauls Church Yard.
The kind Aunt drew away her girls from the presence of the rude clown; and, calling out to him, that she would send some one to succour him, she moved forward as quickly as she could. From the village they sent a peasant to this helpless cripple; and, as they paced homewards, the Aunt told her girls his story. "That young man was once rich and honest. He is the son of a worthy farmer, whose fate I will tell you, when I have done telling that of his son. Young Godfrey, for that is his name, gave way to habits of sloth and self-will; of course, he soon became tired of having nothing to do, so he wanted to find them who would talk to him and amuse him. The busy would not give up their time to this slothful youth; so he went among the idle, among those like himself. He rambled about all day, and spent the night in drinking, and all sorts of folly; his health was lost, his money was spent; he became sickly and feeble, poor and wretched: his temper was spoilt; the merry boy became the peevish, brutal man. In vain his friends prayed, and his father wept; he heeded them not, and, going on from folly to crime, he became a poacher. A poacher is a lawless person, who kills and steals game. In one of his nightly prowlings, he was caught in a trap, set for such thieves, and his leg was broken, so it was cut off, and he had a wooden leg; all this pain and disgrace did not cure him; you see, he goes on his wild career, and I tremble to think how it will end. Ah! the first step in vice is the first step in sorrow. Happy they who listen to advice, and stop short whilst they can."
THE UNHAPPY FATHER.
"And now for the father's sad tale," added the good Aunt. "One very cold day, last winter, when the ground was frozen hard, I went out to visit a sick child in the village. Crossing the heath, on my return home, I saw, beneath a tree, the figure of an old man. On hearing my approach, he arose, and, kneeling before me, besought my pity. A few rags barely hid his frozen limbs, and want and sorrow wrinkled his time-worn face. I stopped to hear his story, and learn how I could best serve him. Alas! it was the wretched father of Godfrey. 'He has spent all my money, madam; but that I could have borne, had it gone by ill-luck, or in any honest way: but he has brought my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave by his vices. Oh! when I held him in my arms, my first pretty baby; when I saw him on my knee, my loved and only son; I little thought of all the sorrow he was to heap upon me! His mother died whilst he was an infant, and I mourned for her; but now I am glad she did not live to see what I have seen. And I have nobody to blame but myself: I was too good to him; I let him have his own way too much; all my friends said, You indulge the lad too much; you will repent it: and so I do, so I do.' His tears here choaked his voice; I tried to comfort him; he shook his head, and said, 'What comfort is there for a father, whose only child deserts him, whose only child is a disgrace to him? There is no comfort for me on this side of the grave! If I had but a hovel, where I could hide my wretched head, and not shew the world to what my son has humbled me!'—Love, you see—a father's love—was yet alive, and willing to shield the very child from whom sprang all his woes."
The Unhappy Father.
Pubd. May 1, 1831, by J. Harris, St. Pauls Church Yard.
"You may be sure, I found a shelter for the poor man; and he died soon after, with his last words sending his blessing and his pardon to his cruel son. Such is the force of a parent's love! Such are the evils a child may inflict!"