Yes! then he wept, and to his mind there came Much of his conduct, and he felt the shame, How he had oft the good old man reviled, And never paid the duty of a child; How, when the father in his Bible read, He in contempt and anger left the shed: "It is the word of life," the parent cried; "This is the life itself," the boy replied; And while old Peter in amazement stood, Gave the hot spirit to his boiling blood:How he, with oath and furious speech, began To prove his freedom and assert the man; And when the parent check'd his impious rage, How he had cursed the tyranny of age, — 'Nay, once had dealt the sacrilegious blow On his bare head, and laid his parent low; The father groan'd—“If thou art old,” said he, "And hast a son-thou wilt remember me: "Thy mother left me in a happy time,

"Thou kill'dst not her-Heav'n spares the double crime."

On an inn-settle, in his maudlin grief, This he revolved, and drank for his relief.

Now lived the youth in freedom, but debarr'd' From constant pleasure, and he thought it hard; Hard that he could not every wish obey, But must awhile relinquish ale and play; Hard! that he could not to his cards attend, But must acquire the money he would spend.

With greedy eye he look'd on all he saw, He knew not justice, and he laugh'd at law ;) On all he mark'd, he stretch'd his ready hand; He fish'd by water and he filch'd by land: Oft in the night has Peter dropp'd his oar, Fled from his boat, and sought for prey on shore; Oft up the hedge-row glided, on his back

Bearing the orchard's produce in a sack,

Or farm-yard load, tugg'd fiercely from the stack;
And as these wrongs to greater numbers rose,
The more he look'd on all men as his foes.

He built a mud-wall'd hovel, where he kept His various wealth, and there he oft-times slept; But no success could please his cruel soul, He wish'd for one to trouble and control; He wanted some obedient boy to stand And bear the blow of his outrageous hand; And hoped to find in some propitious hour A feeling creature subject to his power.

Peter had heard there were in London then, Still have they being!-workhouse-clearing men, Who, undisturb'd by feelings just or kind, Would parish-boys to needy tradesmen bind: They in their want a trifling sum would take, And toiling slaves of piteous orphans make.

Such Peter sought, and when a lad was found, The sum was dealt him, and the slave was bound. Some few in town observed in Peter's trap A boy, with jacket blue and woollen cap;

But none enquired how Peter used the rope,
Or what the bruise, that made the stripling stoop;
None could the ridges on his back behold,

None sought him shiv'ring in the winter's cold;

None put the question,

"The boy his food?

live:

"Peter, dost thou give

What, man! the lad must

"Consider, Peter, let the child have bread,

"He'll serve thee better if he 's stroked and

fed."

None reason'd thus-and some, on hearing cries, Said calmly, "Grimes is at his exercise."

Pinn'd, beaten, cold, pinch'd, threatened, and

abused

His efforts punish'd and his food refused,

Awake tormented,

-

soon aroused from sleep, Struck if he wept, and yet compell'd to weep, The trembling boy dropp'd down and strove to

pray,

Received a blow, and trembling turn'd away,

Or sobb'd and hid his piteous face ;-
-while he,
The savage master, grinn'd in horrid glee:
He'd now the power he ever loved to show,
A feeling being subject to his blow.

Thus lived the lad, in hunger, peril, pain,
His tears despised, his supplications vain:
Compell'd by fear to lie, by need to steal,
His bed uneasy and unbless'd his meal,
For three sad years the boy his tortures bore,
And then his pains and trials were no more.

"How died he, Peter?" when the people said, He growl'd-" I found him lifeless in his bed;" Then tried for softer tone, and sigh'd, "Poor Sam is dead."

Yet murmurs were there, and some questions ask’d—
How he was fed, how punish'd, and how task'd?
Much they suspected, but they little proved,
And Peter pass'd untroubled and unmoved.

Another boy with equal ease was found, The money granted, and the victim bound; And what his fate? - One night it chanced he fell

From the boat's mast and perish'd in her well, Where fish were living kept, and where the boy (So reason'd men) could not himself destroy:

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"Yes! so it was," said Peter, " in his play, (For he was idle both by night and day,)

"He climb'd the main-mast and then fell below ;"Then show'd his corpse, and pointed to the

blow:

"What said the jury?"-they were long in doubt, But sturdy Peter faced the matter out:

So they dismiss'd him, saying at the time,

66

Keep fast your hatchway when you've boys who ⚫ climb."

This hit the conscience, and he colour'd more
Than for the closest questions put before.

Thus all his fears the verdict set aside, And at the slave-shop Peter still applied.

Then came a boy, of manners soft and mild, Our seamen's wives with grief beheld the child; All thought (the poor themselves) that he was one Of gentle blood, some noble sinner's son,

Who had, belike, deceived some humble maid, Whom he had first seduced and then betray'd:— However this, he seem'd a gracious lad,

In grief submissive and with patience sad.

Passive he labour'd, till his slender frame Bent with his loads, and he at length was lame: Strange that a frame so weak could bear so long The grossest insult and the foulest wrong; But there were causes-in the town they gave Fire, food, and comfort, to the gentle slave; And though stern Peter, with a cruel hand, And knotted rope, enforced the rude command, Yet he consider'd what he'd lately felt, And his vile blows with selfish pity dealt,

One day such draughts the cruel fisher made,
He could not vend them in his borough-trade,
But sail'd for London-mart: the boy was ill,
But ever humbled to his master's will;
And on the river, where they smoothly sail'd,
He strove with terror and awhile prevail'd;
But new to danger on the angry sea,
He clung affrighten'd to his master's knee:
The boat grew leaky and the wind was strong,
Rough was the passage and the time was long;
His liquor fail'd, and Peter's wrath arose,

No more is known. the rest we must suppose,