Famine, and worse disease, hang o'er their head.
(All turn disgusted from the drunkard's shed.)
Whate'er he has straight to the broker goes,
For liquor he will pawn his last of clothes;
Whate'er he earns as quickly glides away,
For in the ale-house still he wastes the day.
From door to door his tatter'd children roam;
His wife (lone refuge) shelters in the tomb.

Ye whom habitual drunkenness decoys
From solid bliss, to momentary joys;
Behold your picture !-Henceforth learn to shun
The baneful practice that you have begun.
O listen to the counsels of a friend,
And let not yours be Oscar's awful end.

Time numbers twelve--the busy week expires,
And dreams of Sabbath's rest the good inspires.
Deserted stand the public streets and squares,
And the toild shopman slumbers o'er his cares.
Now hooded Night the face of things conceals,
And musing Silence o'er the city steals.

See issuing from yon lane, with filth defilu,
The drunkard Oscar, wander forth exiled.
Cash spent-the landlord bids his guest “good night,
And to the streets consigns the beastly wight.

The staggering wretch from side to side is toss'd,
To shun the wall, he strikes against the post;
Again he rises, and again he falls,
Blasphemes his God. Then to his legs he crawls.
Till the sharp stone his heavy head salutes,
And down he sinks beneath the race of brutes.

Behold the wretch distended o'er with mud,
Lave from his aching brows the crimson flood;
His burning cheeks big drops of sweat distil,
His foamy lips incoherent accents swell;
Frightful convulsions shake his trembling frame;
And wildly fix'd he rolls his eye of flame.
Around the nodding houses seem to reel,
And from beneath him earth appears to steal.
Sunk stupified, he draws his snorting breath,
And fainting tremors tell immediate death.

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Is there no heart to pity-arm to save ? (Musi the wretch learn sobriety in the grave :)


Where now ye gay. companions of the bowl,
Who swore that OSCAR was a generous

soul :
- Ah ! friends deceitful as the wintry sky,
When storms approach the needful wretch you fly,
No beastly bibber that e'er drain'd the glass;
This far-fam'd Bacchanalian could surpass,
And is there not one boon companion near,
O'er his untimely fate to shed a tear?

, all bave fled ! and none will succour lend To chear the horrors of his latter end.

But we have seen, with injudicious care,
The scolding matron to the inn repair
To seek her husband ; where, quite void of sense,
Debauch'd sat he, and blows her recompense.
And has this wretch no wife to guide him home,
To mitigate, if not avert, his doom?

He has a wife !her heart be hard as steel,
For many a painful throe she's doom'd to feel.
The hapless woman, sick, in child-bed lies,
Heav'n be her helpeor the poor creature dies.
His new-born babe will live to see the light,
Then close its little eyes in endless night.
The murderer's anguish penetrates his soul,
While these sad scenes in dread succession roll,

Bid not the dying tell us what they feel.
Their looks too well their awful fate reveal;
How placidly Death's fetters do invest
The face, that strong in faith, has sunk to rest :
And how distorted every feature lies
Of him, who 'reft of hope, despairing dies.

The dying Oscar feels a hell within,
And all the pangs of aggravated sin;
By his own heart the felon stands accus'd.
How oft Heaven's admonition he refus'd.
When o'er the drifted heath he went astray,
Kind Providence directed him the way ;
When his proud gelding started on the height,
Where rocks beneath yawn'd fearful to the sight:
Hope wrung her hands--when, lo! the dangling rein
Was gently drawn aside by hands unseen.
Or, when thro' streets of warehouses he stray'd,
Where many a foot-fall lurk'd in ambuscade,
Who fenc'd the cellar's vaulted trap around,
And led him safely o'er th’ unstable ground ?
These, and a thousand, hair-breadth 'scapes conspire

his bosom with remorseless fire !

Did Heav'n, this moment, lengthen out his day,
Again he'd wallow in the beastly way!
Now Heaven forsakes him! none will succour lend
To chear the horrors of his fearful end.

With dying agony he bites the strand,
And beats the pavement with his firm-clench'd hand;
In hollow groans draws hard the tighten'd breath,
And Drunk expires, meet Heaven's awful wrath!


'HE lapse of time and rivers is the same;

Both speed their journey with a restless stream;
The silent space with which they steal away
No wealth can bribe, no pray’rs persuade to stay;
Alike irrevocable both when past,
And a wide ocean swallows both at last.
Though each resemble each in ev'ry part,
A diff'rence strikes at length the musing heart:
Streams never flow in vain ; where streams abound
How laughs the land, with various plenty crown'd!
But time that should enrich the nobler mind,
Neglected, leaves a dreary waste behind.


NOTES TO CORRESPONDENTS. We are obliged to an Anonymous Well-wisher to the CHEAP MAG. AZINE, for the concise directions for managing a Cottar's Garden ; which he will observe we have availed ourselves of in the present number.

Instructions of a Father to his Son--Filial Gratitude-A young Good Scholar- A Ghost-James and John-Detached ThoughtsThe Essay on Frugality—and Part L on Affability Observations made on a Journey from the Cape of Good Hope to Upper Egypt, &c. and the Poetical favours of J. T. and F. are received.

It gives us pleasure to observe the increasing number of our correspondents, but have to regret, that our narrow limits 'not only have hitherto prevented our inserting many of their favours, but obliged us to abridge some of those we have made use of.

HADDINGTON; Printed and Pulitisked, MONTHIY, by G. MILLER & SON

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Dick's Brothers amusing him after dirner over a glass of small-beer.


No. V.)

MAY, 1814.




A Tea Table Scene. The Party break up.


LADY L. who had always an eye to the advantage


creature about her, when she saw any thing new with her female servants, would caution us not to be new-fangled, wearing it out when worse might do. She even condescended to show us the advantage of buying two or three things of the same kind for common wear, as the remnants of the whole would make up together into a decent gown or petticoat.

Roger. I think I yet see the glow of approbation that brightened in her languid eyes one evening, that she was very faint after taking an airing, and she stopped at my father-in-law's house to rest a little. My motber-in-law and her eldest daughter, had been to the village to deliver in a quantity of lint yarn they had finished spinning for the manufacturers; and were just putting of their better apparel when Lady L.'s carriage stopped. They ran cut



kalf undressed, to assist her ladyship down; and when she was seated in their little room, they told her where they had been, and that they were puting off their Sunday dresses, before they began work, and my mother-in-law added : “ I am sure your ladyship will forgive the figure I made; but I had no hope of the honour of such a call, and it makes our clothes serve us much longer to lay them up carefully whenever we can do without them. My girls and I never sit down till we change them, after being from home." “ The motion of the carriage had quite overcome me" 'said Lady L. but this instance of prudent economy, acts like a cordial. You have given me some valuable sentences for my book, my good Ellen, and I thank you.

Betty. She spoke like a sensible lady; and your motherin-law has been a notable woman, Roger. I'll e’en follow her example. That care of my clothes I never thought of before. Nothing is so good for poor folks, or for them that have not more than enough, as care and saving.

Roger. It is not often that you and I agree quite in opinion, Betty. We here agree in some respects ; but in others I beg leave to differ. FRUGALITY IS CER. TAINLY THE POOR MAN'S SHIELD FROM THE WORST HARDSHIPS OF HIS CONDI. TION; but money is not the greatest good in any sphere: and when children are made to perceive the wisdom of endeavouring to gain and to save money, they should be iaught the superior value of a good character, which is never to be obtained without deserving it.

Petty. This is another of the fancies you have taken from your books, Roger. A poor body is too little looked upon, to be the better or the worse for character, if he keeps off from the lash of the law. My first busband made more money than any man in his station, though my foolish boys have spent it, and are now carrying muskets

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