63 

 No. XXXII.— THE CROSS WAYS. 



Why doth the traveller linger yet? 



Why shun to pass over the moor ? 

 The moon is up, though the sun be set 



That should light him to his door. 



There 's nothing to fear from the Will o* wisp, — 



No harm, though the sheep-dog bays, 

 ■ And the low dull sound and the light on the ground 

 Draw his steps to the four cross ways. 



But pray for the lady buried there ; 



She sleeps on the lonely wild, 

 And might not lie with the good who die 



Though the coroner w^as her child. 



They have made her a grave in unhallowed ground, 

 And Heaven ! how it makes one quake, 



To see, instead of the stone at her head, 

 On her bosom the rifted stake. 



A PIC NIC. 



Continued from page 24. 



*^Mrs. Allington," her husband answered gravely, " it is long 

 since I ventured to have a voice in such matters. You may still 

 do, as I believe you will own you have ever done, pretty much 

 as you like, respecting your own amusements ; but I must be 

 permitted at least a remark, when I see my girls put into disad- 

 vantageous positions, and made to form indiscreet intimacies. 

 In the first place, you must know I have no particular fondness 

 for your pic nics, Mrs. Allington ; they are generally (forgive me) 

 apt to be composed of good, bad, and indifferent, which you will 

 allow to be odds, my dear, of just two to one in favor of not 

 very desirable society. (Be kind enough, my love, to hear me 

 out.) They generally end in a romp; and I have as yet never 

 seen any remarkable advantage accrue from the practice of romping 

 among grown people. (One word more, and I have done.) I 

 think that you said your new acquaintance, Mrs. Eglantine, was 

 to have the direction of your party." 



