PETER SPENCE 255 



Ah, soon for them, the angler with his rod. 

 \Yith wormy bait, or fly hook feathery clad, 

 Or fisher's net shall lay them on the sod 

 To writhe with pain and make their captors glad. 



Ah, soon for them the blazing hearth shall burn, 

 And cook shall then the oily sauce prepare, 

 While gourmand Cockneys to the dish return 

 And gobble each his more than glutton share. 



Let not ambition mock the humble theme 

 That now expands obedient to my wish, 

 Nor cast aside, as 'twere an idle dream, 

 The short and simple annals of a fish." 



We have selected these few verses just to 

 illustrate his humour. There are sonnets, 

 and there is a pretty little poem he terms 

 " A Lyric," of which we also venture to quote 

 a verse or two. 



" I love the land where my fathers have dwelt, 

 The rock, and the stream, and the plain, 

 I love to read how the southern felt 

 The might of these patriot men. 



I love the stream where the minnows swam, 



And the slippery sliding eel, 

 And the big stepping stones where we built the 

 dam, 



To run our little mill wheel 



