I 



IN A FISHING COUNTRY 



them, there is no call to pray: — 



Christ look upon us in this city, 

 And keep our sympathy tind pity 

 Fresh, and our faces heavenward; 

 Lest we grow hard. 



The poorest never deny a dole and a 

 lodging to the wanderer: — not in the canny 

 spirit which throws the sprat of charity to 

 land eternal reward: — nor yet under coer- 

 cion of the belief, — 



If meate or drinke thou gavest nane, 



The fire shall burn thee to the bare bane . . . 



but only because such acts are easiest and 

 very natural to them. 



So the old beggarman goes his round, 

 and likely will cross and re-cross the moun- 

 tains in spring and autumn till an untimely 

 storm, earlier or later than his reckoning, 

 weaves for him a winding-sheet. 



Sixty-five years ago Switzerland gave 

 him breath, and taught him French, Ital- 

 ian, German. Chicago added English; he 

 speaks and reads the four languages. Every 

 printed scrap he chances upon is gathered 

 up and treasured, against his winter retreat. 

 Haunted by a great dread of fire, he rings 

 round with stones his every smudge or 

 blaze, and, departing, quenches the last v 

 spark. Smoking, his hands are close about -. 



108 



I 



