THE OLD SAW-MILL. 411 



Alas ! I fear the crucial test, 



If placed upon him rightly, 

 "Would show him of but mortal stuff, 



With blemishes unsightly. 



We judge the writer by his words, 



To find at last our folly. 

 On seeing what a wealth of thought 



One private life can sully. 

 The snob and hypocrite for e'er 



His pen's point was impaling — 

 Pecksniff and Podsnap, merged in him. 



Their doubles were assailing. 



Alas ! whose pen could draw the tear. 



Wronged woman's woes portraying, 

 Should act Don Juan while the part 



Of household tyrant playing ; 

 O'er novelists he lived enthroned. 



All rival kings unseating — 

 To die at last of too much drink. 



Combined with over-eating. 



©Ifie ©f4 iaco-Miff. 



No MORE the glassy pond reflects 



The lithesome willows' play. 

 The walls which pent its waters up 



The floods have washed away. 

 Dead are the bright green water-plants 



That fringed its shaded rim ; 

 The plow its arching furrows turn 



Where fishes used to swim. 



