'We had no Father;--he was gone away;
'That night we left our home new cloaths to wear:
'The _Work-house_ found them; we were carried there.
'We lov'd each other dearly; when we met
'We always shar'd what trifles we could get.

_Rustic Hospitality and Protection of the friendless_.

But _George_ was older by a year than me:--
He parted from me and was sent to Sea.
"Good-bye, dear Phoebe," the poor fellow said!
Perhaps he'll come again; perhaps he's dead.
When I grew strong enough I went to place,
My Mistress had a sour ill-natured face;
And though I've been so often beat and chid,
I strove to please her, Sir: indeed, I did.
Weary and spiritless to bed I crept,
And always cried at night before I slept.
This Morning I offended; and I bore
A cruel beating, worse than all before.
Unknown to all the House I ran away;
And thus far travell'd through the sultry day;
And, O don't send me back! I dare not go.'--
'I send you back!' the Miller cried, 'no, no.'
Th' appeals of Wretchedness had weight with him,
And Sympathy would warm him every limb;

_The Child becomes one of the Family_.

He mutter'd, glorying in the work begun,