And so he did--but ere he could proceed, He suck'd a charming portion with a reed, Of that same wedding-ale, which was that day To make the hearts of all the village gay; Brim full of glee he trundled from the Hall, And as for sky-larks, he out-sung them all; Till growing giddy with his morning cup. He, stretch'd beneath a hedge, the reins gave up; The horse graz'd soberly without mishap, And Nathan had a most delightful nap For three good hours--Then, doubting, when he woke, Whether his conduct would be deem'd a joke, With double haste perform'd just half his part, And brought the lame John Meldrum in his cart: And at the moment Gilbert's wrath was high, And while young Herbert waited his reply, A general Meeting. The sound of rattling wheels was at the door; "There's my dear father now,"--they heard no more, The bridegroom glided like an arrow down, And Gilbert ran, though something of a clown, With his best step; and cheer'd with smiles and pray'rs They bore old John in triumph up the stairs: Poor Peggy, who her joy no more could check, Clung like a dewy woodbine round his neck, And all stood silent--Gilbert, off his guard, And marvelling at virtue's rich reward, Loos'd the one loop that held his coat before, Down thumpt the broken crutch upon the floor! They started, half alarm'd, scarce knowing why, But through the glist'ning rapture of his eye The bridegroom smil'd, then chid their simple fears, And rous'd the blushing Peggy from her tears; Gilbert put upon his Defense. Around the uncle in a ring they came, And mark'd his look of mingled pride and shame. "Now honestly, good Gilbert, tell us true What meant this cudgel? What was it to do? I know your heart suspected me of wrong, And that most true affection urg'd along Your feelings and your wrath; you were beside Till now the rightful guardian of the bride. But why this cudgel?"--"Guardian! that's the case, Or else to day you had not seen my face, But John about the girl was so perplex'd, And I, to tell the truth, so mortal vex'd, That when he broke _this crutch_, and stampt and cried, For John and Peggy, Sir, I could have died, I know I could; for she was such a child, So tractable, so sensible, and mild, The plain Truth. That if between you roguery had grown, (Begging your pardon,) 'twould have been your own; She would not hurt a fly.--So off I came And had you only sought to blast her fame, Been base enough to act as hundreds would, And ruin a poor maid--because you _could_, With this same cudgel, (you may smile or frown) An' please you, Sir, I meant to knock you down." A burst of laughter rang throughout the hall, And Peggy's tongue, though overborne by all, Pour'd its warm blessings, for, without control The sweet unbridled transport of her soul Was obviously seen, till Herbert's kiss Stole, as it were, the eloquence of bliss. Mirth and Reconciliation.