“Now lonely old Susan lived on the moor, Away from the tower of Plymouth Green, Away from the roads of Plymouth dean. A little old woman and poor was she, Whose father had died on the stormy sea, And she went to the church on each Lord’s Day, Though her cottage was many a mile away— To the sailor’s church that looked o’er the bay, The church of the storms and wild sea-mews, And she was hired to open the pews. It made the church seem friendly and free, To open the pews by charity. The standing committee who seated the people, And the grim old bell-ringer who lived in the steeple, And the beadle who kept evil-doers in awe, And tickled the sleeper’s nose with a straw, And made lazy old women jump up in their dreams, And wake all their neighbors with spasms and screams— They were worthy folks all, but not equal in dues To the wise little woman who opened the pews. And the good folks on Sunday each gave her a penny, And at weddings and Christmases twice as many, And at Hallowe’en they gave her a guinea. “Now, one autumn morn, as she came to the church, The sailors, lingering round the porch, Under the trees strange stories told Of Sir Francis Drake and his shipload of gold; And Susan stopped and listened awhile, Then opened the pews in the long, broad aisle, Not over-pleased at the wonderful news. ‘’Tis only the gold that does good that is gain, And I want not the gold of the pilots of Spain,’ Said the wise little woman who opened the pews. [Illustration: STOCK-YARDS.] V. “’Twas in glimmering September—the hour, near noon; The prayers had been read; the clerk gave out a tune, And stood up and looked through the window, and then His eyes oped as though he’d ne’er close them again; His mouth opened too, and his lips rounded, _so_, And left on his face just the round letter O. Then he winked to the beadle, and winked to the squire, And their eyes sought the window, and turned from the choir. The horizon was broken—there were sails in the air; And the cross of St. George on the breeze floated fair. Then arose from the quay a tumultuous shout, And the heads of the singers went bobbing about, And no one looked upward, but every one _out_. VI.