consequences of each course of action, and then say, "Now do as you yourself think best." It was very rare for them not to choose the way that he intended they should, but the absence of arbitrary restraint was at the same time a great boon to the children in giving them a sense of freedom, and also a great moral trainer in making them depend on conscience and reason as their guides.

In the year 1840 William Barnes had the trial of losing his early friend Edward Fuller. He too, had married, but his young wife lived a very short time, dying of consumption in 1838. After that Fuller travelled a great deal, adding to a mind already refined the study of foreign art and scenery, and writing very long and descriptive letters of foreign scenes and art galleries to his friend. They made several plans for an excursion together into France, but William Barnes was not such a free agent as Fuller, and the journey was never taken. Mr. Fuller went alone to travel on the Continent, partly in search of health, but the cough of which he speaks in several letters deteriorated into consumption, and in 1840 he died, leaving a void in William Barnes's heart which was never filled up. The entry in his notebooks says: July 17th, "This day I have lost my early, worthy, and much-loved friend, Mr. Edward Fuller, who died at Staple Grove, near Taunton." His will contained the bequest of a small legacy to W. Barnes as a "token of long-standing friendship." To the memory of this friend who died so young, the following poem is dedicated:

THE MUSIC OF THE DEAD.

When music in a heart that's true,
Do kindle up wold loves anew,
An' dim wet eyes, in fëairest lights,
Do see but inward fancy's zights;
When creepèn years wi' with'ren blights
'V a took of them that wer so dear
How touchèn 'tis if we do hear

The tuens of the dead, John.

CHAPTER V.

VULL A MAN.

No, I'm a man, I'm vull a man,
You beät my manhood, if you can
You'll be a man if you can teäke

All steätes that household life can meäke;
The love-toss'd child, a-croodlèn loud,
The buoy a-screamèn wild in play,

The tall grown youth a-steppen proud, The father staïd, the house's stay.

A young cheäk'd mother's tears mid fall,
When woone a-lost, not half-man tall
Vrom little hand, a-call'd vrom pläy,
Do leave noo tool, but drop a tây,

And die avore he's father-free
To sheäpe his life by his own plan ;
An vull an angel he shall be
But here on e'th not vull a man
No; I can boast if others can

I'm vull a man.

I woonce, a child, wer father-fed,
And I've a-vound my childern bread;
My eärm, a sister's trusty crook
Is now a faithvul wife's own hook;

An I've a-gone where vo'k did send
An' gone upon my own free mind

An' of'en at my own wits' end A-led o' God while I wer blind. No; I could boast if others can I'm vull a man.

An' still, ov all my tweil ha' won,
My loven maid an' merry son,

Though each in turn's a jäy and ceäre
'Ve a-had, an still shall have, their sheäre;
An' then, if God should bless their lives,
Why I mid zend from son to son

My life, right on drough men an' wives, As long, good men, as time do run,

No, I could boast if others can

I'm vull a man.