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How many ushers now employs,

How many maids to see the boys

Have nothing in their heads!

And Mrs S ?Doth she abet

(Like Pallas in the parlour) yet

Some favour'd two or three,— The little Crichtons of the hour, Her muffin-medals that devour,

And swill her prize—bohea?

Ay, there's the playground ! there's the lime,
Beneath whose shade in summer's prime

So wildly I have read!
Who sits there now, and skims the cream
Of young Romance, and weaves a dream

Of Love and Cottage-bread?

Who struts the Randall of the walk?
Who models tiny heads in chalk?

Who scoops the light canoe?
What early genius buds apace?
Where's Paynter? Harris? Bowers? Chase?

Hal Bay lis? blithe Carew?

Alack! they're gone—a thousand ways!
And some are serving in " the Greys,"

And some have perish'd young !—
Jack Harris weds his second wife;
Hal Baylis drives the wane of life;

And blithe Carew—is hung!

Grave Bowers teaches ABC
To savages at Owhyee;

Poor Chase is with the worms!
All, all are gone—the olden breed!
New crops of mushroom boys succeed,

"And push us from ova forms!"

Lo ! where they scramble forth, and shout, And leap, and skip and mob about,

At play where we have play'd! Some hop, some run, (some fall,) some twine Their crony arms; some in the shine,—

And some are in the shade!

Lo there what mix'd conditions run!
The orphan lad ; the widow's son;

And Fortune's favour'd care—
The wealthy-born, for whom she hath
Mac-Adamised the future path—

The Nabob's pamper'd heir!

Some brightly Starr'd—some evil born,—
For honour some, and some for scorn,—

For fair or foul renown!
Good, bad, indiff'rent—none may lack!
Look, here's a White, and there's a Black!

And there's a Creole brown!

Some laugh and sing, some mope and weep, And wish their " frugal sires would keep

"Their only sons at home;" Some tease the future tense and plan The full-grown doings of the man,

And pant for years to come!

A foolish wish! There's one at hoop;
And four at Jives! and five who stoop

The marble taw to speed!
And one that curvets in and out,
Reining his fellow Cob about,—

Would I were in his stead!

Yet he would gladly halt and drop
That boyish harness off, to swop
With this world's heavy van—

To toil, to tug—O little fool!
While thou canst be a horse at school,
To wish to be a man!

Perchance thou deem'st it were a thing
To wear a crown,—to be a king!

And sleep on regal down!
Alas ! thou know'st not kingly cares;
For happier is thy head that wears

That hat without a crown!

And dost thou think that years acquire
New added joys? Dost think thy sire

More happy than his son?
That manhood's mirth? Oh, go thy ways
To Drury Lane when plays,

And see how forced our fun!

Thy taws are brave ! thy tops are rare!—
Our tops are spun with coils of care,

Our dumps are no delight!—
The Elgin marbles are but tame,
And 'tis at best a sorry game

To fly the Muse's kite!

Our hearts are dough, our heels are lead,
Our topmost joys fall dull and dead

Like balls with no re-bound I
And often with a faded eye
We look behind, and send a sigh

Towards that merry ground!

Then be contented. Thou hast got
The most of heaven in thy young lot;

There's sky-blue in thy cup!
Thou'lt find thy manhood all too fast—
Soon come, soon gone! and age at last

A sorry breaking-up!

Hood. 65.— THE PET LAMB.

The dew was falling fast, the stars begun to blink;

I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink!"

And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied

A snow-white mountain lamb with a maiden at its side.

Nor sheep nor kine was near; the lamb was all alone,

And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone;

With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel,

While to that mountain-lamb she gave its evening meal.

The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took, Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail with pleasure

shook. "Drink, pretty creature, drink," she said in such a tone That I almost received her heart into my own. \ 'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare! I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair. Now with her empty can the maiden turned away; But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.

Right towards the lamb she looked; and from a shady place

I unobserved could see the workings of her face:

If nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,

Thus, thought I, to her lamb the little maid might sing:

"What ails thee, young one? what? why pull so at thy cord?

"Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board?

"Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be;

"Best, little young one, rest; what is't that aileth thee?

"What is it thou would seek? What is wanting to thy heart?

"Thy limbs are they not strong? and beautiful thou art:

"This grass is tender grass ; these flowers they have no peers;

"And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears!

"If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain,

"This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain;

"For rain and mountain-storms! the like thou need'st not fear, "The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here.

"Rest, little young one, rest; thou hast forgot the day

"When my father found thee first in places far away;

"Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none,

"And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.

"He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home:

"A blessed day for thee! then whither weuldstthou roam.;

"A faithful nurse thou hast; the dame that did thee yean,

"Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have been:

"Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can

"Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;

"And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew,

"I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is and new.

"Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now,

"Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the plough;

"My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold

"Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.

"It will not, will not rest! poor creature, can it be

"That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee?

"Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,

"And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.

"Alas, the mountain tops that look so green and fair!
"I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that roam there;
"The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play,
"When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.
"Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky;
"Night and day thou art safe, our cottage is hard by.
"Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain?
"Sleep, and at break of day I will come to thee again!"

As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,
This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;

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