Thy father's pride and hope!

(He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope!)
With pure heart newly stamped from Nature's mint,
(Where did he learn that squint?)

Thou young domestic dove!

(He'll have that jug off with another shove!)
Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest!
(Are those torn clothes his best?)
Little epitome of man!

(He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan !)
Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life,
(He's got a knife!)

Thou enviable being!

No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing,
Play on, play on,
My elfin John!

Toss the light ball-bestride the stick,

(I knew so many cakes would make him sick!)
With fancies buoyant as the thistle-down,
Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk
With many a lamb-like frisk,

(He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown!)
Thou pretty opening rose!

(Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!)
Balmy, and breathing music like the south,
(He really brings my heart into my mouth!)
Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as its star,
(I wish that window had an iron bar!)
Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove,
(I'll tell you what, my love,

I cannot write, unless he's sent above !)—Thomas Hood.

(210.) THE BURIAL OF MOSES.

Mrs. C. F. Alexander, wife of Dr. Alexander, Bishop of Derry, authoress of Moral Songs and Hymns for Children

"And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against Beth-peor; but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day."-Deut. xxxiv. 6.

By Nebo's lonely mountain,

On this side Jordan's wave,
In a vale in the land of Moab,
There lies a lonely grave;

But no man dug that sepulchre,
And no man saw it e'er,

For the angels of God upturned the sod,
And laid the dead man there.

Noiselessly as the spring-time
Her crown of verdure weaves,
And all the trees on all the hills
Open their thousand leaves,-.
So, without sound of music,

Or voice of them that wept,

Silently down from the mountain's crown
The great procession swept.

Lo! when the warrior dieth,
His comrades in the war,

With arms reversed, and muffled drum,
Follow the funeral car.

They show the banners taken,

They tell his battles won,

And after him lead his masterless steed,

While peals the minute gun.

This was the bravest warrior

That ever buckled sword;

This the most gifted poet

That ever breathed a word;
And never earth's philosopher
Traced, with his golden pen,

On the deathless page, truths half so sage
As he wrote down for men.

And had he not high honour?
The hill-side for his pall,

To lie in state while angels wait,

With stars for tapers tall;

And the dark rock pines, like tossing plumes,

Over his bier to wave;

And God's own hand, in that lonely land,

To lay him in the grave.

O lonely tomb in Moab's land!

O dark Beth-peor's hill!

Speak to these curious hearts of ours,

And teach them to be still.

God hath his mysteries of grace,—
Ways that we cannot tell;

He hides them deep, like the secret sleep
Of him he loved so well.

(211.) THE RIVALS.

[Acres is an ignorant, cowardly, country squire, who apes the fashions and habits of the town, which inveigle him in a duel with Ensign Beverley, who turns out to be no other than his friend Captain Absolute, who is making love to Acres' intended under an assumed name.]

Three speakers: MR. BOB ACRES, SIR LUCIUS O'TRIGGER,

and DAVID a servant.

Enter DAVID.

David. Here is Sir Lucifer O'Tiger, to wait on you, sir.
Acres. Show him in.

Enter SIR LUCIUS O'TRIGGER.

Sir L. Mr. Acres, I am delighted to embrace you.
Acres. My dear Sir Lucius, I kiss your hands.

[Exit David.

Sir L. Pray, my friend, what has brought vou to Bath?

Acres. Faith, Sir Lucius, I've followed Cupid's Jack o' Lantern and find myself in a quagmire at last. In short, I have been very illused, Sir Lucius. don't choose to mention names, but look on me

as a very ill-used gentleman.

Sir L. Pray what is the case? I ask no names.

Acres. Mark me, Sir Lucius:-I fall as deep as need be in love with a young lady—her friends take my part-I follow her to Bath -send word of my arrival-and receive for answer, that the lady is to be otherwise disposed of. This, Sir Lucius, I call being ill-used. Sir L. Very ill, upon my conscience! Pray can you divine the cause of it?

Acres. Why, there's the matter! She has another lover, one Beverley, who, I am told, is now in Bath.-Odds slanders and lies! he must be at the bottom of it.

Sir L. A rival in the case, is there?—and you think he has supplanted you unfairly?

Acres. Unfairly! to be sure he has. He never could have done it fairly.

Sir L. Then sure you know what is to be done?

Acres. Not I, upon my soul.

Sir L. We wear no swords here-but you understand me.
Acres. What! fight him?

Sir L. Ay, to be sure; what can I mean else?

Acres. But he has given me no provocation.

Sir L. Now I think he has given you the greatest provocation in the world. Can a man commit a more heinous offence against another, than to fall in love with the same woman? Oh, by my truth, it is the most unpardonable breach of friendship.

Acres. Breach of friendship! But I have no acquaintance with this man.

Sir L. He has the less right then to take such a liberty.

Acres. 'Gad that's true-I grow full of anger, Sir Lucius,-I fire apace! Odds hilts and blades! I find a man may have a deal of valour in him, and not know it. I could do such deeds

Sir L. Come, come, there must be no passion at all in the case; these things should always be done civilly.

Acres. I must be in a passion, Sir Lucius-I must be in a rage!— Dear Sir Lucius, let me be in a rage, if you love me. Come, here's pen and paper [sits down to write.]. Indite, I say, indite. How shall I begin? Shall I begin with an oath? Do, Sir Lucius, let me begin with a

Sir L. Pho, pho! do the thing decently. Begin now—“ Sir”-
Acres. That's too civil by half.

Sir L. "To prevent the confusion that might arise”

Acres [writing and repeating]. “To prevent the confusion which might arise

Well.

Sir L. "From our both addressing the same lady”—
Acres. Oh, addressing, well-

Sir L. "I shall expect the honour of your company”—

Acres. Zounds, I am not asking him to dinner!

Sir L. "To settle our pretensions"

Acres. Well

Sir L. Let me see—ay, King's Mead-fields will do "in King's Mead-fields."

Acres. So, that's down. Well, I'll fold it up presently.

Sir L. You see, this little explanation will put a stop at once to all confusion or misunderstanding that might arise between you. Acres. Ay, we fight to prevent any misunderstanding.

Sir L. Now I'll leave you to fix your own time. Take my advice,

and you'll decide it this evening, if you can; then, let the worst come · of it, 'twill be off your mind to-morrow.

Acres. Very true.

Sir L. So I shall see nothing more of you, unless it be by letter, till the evening. I would do myself the honour to carry your message; but, to tell you a secret, I believe I shall have just such another affair on my own hands.

Acres. By my valour, I should like to see you fight first. Odds life, I should like to see you kill him, if it was only to get a little lesson.

Sir L. I shall be very proud of instructing you. Well, for the present--but remember now, when you meet your antagonist, do everything in a mild and agreeable manner. Let your courage be as keen, but at the same time as polished, as your sword. [Exeunt Sir Lucius and Acres.

SCENE-King's Mead-fields.

Enter SIR LUCIUS and ACRES, with pistols.

Acres. By my valour! then Sir Lucius, forty yards is a good distance.—Odds levels and aims!--I say it is a good distance.

Sir L. It is for muskets, or small field-pieces;-upon my conscience, Mr. Acres, you must leave these things to me.-Stay, now-I'll show you [measures six paces]. There, now, that is a very pretty distance --a pretty gentleman's distance.

Acres. Zounds! we might as well fight in a sentry-box! I tell you, Sir Lucius, the farther he is off, the cooler I shall take my aim. Sir L. 'Faith, then, I suppose you would aim at him best of all if he was out of sight!

Acres. No, Sir Lucius—but I should think forty, or eight-andthirty yards

Sir L. Pho, pho! nonsense! three or four feet between the mouths of your pistols is as good as a mile.

Acres. Odds bullets, no!-by my valour! there is no merit in killing him so near: do, my dear Sir Lucius, let me bring him down at a long shot:-a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me!

Sir L. Well, the gentleman's friend and I must settle that. But tell me now, Mr. Acres, in case of an accident, is there any little will or commission I could execute for you?

Acres. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius-but I don't understand

Sir L. Why, you may think there's no being shot at without a little risk—and if an unlucky bullet should carry a quietus with it— I say, it will be no time then to be bothering you about family

matters.