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By turns, astonied, every twig survey,
And from their fellow's hateful wounds beware,
Knowing, I wis, how each the same may share,
Till fear has taught them a performance meet,
And to the well-known chest the dame repair,

Whence oft with sugar'd cates she doth them greet, And ginger-bread y-rare; now, certes, doubly sweet.

See to their seats they hie with merry glee,
And in beseemly order sitten there ;
All but the wight of flesh y-gallèd ;-he
Abhorreth bench, and stool, and fourm, and chair ;
(This hand in mouth y-fix'd, that rends his hair;)
And eke with snubs profound, and heaving breast,
Convulsions intermitting, doth declare

His grievous wrong, his dame's unjust behest;
And scorns her offer'd love, and shuns to be caress'd.

His face besprent with liquid crystal shines,
His blooming face, that seems a purple flower,
Which low to earth its drooping head declines,
All smear'd and sullied by a vernal shower.
O the hard bosoms of despotic Power!
All, all but she, the author of his shame,
All, all but she, regret this mournful hour;

Yet hence the youth, and hence the flower, shall claim, If so I deem aright, transcending worth and fame,

Behind some door in melancholy thought,
Mindless of food, he, dreary caitiff! pines;
Ne for his fellows' joyauce careth aught,
But to the wind all merriment resigns,
And deems it shame if he to peace inclines;

And many a sullen look askance is sent,
Which for his dame's annoyance he designs ;

And still the more to pleasure him she's bent,
The more doth he, perverse, her 'haviour past resent.

Ah me! how much I fear lest pride it be !
But if that pride it be, which thus inspires,
Beware, ye dames, with nice discernment see
Ye quench not, too, the sparks of nobler fires :
Ah! better far than all the Muse's lyres,
All coward arts, is valour's generous heat;
The firm fixt breast, which fit and right requires

Like Vernon's patriot soul,* more justly great Than craft that pimps for ill, or flowery false deceit.

Yet, nurs'd, with skill, what dazzling fruits appear !
Ev'n now sagacious foresight points to show
A little bench of heedless bishops here,
And there a chancellor in embryo,
Or bard sublime (if bard may e'er be so)
As Milton, Shakspeare, names that ne'er shall die,
Though now he crawl along the earth so low,

Nor, weeting how the Muse should soar on high, Wisheth, poor starvling elf! his paper kite may fly

And this perhaps, who, censuring the design,
Low lays the house which that of cards doth build,
Shall Dennis bent if rigid fate incline,
And many an epic to his rage shall yield;
And many a poet quit the Aonian field;
And, sour'd by age, profound he shall appear

* Admiral Vernon, the conqueror of Porto Bello.

+ The famous snarling critic.

As he who now, with 'sdainful fury thrill’d,

Surveys mine work, and levels many a sneer, And furls his wrinkly front, and cries, “What stuff is here!"

But now Don Phoebus gains the middle skie,
And liberty unbars her prison-door,
And like a rushing torrent out they fly,
And now the grassy cirque han covered o'er
With boisterous revel-rout and wild uproar;
A thousand ways in wanton rings they run;
Heaven shield their short-liv'd pastimes, I implore !

For well may Freedom, erst so dearly won,
Appear to British elf more gladsome than the sun.

Enjoy, poor imps! enjoy your sportive trade,
And chace gay flies, and cull the fairest flowers;
For when

my
bones in grass-green

sods are laid,
Then never may ye taste more careless hours
In knightly castles or in ladies' bowers.
O vain to seek delight in earthly things !
But most in courts, where proud ambition towers.

Deluded wight! who weens fair peace can spring
Beneath the pompous dome of kesar or of king.

Sce in each sprite some various bent appear !
These rudely carol must incondite lay;
Those sauntering on the green with jocund leer,
Salute the stranger passing on his way ;
Some to the standing lake their courses bend,
Some builden fragile tenements of clay;
With pebbles smooth at duck and drake to play;

Thilk to the huxter's savory cottage tend,
In pastry kings and queens th' allotted mite to spend.

Here as each season yields a different store,
Each season's stores in order rangèd been;
Apples with cabbage-net y-covered o'er,
Galling full sore th' unmoney'd wight are seen;
And gooseb’rie, clad in livery red and green;
And here, of lovely dye, the catherine pear;
Fine pear! as lovely for thy juice, I ween;

O may no wight e'er pennyless come there,
Lest smit with ardent love he pine with hopeless care.

See !--Cherries here, ere cherries yet abound,
With thread so white in tempting posies tyd,
Scattering like bloomiug maid their glances round,
With pamper'd look draw little eyes aside,
And must be bought, though penury betide.
The plum all azure, and the nut all brown,

each
season,

do those cakes abide, Whose honour'd names th’ inventive city own, Rendering through Britain's isle Salopia's praises known.*

And here,

Admired Salopia ! that with venial pride
Eyes her bright form in Severn's ambient wave,
Fam'd for her loyal cares in perils try'd,t
Her daughters lovely, and her striplings brave;
Ah! midst the rest, may flowers adorn his grave,
Whose art did first these dulcet cates display ;
A motive fair to Learning's imps he gave,

Who cheerless o'er her darkling region stray,
Till Reason's morn arise, and light them on their way.

* Shrewsbury cakes.

+ Shrewsbury, the capital of Shenstone's native county, was devoted to the cause of Charles the First.

Grown schoolbags.

A LETTER FROM HORACE WALPOLE TO HIS FRIEND GEORGE

MONTAGU.

GEORGE Montagu, one of Horace Walpole's schoolfellows at Eton, was of the Halifax branch of the family of that name. He became Member of Parliament for Northampton, and Private Secretary to Lord North while Chancellor of the Exchequer.

Walpole, who was now at Cambridge, in his nineteenth year, does not write so correctly as he did afterwards; yet the germ of his wit is very evident in this letter; also of his foppery or effeminacy; and some may think, of his alleged heartlessness. A wit he was of the first water; effeminate too, no doubt, though he prided himself on his open-breasted waistcoats in his old age, and possessed exquisite good sense and discernment, where party-feelings did not blind him. But of the charge of heartlessness, his zeal and painstaking in behalf of a hundred people, and his beautiful letter to his friend Conway in particular, offering, in a way not to be doubted, to share his fortune with him (see Correspondence, vol. i. p. 358), ought to acquit him by acclamation.

The letter, here presented to the reader, is (with some qualification as to prettiness of manner) a perfect exhibition of the thoughts and feelings that go through the mind of a romantic schoolboy. How good is his wishing to have had a kingdom, “only for the pleasure of being driven from it, and living disguised in an humble vale !"

DEAR GEORGE,

KING'S COLLEGE, May 6th, 1736. EAR GEORGE,

I agree with you entirely in the pleasure you take in talking over old stories, but can't say but I meet every day with new circumstances, which will be still more pleasure

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