So much by way of definition,
And to prevent dull disquisition,
We'll shortly take a new position.
A schoolmaster (it mostly follows)
Who keeps a school, must have some scholars,
Unless, indeed (which said at once is)
Instead of scholars, they are all dunces:
Or if this fancy more should tickle,
Suppose them mixed-like Indian pickle.
One Dr. Larrup, as depicted here,
Who little boys had flogged for many a year-
Not that they wouldn't learn their A B C,
Their hic, lec, hoc-Syntax or Prosody,
But that, despite
And oft enforced rules of right,
They would contrive, by day or night
To steal-oh! flinty-hearted sparks,
Worse than to little fish are sharks,-
(Alas! to tell it my Muse winces,)
To steal-his apples, pears, and quinces.
Put them where'er he would, alike their dooms;
His efforts proved as fruitless as his rooms.
As a pert dunghill cock, inflamed with ire,
Erects his feathers and his comb of fire,
When of some grains, his own by right,
He's robb'd by foes that take to flight,-
So stood the Doctor:
With face as red
As coral bed,
His wig cockt forward in his eye,
As if it there the cause would spy.
Had his wife been there,
It would have shocked her.
After long buffeting in mental storm,
His brain's thermometer fell from hot to warm:
At many plans by turns he grapples,
To save his quinces, pears, and apples:
When luckily, into his noddle
His recollection chanced to toddle.
This sage informant told poor Larrup,
If he'd convey his fruit so far up,
That on his house's top there stood,
A room, well floored, I think-with wood.
'Twas what some folks a Loft would call;
The entrance through a trap-door small,
Fix'd in the ceiling of his chamber,
To which he up a rope must clamber;
Unless a ladder was prepared,
And then the rope's-end might be spar'd;
But he'd a long, well-practis'd knack,
Of sparing neither rope nor back.
Ye who in proper titles glory,
Will think, I hope, as I have oft,
That, as this Story's of a Loft,
It should be called a Lofty Story.'
Well, Larrup, without more disputing,
Fix'd on this loft to put his fruit in;
And quickly had it thither mov'd,
How far securely, must be prov'd.
From one apartment so erected
That with the very trifling risk
Of dislocating neck or shoulder,
Which boys ne'er think of in a frisk,
(Nay oft it makes the urchins bolder)
Advent'rous spirits might contrive
To reach the Doctor's apple-hive.
In this room rested four or five
Of these young pilferers, undetected.
Whilst leaden sleep sat on the Doctor's shutters, (By shutters I would here imply,
The lids that shut light from the eye,)
These daring rogues explor'd the tiles and gutters
In search of trap or casement-but alack!
They found not e'en a small, a gracious crack.
When one, 'gainst ev'ry disappointment proof,
Propos'd that they should just-untile the roof;
At least, sufficent space t' admit
A basket, in which one might sit;
And thus, by rope to handle tied,
Be lower'd down with gentle ride.
This being approv'd of, 'twas decided,
That 'gainst next night, should be provided
A basket and a rope;
Which being in due time effected,
A supercargo was selected,
Who, rais'd by hope,
Was gradually lower'd through the hole,
From whence he sent up apples by the shoal.
This plan they often put in force,
(Not oft'ner than they could-of course,) And when their pilfering job was ended,
The untiled roof they always mended.
The Doctor frequent visits made,
And soon perceiv'd his apples stray'd;
And oft upon the school-room floor,
Lay many a pear and apple core:
With grief he view'd these sad remains
Of what, to keep, he took such pains.
Despair now made his heart its prey,-
When, entering the loft, one day,
His ears had pretty ample proof
The rogues were breaking thro' the roof.
He wisely, then, conceal'd himself,-
When lo! down came one little elf;
But he no sooner reach the ground did,
When at him, out the Doctor bounded,
And threaten'd, if he said a sentence,
He'd give him cause for years' repentance.
The boy stood mute as pewter pot,
While Larrup in the basket got;
When being seated snug and steady,
He made his pris'ner cry, "all's ready."
The boys above began to pull,-
"Bless me! the basket's very full."
"He's got a swinging lot this time."
"And I'll be bound he's pick'd the prime.”
"To it again
With might and main,
Another haul will do the job."
"Yo! yo ho!
When lo! up popt the Doctor's nob! How they all look'd I can't express, So leave that part for you to guess; But you, perhaps, may think it right To know the end of Larrup's flight. Well when they'd drawn him to the top, Where he, most likely, wish'd to stop, The wicked rascals-let the Doctor drop!
RAISE my pillow, husband dearest,
Faint and fainter comes my breath,
And these shadows, stealing slowly,
Must, I know, be those of death.
Sit down close beside me, darling,
Let me clasp thy warm, strong hand,
Thine that ever has sustained me
To the borders of this land.
For thy God and mine-our Father,
Thence shall ever lead me on,
Where upon a throne eternal
Sits His loved and only Son⚫
I've had visions, and been dreaming
O'er the past of joy and pain;
Year by year I've wandered backward,
Till I was a child again,-
Dreams of childhood, and the moment
When I stood thy wife and bride-
How my heart thrilled with love's triumph
In that hour of woman's pride!
Dreams of thee and all the earth cords
Firmly twined about my heart, —
Oh, the bitter, burning anguish,
When first I knew that we must part!
It has passed, and God has promised
All thy footsteps to attend ;
He that's more than friend or brother,
He'll be with thee to the end.
There's no shadow o'er the portal
Leading to my heavenly home,—
Christ has promised life immortal,
And 'tis He that bids me come.
When life's trials wait around thee,
And its chilling billows swell,
Thou'lt thank heaven that I'm spared then,
Thou wilt feel that "all is well."
Bring our boys unto my bedside;
My last blessing let them keep
But they're sleeping, do not wake them-
They'll learn soon enough to weep.
Tell them often of their mother,
Kiss them for me when they wake;
Lead them gently in life's pathway,
Love them doubly for my sake.
Clasp my hand still closer, darling,
This, the last night of my life,
For to-morrow I shall never
Answer when thou call'st me
Fare thee well, my noble husband;
Faint not 'neath the chastening rod;
Throw your strong arms 'round our children,
Keep them close to thee-and God!
ANSWER TO "I AM DYING."-REV. WM. LAURIS.
DEAREST Wife, I've raised thy pillow,
And I watch thy failing breath;
O'er my heart fall deep, dark shadows
As I gaze on thee, and death.
At thy side I'm seated, darling,
And I feel thy feeble grasp
As, in anguish, I release thee
From my trembling, loving clasp.
I, too, dream of that bright moment
When thou stood'st my bride and wife;
Then thy blessedness I'd purchase,
Had it cost me e'en my life.
From that dream here's a rude waking,
Crushing down both mind and heart;
Must I learn this painful lesson?
Here and now, Oh, must we part!
Soon my sorrows will not reach thee;
Thou'lt be far beyond their power-
With the God in whom thou trusteth,
Ere time marks another hour.
That thy future's bright and blessed
Is a daily joy to me;
It wil lighten every sorrow,
To know it is not shared by thee.
Round thy bed our boys are gathered,
And with me they stand and weep;
A last blessing give unto them.
That they evermore may keep.
In our hearts thou'lt live forever,
On our lips thou'lt daily be,
Till we too shall cross the river,
And with thee our Saviour see.
I shall gaze upon our children,
Night by night when thou art gone;
No one else is left to love them,
I must guide them all alone.
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