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, All but the wight of flesh y-galled;-he Abhorreth bench, and stool, and fourm, and chair; His grievous wrong, his dame's unjust behest; His face besprent with liquid crystal shines, 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, And many a sullen look askance is sent, And still the more to pleasure him she's bent, 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, And many an epic to his rage shall yield; * Admiral Vernon, the conqueror of Porto Bello. 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 like a rushing torrent out they fly, Enjoy, poor imps! enjoy your sportive trade, Sce in each sprite some various bent appear ! With pebbles smooth at duck and drake to play; In pastry kings and queens th' allotted mite to spend. Here as each season yields a different store, See!--Cherries here, ere cherries yet abound, With thread so white in tempting posies ty'd, Scattering like blooming 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, And here, each season, do those cakes abide, Whose honour'd names th' inventive city own, Rendering through Britain's isle Salopia's praises known.* Admired Salopia! that with venial pride Eyes her bright form in Severn's ambient wave, Her daughters lovely, and her striplings brave; *Shrewsbury cakes. +Shrewsbury, the capital of Shenstone's native county, was devoted to the cause of Charles the First. Grown Schoolboys. 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 accla mation. 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 !” EAR GEORGE, DEA KING'S COLLEGE, May 6th, 1736. 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 |