And on their brows, and in their eyes,
You read the fullness of content,
And see that not a rapture dies,
But peace becomes its monument.

And glad and lovely is their home -

You cannot breathe its

very air,

But what your spirit feels as some
Diviner angel lingered there.

They learn that God no scanty worth

Hath placed-if rightly sought-below ;-
And own the kind heart of the earth
Hives more of solace than of woe.
Misfortune, and our human cares,

They feel as Nature feels, but quail not; The eye that soothes the heart that shares, And Hope, and GOD, are friends that fail not.

Well!-and the Father?-Oh! he sees

Their happiness, and sees it sharing,

For joys but rarely fail to please,

That we believe our own preparing. The homes we build, we take a pride in, Although for others to reside in. Moreover, as no small addition to

His better causes to rejoice—

The good man's laudable ambition too
Has just been flattered in his choice.

It never rains, but it must pour,

(Old proverbs all allow the pith in,) And Luck, when once she sends a shower, Rains down upon us like St. Swithin. So Julian has, by a relation,

Been left a legacy not small;

(And by the bye, poor Chang's donation
Lies, still untouched, with Messrs. Call.
For Julian, when he came to learn it,
Persuaded Hodges to return it.)
Moreover in the late election

He won a certain Burgh's affection;
Dined-drank-made love to wife and daughter,
Poured ale and money forth like water,
And won St. Stephen's Hall, to hear
This parliament may last a year!'

The sire's delight you'll fancy fully—
He thinks he sees a second Tully;
And gravely says he will dispense

With Fox's force, and Brinsley's wit,
So that our member boast the sense

Of that great statesman-Pilot Pitt!
For me, my hope lies somewhat deeper:
We'll now, they say, be governed cheaper!
So, Julian, pour your wrath on robbing,
And keep a careful eye on jobbing.

X

If you should waver in your choice,

To whom to pledge your vote and voice,
You'll waver only-we presume---
Between an Althorpe and a Hume.
But mind-ONE vote-o'er all you hold,
And let the BALLOT conquer GOLD.
Don't utterly forget those asses,
Ridden so long--the lower classes;
But, waking from sublimer visions,
Just see, poor things! to their provisions.
Let them for cheap bread be your debtor,
Cheap justice too---that's almost better--.
And, though not bound to either College,
Don't clap a turnpike on cheap knowledge.
For well said Prussia's scepter'd sage,
Knaves less than fools corrupt the age;
The errors and the ills of states

Vice moulds, but Ignorance first creates.
And ne'er forget this simple rule, boy,
Time---is an everlasting schoolboy,
And as his trowsers he outgrows,

Be decent, nor begrudge him clothes,

* Frederic the Great-the posthumous Essay on Forms of Government. His words are : "In our times Ignorance commits more faults than Vice." The admirable pedantries of the Emperor Julian excepted, the whole of this essay makes perhaps the most enlightened sketch on matters of reasoning ever traced by a royal pen.

Sure that at least his education

Will make your kindness reparation;

For, can he fail to grow acuter,

With watchful Providence his Tutor?

In these advices towards your policy,
Many, dear Julian, will but folly see;
Yet what I preach to you to act is,
But what had been your author's practice,
Had the Mercurial Star that beams
Upon elections, blest his dreams,
Had but we ripen with delay,

And every dog shall have his day!
And Ching?--Poor fellow!--Ching can never
His former spirits quite recover,

Yet he's agreeable as ever,

And plays the C—k as a lover.

In every place he's vastly fêted,
His name's in every Lady's book;

And as a wit I hear he's rated

Between the Rogers and the Hook.
But Chang?-of him was known no more,
Since, Corsair-like, he left the shore.
Wrapt round his fate the cloud unbroken,
Will yield our guess, nor clue, nor token.

He runs unseen his lonely race,

And if the mystery e'er unravels The web around the wanderer's trace--I fear we scarce could print his travels. Since Tourists every where have flock'd, The market's rather ovestock'd,

And so we leave the lands that need 'em, Throughout this "dark terrestrial ball,” To be well visited by Freedom,—

And slightly nibbled at by Hall!

END OF CHAP. III. BOOK IV.