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mation to posterity, that the reader-charitably supposed to be the inflictor of the punishment—" was a fool.”

Then again-1 mention it while I am on the subject of writing-as I advanced in the school, how charming to seem to have done more than I had done! It was a mental strawberry mess-an intellectual college loaf, to me! Oh! shufflers ! if any of you yet cling around the intellectual pillars of Eton; if any yet loiter in the cloisters for a construe, till it is “ all up," not with you, but with the school, hear what the greatest of shufflers gives you as a consolation in your pilgrimage

ALWAYS WRITE ON RULED PAPER. N. B.-No“ Upper division” can“ do his number,” if, as he ought to do, he perseveringly writes on lines. Then for the rules, by observing which he can do next to nothing, and yet seem to do much.

End here

Smith.

First Verses.

Solvitur acris hyems.

Commence here.

Now the accompanying diagram is an accurate representation of what a quarter of ruled paper ought to contain, and I challenge any one to say that it will not look like a respectably long exercise, when two lines are brought over towards the “theme," and “finis,” or “Telos" written to denote your joy at the completion of your task. Then I would urge upon the writer, the necessity, should the theme consist of the spondee of a long line, followed by the dactyl of the short line following, of devoting a line to each word, and so doing strict poetic justice to all parties. Next I would take care to leave at the bottom of the first page an odd line, on which, of course, you cannot write a long line, and place its corresponding pentameter on the other side of the quarter.

N. B.—This is a desperate remedy, only to be employed in cases of “

Upper sixes," or matches which occur on the very worst evening of the week, for those who are slow over their exercises, or, (which is the same thing,) employ slow “poets” on their manuscript contributions to the literature of the day.

Puddletown,
June 12th,

(To be continued.)

AN APOLOGY.

To a Lady, whose petite pet Candlestick, the author unfortunately broke.

'Tis true, I broke the candlestick,

I own it, to my shame-
I've no excuse to offer now,

I only am to blame.

For as from shelf I got a book,

(That shelf I know too well!) Alas! the little table shook

The candlestick-it fell !

It fell, and with it fell the book,

Which snapp'd apart the handle, And made the little stick unfit

To hold its little candle !

Aghast I stood, as one transfixed,

And gazed upon the ruin :
Well, here's a pretty smash, thought I,

And this is all my doing !

That candlestick, for which I got

In Bath a month before, Tapers of pink and yellow hue,

Lies broken on the floor.

First I must put the bits away

Perchance, then, had I hid it, "Twill not be missed for many a day

“ Thou can'st not say I did it.”

All these, and other evil thoughts,

Came crowding on my brain, While gazing on the candlestick,

I picked it up again!

I picked it up in speechless woe,

As quick as I was able, (And no one saw the fatal blow)

I placed it on the table !

I placed it on the self-same spot

It erst in beauty graced ; " Alas! how changed, how fallen !" now,

How cruelly defaced !

'Tis true, I broke the candlestick,

And pity 'tis 'tis true."
Regrets are vain; but, Rosa, dear,

I offer them -Adieu !

G. W. M.

JAMES Ist. AND HIS BROTHER PUPIL.

Prince James has shirked—the stern Buchanan blames
The poor plebeian pupil, not Prince James ;
For doubtless 'tis a point of orthodoxy,
His Royal Highness should be whipped by proxy.
Praise, kisses, sugar-plums, await the Prince,
And when he errs, the whipping-boy must wince.
The Tutor's angry, but his loyal choler,
Must all evaporate on the low-born scholar ;
And on the hireling's fleshy parts are scored
The peccadilloes of his youthful Lord.
Oh nice adjustment ! equitable rule,
To save the seat of honour in a fool!
One of the boys looks on the other's fate is
To save his Prince, and get a flogging gratis.

THE SENSE OF EVIL.

“ Husband, dear! when will you leave

That old creaking chair of yours?
Must you sit from morn till eve

Idly, mutely, pent in-doors ?
Look! the fields are green and gay,

Joy comes Auttering on the wind,
We'll be part of this sweet day."

“Nay," he said, " but I have sinned."

“Husband, husband, speak not so !

Dread and dismal words they be ;
To my shivering heart they go,

Heavily, most heavily.
I was blithe a moment back,

Looking all about for mirth."
'Nay," he said, " but all is black,

Sin is over all the earth."

“ No! no! no! there's nought but good

In the hedge-flowers and the grass, In the stream that haunts the wood,

In the scented winds that passGood, that makes the world akin

To the depths of human life.” “Nay," he said, “ with sin, with sin,

I am girt about, my wife!"

" What is sin, that it should mar

Such a festival of love?
We were meant for joy, we are

Drawn, like flowers, from above
By the glad constraining sun,

And the wind's persuasive prayer." “ Nay, but sin doth bid me shun

All that's fresh, and warm, and fair."

“ Oh! but nature's all alive,

Joying in a vernal thrill,
She hath right and power to thrive

Sinners of a better will ;
All between us and the sky

Hath a mission to efface
Sin and shame, and with a sigh,

Holy winds are breathing grace.

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