LESSON LXXIV.

THE DAME SCHOOLMISTRESS.-THE MILKMAID.CHILDHOOD'S SPORTS.

In yonder cot, along whose mould'ring walls,
In many a fold, the mantling woodbine falls,
The village matron kept her little school-
Gentle of heart, yet knowing well to rule;
Staid was the dame, and modest was her mien;
Her garb was coarse, yet whole, and nicely clean;
Her neatly-border'd cap, as lily fair,

Beneath her chin was pinn'd, with decent care,
And pendent ruffles of the whitest lawn,
Of ancient make, her elbows did adorn,
Faint with old age, and dim were grown her eyes,
A pair of spectacles their want supplies;
These does she guard secure in leathern case
From thoughtless wights, in some unweeted* place.
Here first I enter'd, though with toil and pain,
The lowly vestibulet of learning's fane;
Enter'd with pain, yet soon I found the way,
Though sometimes toilsome, many a sweet display.

Much did I grieve, on that ill-fated morn,
When I was first to school reluctant borne;
Severe I thought the dame,-thought oft she tried
To sooth my swelling spirits when I sigh'd,
And oft, when harshly she reprov'd, I wept,
To my lone corner, broken-hearted crept,

And thought of tender home, where anger never kept.
But soon, inur'd to alphabetic toils,-

Alert I met the dame with jocund smiles;

Firm at the form, my task for ever true,
A little fav'rite rapidly I grew:

And oft she strok'd my head with fond delight,
Held me a pattern to the dunce's sight;
And as she gave my diligence its praise,
Talk'd of the honours of my future days.

Kirke White.

A milkmaid, who pois'd a full pail on her head,
Thus mus❜d on her prospects in life, it is said:
"Let me see-I should think that this milk will procure
One hundred good eggs, or four score, to be sure.

Well then stop-a-bit—it must not be forgotten,
Some of these may be broken, and some may be rotten;
But if twenty for accident should be detach'd,
It will leave me just sixty sound eggs to be hatch'd.
Well sixty sound eggs-no, sound chickens I mean:
Of these some may die-we'll suppose seventeen,
Seventeen! not so many-say ten at the most,
Which will leave fifty chickens to boil or to roast.

But then, there's their barley, how much will they need,
Why they take but one grain at a time when they feed-
So that's a mere trifle; now then, let us see,
At a fair market price how much money there'll be.

Six shillings a pair-five-four-three-and-six,
To prevent all mistakes, that low price I will fix:
Now what will that make? fifty chickens, I said-
Fifty times three-and-sixpence-I'll ask brother Ned.

O! but stop-three-and-sixpence a pair I must sell'em ;
Well, a pair is a couple-now let us tell'em;
A couple in fifty will go-(my poor brain!)
Why just a score times, and five pair will remain.

Twenty-five pair of fowls-now how tiresome it is,
That I can't reckon up such money as this!
Well there's no use in trying, so let's give a guess—
I'll say twenty pounds, and it can be no less.

Twenty pounds, I am certain, will buy me a cow,
Thirty geese, and two turkeys-eight pigs and a sow;
Now if these turn out well, at the end of the year,
I shall fill both my pockets with guineas, 'tis clear."
Forgetting her burden, when this she had said,
The maid superciliously toss'd up her head,

When, alas! for her prospects-her milk-pail descended,
And so all her schemes for the future were ended.

This moral I think may be safely attach'd,

"Reckon not on your chickens before they are hatch'd."

Jeffreys Taylor.

'Neath yonder elm, that stands upon the moor,
When the clock spoke the hour of labour o'er,
What clam'rous throngs, what happy groups were seen,
In various postures scatt'ring o'er the green!
Some shoot the marble, others join the chase,
Of self-made stag, or run the emulous race;
While others, seated on the dappled grass,
With doleful tales the light wing'd minutes pass.
Well, I remember how, with gesture starch'd,
A band of soldiers, oft with pride we march'd;
For banners, to a tall ash we did bind

Our kerchiefs, flapping to the whistling wind;
And for our warlike arms we sought the mead
And guns and spears we made of brittle reed;
Then in uncouth array, our feats to crown,
We storm'd some ruin'd pig-sty for a town.

Kirke White.

LESSON LXXV.

ALEXANDER THE GREAT AND THE ROBBER.—KING

HENRY II. LOST IN A WOOD.

Alex. What! art thou the Thracian robber of whose exploits I have heard so much?

Rob. I am a Thracian and a soldier.

Alex. A soldier! a thief, a plunderer, an assassin, the pest of the country! I could honour thy courage, but I must detest and punish thy crimes.

Rob. What have I done, of which you can complain? Alex. Hast thou not set at defiance my authority; violated the public peace, and passed thy life in injuring the persons and properties of thy fellow subjects?

Rob. Alexander, I am your captive; I must hear what you please to say, and endure what you please to inflict; but my soul is unconquered, and if I reply at all to your reproaches, I will reply like a free-man.

Alex. Speak freely; far be it from me to take the advantage of my power, to silence those with whom I deign to converse.

Rob. I must then answer your question by another. How have you passed your life?

Alex. Like a hero; ask Fame, and she will tell you. Among the brave, I have been the bravest, among sovereigns the noblest, among conquerors the mightiest.

Rob. And does not Fame speak of me too? was there ever a bolder captain of a more valiant band? was there ever-but I scorn to boast; you yourself know that I have not easily been subdued.

Alex. Still what art thou but a robber,-a base, dishonest robber?

Rob. And what is a conqueror? Have not you, too, gone about the earth like an evil genius, blasting the fair fruits of peace and industry;-plundering, ravaging, killing, without law, without justice, merely to gratify an insatiable lust for dominion?

All that I have done to a single district with a hundred followers, you have done to whole nations with a hundred thousand. If I have stripped individuals, you have ruined kings and princes.

If I have burnt a few hamlets, you have desolated the most flourishing kingdoms and cities of the earth; what is then the difference, but that as you were born a king, and I a private man, you have been able to become a mightier robber than I?

Alex. But if I have taken like a king, I have given. like a king; if I have subverted empires, I have founded greater; I have cherished arts, commerce, and philosophy.

Rob. I, too, have freely given to the poor what I have taken from the rich; I have established order and discipline among the most ferocious of mankind, and have stretched out my protecting arm over the oppressed; I know, indeed, little of the philosophy you talk of, but I believe neither you nor I shall ever atone to the world for the mischiefs we have done it.

Alex. Leave me! Take off his chains and use him well. (Aside) Are we so much alike? Alexander to a robber?-Let me reflect.-Evenings at Home.

No, no, this can be no public road, that's certain. I am lost, quite lost, indeed. Of what advantage is it now to be a king? Night shows me no respect; I cannot see better than another man, nor walk so well.

What is a king? Is he not wiser than another man? Not without his counsellors, I plainly find. Is he not