Anxious the little truants watch his eye,
When each in order 'tis his turn to try.
What different thoughts the varied features show,
As on the forms they settle in a row.
Here dire forebodings fill a murky face,
Of task unlearnt, a flogging, and disgrace;
There smiling humour claims another cause-
A well-conn'd lesson, honour, and applause.
How slow yon loiterer to the desk doth come!
He knows not how to work or state his sum.
The Mentor looks aghast, then lifts his specks,
And starts some question framed but to perplex:
There's no reply,-'tis vain to plead or strive,-
The Rule of Three brings forth the rule on five.
See you that group collected round a slate,
As if some mighty business to debate;
Two keep the corner, cutter-case in hand-
Two more as ambuscade and sentry stand?
With them nor Voster's problems make a fuss,
Nor geographic question they discuss-
What care they now the fate of Rome or Greece,
Intent alone upon their fox and geese?
Why creeps with noiseless step and stealthy pace
That blue-eyed boy so near the females' place?
Behind his back he hides the figured slate,
Full-worked the sum a smiling girl doth wait.
Back undetected to his seat he flies,
Escaped the monitor's keen Argus eyes;
For one red cherry from a hand so fair,
He dares the rod, and what would he not dare?
The bell calls silence; all obey the sound; With dignity the Master then looks round; They hail the signal, while he shakes his head"Last class to spelling-all the rest have read." 'Tis three o'clock! "Home, home!" each young
While to be foremost all his art he tries.
Now pouring forward with impetuous force,
Like pent-up waters bursting from their course,
The flock of urchins shout "a race, a race!"
The first in flight, and all the rest in chase.
Thus plods the Master; thus his life is passed;
Each day being but reflected from the last.
He seldom grumbles at his toilsome lot,
His youthful charge engrossing every thought;
Religion spreads an halo round his age;
He knows enough, and seldom apes the sage.
Some furlongs distant from the Village Green,
A stucco'd chateau can be plainly seen,-
The residence of grandeur, wealth, and power,
Pageants of life, that wither in an hour.
There nightly revel o'er the wassail bowl
Unnerves the body and destroys the soul.
Jockeys and blacklegs crowd around the board,
To taste the joys none but themselves afford.
There, too, the lawyers and the judge retire
To circuit dinner with the dashing squire;
The Bishop and the Marquis sometimes call
En route to visit at Sans Souci Hall.
Parties are rife, and balls are nothing rare,
Conducted, like all else there, "without care.”
Among the numerous guests, not one can boast
Such splendid stables as the tasty host;
Nor is there in th'adjacent country round
A kennel like Sans Souci's to be found;
Thence harriers' yelps incessant jar the ear,
From early Summer to the closing year;
While screaming peacocks mingle their wild noise
With jockeys' laughs at tricks by o'ergrown boys.
Passing the precincts of the Squire's abode,
Whose front looks out upon the public road,
Into the festooned drawing-room you're shown,
And haply left some time to muse alone.
Here fancy seems in gorgeousness to waste
All her best efforts, heedless even of taste.
The gaudy furniture of finished art,
So crowded, each of each appears a part.
The walls invisible, so closely hung
With sporting plates that form a motley throng.
Here last year's Curragh winner paws the ground,
Beside him Randal ready for a round;
There the great Ashbourne steeple-chase is seen,
Lord Howth in yellow tops and coat of green.
Pointers and spaniels numberless bestow
Their varied colours to make up a show.
Thus, almost dizzied with the changing hues,
Enough th' unlearned in such things to confuse,
'Mid velvet drapery, fring'd with aureal fire, The gazer wonders, ceasing to admire.
The Squire is much esteemed, and much carest,
For ten miles round his cattle are the best;
His hounds are matchless; and his table-where
Can luckless sportsmen meet such sumptuous fare?
And then his knowledge! with a memory stor'd
With every name the turf and ring afford.
Who won the Derby on a certain date
He quickly tells, and who the Epsom plate.
When died old Eclipse-who bred Satire's dam-
How did last fight come off with young Dutch Sam?
These knotty points he solves, and seldom errs,
So that each disputant to him refers,
All other judgments being laid aside,
From old Bell's Life down to the Sportsman's Guide.
So far his learning;—he has influence too
O'er near a score of voters good and true,
Who'd rather have a year's receipt well penn'd
Than vote against their landlord or his friend.
'Tis said the Squire, when in the judgment seat,
Mingles with justice leniency most sweet;
For he's a Magistrate that scans the laws,
Not through their tactics estimates a cause.
Still, better far 'twere for the luckless wight,
Who spreads the snare, or bears the gun by night,
To steal a cow, or set a barn in flame,
Than come before him charg'd with poaching game.
These, his main features-these he carries still, Whether abroad, at home-in good or ill.
All weathers suit him; every season yields
Some pleasing pastime for the open fields,-
Sparkling with early Spring dew, white with
'Mid Autumn's falling leaves or Summer's glow. And such he is, with every virtue lost
In ill-worn heauteur and a rage for cost,-
His heart with kindness and his head with sense
Endued, he drowns them in magnificence,-
A vapid, tasteless passion for display,
In which he wears his health and rents away.
A Junior Counsel has a mansion near,
Whose father was a man of godly fear,—
Deep read in law, of learning most profound,
He earned esteem from all the country round;
For suffering misery ne'er claimed his aid,
And found the soft appeal in vain was made.
The son endeavours, with praiseworthy fire,
In every act to emulate his sire.
When but a stripling, genius first to view
From his young pen the theme politic drew.
Since then life's sea hath borne him on its tide,
Till manhood claimed him in full-blushing pride;
Genius still adding fortune, rank, and fame,
To his birthright-a pure, unsullied name.
The mazy path that he has chosen to tread
Has puzzled many a sage and sapient head;
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