But O, how oft,

rang

How oft, at school, with most believing mind,
Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars,
To watch that fluttering stranger! and as oft,
With unclosed lids, already had I dreamed
Of my sweet birthplace, and the old church tower,
Whose bells the poor man's only music
From morn to evening, all the hot fair-day,
So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me
With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear
Most like articulate sounds of things to come!
So gazed I, till the soothing things I dreamed
Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams!
And so I brooded all the following morn,
Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye
Fixed with mock study on my swimming book;
Save if the door half opened, and I snatched
A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up,
For still I hoped to see the stranger's face,
Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved,
My playmate, when we both were clothed alike!

Dear babe, that sleepest cradled by my side, Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm, Fill up the interspersed vacancies

And momentary pauses of the thought!

My babe so beautiful; it thrills my heart
With tender gladness thus to look at thee,
And think that thou shalt learn far other lore,
And in far other scenes! For I was reared
In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim,
And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars.
But thou, my babe! shalt wander like a breeze
By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags
Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds,

Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores
And mountain crags; so shalt thou see and hear
The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible
Of that eternal language, which thy God
Utters, who from eternity doth teach
Himself in all, and all things in himself.
Great universal Teacher! he shall mould
Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask.

Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the night thatch
Smokes in the sun thaw; whether the eave-drops fall,
Heard only in the trances of the blast,

Or if the secret ministry of frost

Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet moon.

Tinsel.

LESSON XCIII.

Scene from the Hunchback.

KNOWLES.

BELIEVE me.

You shall profit by my training;

You grow a lord a pace. I saw you meet

A bevy of your former friends, who fain

Had shaken hands with you. You gave them fingers!

You're now another man.

Your house is changed –

Your table changed your retinue your horse;
Where once you rode a hack, you now back blood;
Befits it, then, you also change your friends!

Enter WILLIAMS.

Will. A gentleman would see your lordship.

Tin. Sir!

What's that?

Will. A gentleman would see his lordship.

Tin. How know you, sir, his lordship is at home?
Is he at home because he goes not out?

He's not at home, though there you see him, sir,
Unless he certify that he's at home!

Bring up the name of the gentleman, and then
Your lord will know if he's at home or not.

[WILLIAMS goes out. Your man was porter to some merchant's door, Who never taught him better breeding than

Roch.

Do

you know

Right well! I' faith, a hearty fellow,
Son to a worthy tradesman, who would do
Great things with little means; so entered him
In the Temple. A good fellow, on my life,
Nought smacking of his stock!

Tin.

You've said enough!

His lordship's not at home. [WILLIAMS goes out.] We do

not go

By hearts, but orders! Had he family

Blood - though it only were a drop his heart
Would pass for something; lacking such desert,
Were it ten times the heart it is, 'tis nought!

Enter WILLIAMS.

Will. One Master Jones hath asked to see your lordship. Tin. And what was your reply to Master Jones?

Will. Tin.

I knew not if his lordship was at home.

You'll do. Who's Master Jones?

Roch. A curate's son.

Tin. A curate's. Better be a yeoman's son!
Was it the rector's son, he might be known,
Because the rector is a rising man,

And may become a bishop. He goes light.
The curate ever hath a loaded back ;

He

may be called the yeoman of the church, That sweating does his work, and drudges on, While lives the hopeful rector at his ease. How made you his acquaintance, pray?

Roch. We read

Latin and Greek together.

Tin. Dropping them,

As, now that you're a lord, of course you've done, —
Drop him. You'll say his lordship's not at home.
Will. So please your lordship, I forgot to say,
One Richard Cricket likewise is below.

Tin.

Who Richard Cricket! You must

Rochdale!

A noble little fellow! A great man, sir!
Not knowing whom, you would be nobody!
I won five thousand pounds by him!

Roch.

I never heard of him.

Tin.

Who is he?

What! never heard

Of Richard Cricket! never heard of him!
Why, he's the jockey of Newmarket; you
May win a cup by him, or else a sweepstakes.
I bade him call upon you. You must see him.
His lordship is at home to Richard Cricket.

see him,

Roch. Bid him wait in the ante-room.

Tin.

The ante-room!

[WILLIAMS goes out.

The best room in your house! You do not know
The use of Richard Cricket! Show him, sir,
Into the drawing-room. Your lordship needs
Must keep a racing-stud, and you'll do well
To make a friend of Richard Cricket.

What's that?

Will.

Enter WILLIAMS.

Well, sir,

So please your lordship, a petition.

Tin. Hadst not a service 'mongst the Hottentots
Ere thou camest hither, friend? Present thy lord
With a petition! At mechanics' doors,

At tradesmen's, shopkeepers', and merchants' only
Have such things leave to knock! Make thy lord's gate
A wicket to a workhouse ! Let us see it —

Subscriptions to a book of poetry!

Cornelius Tense, A. M.

Which means he construes Greek and Latin, works

Problems in mathematics, can chop logic,

And is a conjurer in philosophy,

Both natural and moral. — Pshaw! a man

Whom nobody, that is anybody, knows.

Who, think you, follows him? Why an M. D.,

An F. R. S., an F. A. S., and then

A D. D., Doctor of Divinity,

Ushering in an LL. D., which means

Doctor of Laws - their harmony, no doubt,

The difference of their trades! There's nothing here

But languages, and sciences, and arts,

Not an iota of nobility!

We cannot give our names.

Take back the paper,

And tell the bearer there's no answer for him:
That is the lordly way of saying "No."