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kind of reception which his own poetry had | Thomson had not the philosophical genius of met with from the present age. The truth is, Wordsworth, but he had a warm human heart, that had Mr. Wordsworth known, when he in- and its generous feelings overflow all his poem. dited these luckless and helpless sentences, These are not the most poetical parts of the that his own poetry was, in the best sense of “Seasons” certainly, where such effusions prethe word, a thousand times more popular than vail; but still, so far from being either vicious he supposed it to be-and, Heaven be praised, or worthless, they have often a virtue and a for the honour of the age, it was and is so !

-worth that must be felt by all the children of never had they been written, nor had he here men. There is something not very credible in and elsewhere laboured to prove, that in pro- the situation of the parties in the story of the portion as poetry is bad, or rather as it is no "lovely young Lavinia," for example, and poetry at all, is it, has been, and always will much of the sentiment is commonplace enough; be, more and more popular in the age con- but will Mr. Wordsworth say-in support of temporary with the writer. That Thomson, his theory, that the worst poetry is always at in the Seasons, sometimes writes a vicious style, first (and at last too, it would seem, from the may be true, but it is not true that he often pleasure with which that tale is still read hy does so.

His style has its faults, no doubt, and all simple minds) the most popular--that that some of them inextricably interwoven with story is a bad one? It is a very beautiful one. the web of his composition. It is a dangerous

Mr. Wordsworth, in all his argumentation, style 10 imitate-especially to dunces. But is so blinded by his determination to see every its virtue is divine; and that divine virtue, even thing in but one light, and that a most misin this low world of ours, wins admiration taken one, that he is insensible to the conclumore surely and widely than carthly vice-be it sion to which it all leads, or rather, which is in words, thoughts, feelings, or actions is a involved in it. Why, according to him, even creed that we will not relinquish at the beck now, when people have not only learned the or bidding even of the great author of the “art of seeing -a blessing for which they can “Excursion."

never be too thankful--but when descriptive That many did-do—and will admire the bad poetry has long flourished far beyond its palmior indifferent passages in the Seasons-won by est state in any other era of our literature, still their false glitter or commonplace sentimentai. are we poor common mortals who admire the ism, is no doubt true: but the delight, though “Seasons,” just as deaf and blind now, or as intense as perhaps it may be foolish, with nearly so, to their real merits—allowed to be which boys and virgins, woman-mantua-ma- transcendent--as our unhappy forefathers were kers and man-milliners, and “the rest,” peruse when that poem first appeared, “a glorious the Rhapsody on Love-one passage of which apparition." The Rhapsody on Love, and Dawe ventured to be facetious on in our Solilo- mon and Musidora, are still, according to him, quy on the Seasons—and hang over the pic- its chief attraction-its false ornaments and ture of Musidora undressing, while Damon its sentimental commonplaces such as those, watches the process of disrobement, panting we presune, on the benefits of early rising, behind a tree, will never account for the admi- and, ration with which the whole world hailed the “Oh! little think the gay licentious proud!” Winter," the first published of the Sea- What a nest of ninnies must people in genesons;" during which, Thomson had not the bar-ral be in Mr. Wordsworth's eyes! And is the barity to plunge any young lady naked into the Excursion” not to be placed by the side of cold bath, nor the ignorance to represent, dur- “ Paradise Lost,” till the Millennium ? ing such cold weather, any young lady turning Such is the reasoning (!) of one of the first her lover sick by the ardour of her looks, and of our English poets, against not only the peothe vehemence of her whole enamoured de-ple of Britain, but mankind. One other senportment. The time never was-nor could tence there is which we had forgotten-but have been—when such passages were gene- now remember-which is to help us to disrally esteemed the glory of the poem. Indeed, tinguish, in the case of the reception the “Seaindependently of its own gross absurdity, the sons” met with, between “wonder and legi- . assertion is at total variance with that other timate admiration !" « The subject of the assertion, equally absurd, that people admired work is the changes produced in the appearmost in the poem what they least understood ; ances of nature by the revolution of the year; for the Rhapsody on Love is certainly very in- and, undertaking to write in verse, Thomson pledged telligible, nor does there seem much mystery himself to treat his subject as became a poet !in Musidora going into the water to wash and How original and profound! Thomson recool herself on a hot day. Is it not melan- deemed his pledge; and that great pawnbroker, choly, then, to hear such a man as Mr. Words- the public, returned to him his poem at the end worth, earnestly, and even somewhat angrily, of a year and a day. Now what is the “mighty trying to prove that “these are the parts of the stream of tendency” of that remark? Were work which, after all, were probably most effi- the public, or the people, or the world, gulled cient in first recommending the author to ge- by this unheard-of pledge of Thomson, to reneral notice ?"

gard his work with that “wonder which is the With respect to the “sentimental common- natural product of ignorance !" If they were places with which Thomson abounds," no so in his case, why not in every other? All doubt they were and are popular; and many poets pledge themselves to be poetical, but too of them deserve to be so, for they are on a many of them are wretchedly prosaic-die and level with the usual current of human feeling, are buried, or, what is worse, protract a miserand many of them are eminently beautiful. : able existence, in spite of their sentimental commonplaces, false ornaments, and a vicious / all look up to her loveful blue or wrathful style. But Thomson, in spite of all these, black skies, with a weather-wisdom that keeps leapt at once into a glorious life, and a still growing from the cradle to the grave. Say not more glorious immortality.

that 'tis alone There is no mystery in the matter. Thom

“The poor Indian, whose untutor'd mind sou—a great poet-poured his genius over a

Sees God in clouds, and hears him in the wind !” subject of universal interest; and the “ Seasons” from that hour to this—then, now, and In scriptural language, loftier even than that, for ever-have been, are, and will be loved, the same imagery is applied to the sights seen and admired by all the world. All over Scot- | by the true believer. Who is it “ that maketh land “The Seasons” is a household-book. the clouds his chariot?” The Scottish peaLet the taste and feeling shown by the Collec- santry-Highland and Lowland-look much tors of Elegant Extracts be poor as possible; and often on nature thus; and they live in the yet Thomson's countrymen, high and low, rich heart of the knowledge and of the religion of and poor, have all along not only gloried in his nature. Therefore do they love Thomson as illustrious fame, but have made a very manual an inspired bard-only a little lower than the of his great work. It lies in many thousand Prophets. In like manner have the people of cottages. We have ourselves seen it in the Scotland-from time immemorial-enjoyed the shepherd's shieling, and in the woodman's use of their ears. Even persons somewhat bower-small, yellow-leaved, tatter'd, mean,

hard of hearing, are not deaf to her waterfalls. miserable, calf-skin-bound, smoked, stinking In the sublime invocation to Winter, which we copies—let us not fear to utter the word, ugly have quoted--we hear Thomson recording his but true--yet perused, pored, and pondered own worship of nature in his boyish days, over by those humble dwellers, by the winter when he roamed among the hills of his father's ingle or on the summer brae, perhaps with as parish, far away from the manse. In those enlightened certainly with as imagination- strange and stormy delights did not thousands overmastering a delight as ever enchained the of thousands of the Scottish boyhood familiarly spirits of the high-born and highly-taught to live among the mists and snows? Of all that their splendid copies lying on richly carved number he alone had the genius to “here tables, and bound in crimson silk or velvet, in eternize on earth” his joy—but many millions which the genius of painting strives to imbody have had souls to join religiously in the hymns that of poetry, and the printer's art to lends its he chanted. Yea, his native land, with one beauty to the very shape of the words in which mighty voice, has for upwards of a century the bard's immortal spirit is enshrined. “The responded, art of seeing” has flourished for many centu

“These, as they change, Almighty Father, these ries in Scotland. Men, women, and children,

Are but the varied God !!

THE SNOWBALL BICKER OF PEDMOUNT.

BEAUTIFUL as Snow yet is to our eyes, even startle the moon and stars—those in the sky, through our spectacles, how gray it looks be- as well as those below the ice-till again the side that which used to come with the long tumult subsided and all the host of heaven winters that glorified the earth in our youth, I above and beneath became serene as a world till the white lustre was more delightful even of dreams. Is it not even so, Shepherd? What than the green-and we prayed that the fine is a rink now on a pond in Duddingstone fleecy flakes might never cease falling waver-policy, to the rinks that rang and roared of old ingly from the veil of the sky! No sooner on the Loch o' the Lowes, when every stone, comes the winter-now, than it is away again circled in a halo of spray, seemed instinct with to one of the Poles. Then, it was a year in spirit to obey, along all its flight, the voice of itself-a whole life. We remember slides a him that launched it on its unerring aim, and quarter of a mile long, on level meadows; and sometimes, in spite of his awkward skillesssome not less steep, down the sides of hills that ness, when the fate of the game hung on his to us were mountains. No boy can slide on own single crank, went cannonading through one leg now-not a single shoe seems to have all obstacles, till it fell asleep, like a beauty as, sparables. The florid style of skating shows it was, just as it kissed the Tee! that that fine art is degenerating; and we look Again we see-again we sit in the Snow in vain for the grand simplicity of the masters house, built by us boys out of a drift in the that spread-eagled in the age of its perfection. minister's glebe, a drift-judging by the steeple, A change has come over the spirit of the which was sixty-about twenty feet high-and curlers' dream. They seem to our ears indeed purer than any marble. The roof was all to have “quat their roaring play.” The cry strewed with diamonds, which frost saved from of "swoop-swoop” is heard still—but a faint, the sun. The porch of the palace was pillared feeble, and unimpassioned cry, compared with - and the character of the building outside that which used, on the Mearns Brother-Loch, was, without any seriv le imitation--for me to make the welkin ring, and for a moment to worked in the glow of original genius, and

none of us had then ever seen itself or its pic-, and is poor pussy in view before the whole ture--wonderfully like the Parthenon. Enter- murderous pack, opening in full cry on her ing, you found yourself in a superb hall, haunches? Why-Imagination, thou art an lighted up-not with gas, for up to that era gas ass, and thy long ears at all times greedy of had not been used except in Pandemonium- deception ! 'Tis but the country Schoolhouse but with a vast multitude of farthing candles, pouring forth its long-imprisoned stream of life each in a turnip stuck into the wall-while a as in a sudden sunny thaw, the Mad Master chandelier of frozen snow-branches pendent flying in the van of his helter-skelter scholars, from the roof set that presence-chamber in a and the whole yelling mass precipitated, many blaze. On a throne at the upper end sat young of them headlong, among the snow. Well do Christopher North--then the king of boys, as we know the fire-eyed Poet-pedagogue, who, now of men--and proud were his subjects to more outrageous than Apollo, has "ravished do him homage. In niches all around the all the Nine.” Ode, elegy, epic, tragedy, or side-walls were couches covered with hare, farce-all come alike to him; and of all the rabbit, foumart, and fox's skins-furnished by bards we have ever known-and the sum-total these animals slain by us in the woods and cannot be under a thousand-he alone, judging among the rocks of that silvan and moorland from the cock and the squint of his eye, laparish--the regal Torus alone being spread bours under the blessing or the curse--we wot with the dun-deer's hide from Lochiel Forest not whilk it be—of perpetual inspiration. A in Lochaber. Then old airs were sung in rare eye, too, is his at the setting of a spring sweet single voice-or in full chorus that for woodcocks, or tracking a mawkin on the startled the wandering night traveller on his snow.

Not a daredevil in the school that way to the lone Kingswell; and then, in the durst follow the indentations of his toes and intermediate hush, old tales were told “of fingers up the wall of the old castle, to the goblin, ghost, or fairy," or of Wallace Wight holes just below the battlements, to thrust his at the Barns of Ayr or the Brigg o’Stirling-arm up to the elbows harrying the starlings' or, a glorious outlaw, harbouring in caves nests. The corbies ken the shape of his shoulamong the Cartlane Craigs-or of Robert ders, as craftily he threads the wood; and let Bruce the Deliverer, on his shelty cleaving in them build their domicil as high as the swingtwain the skull of Bohun the English knight, ing twigs will bear its weight, agile as squiron his thundering war-steed, armed cap-a-pie, rel, and as foumart ferocious, up speels, by while the King of Scotland had nothing on his the height undizzied, the dreadless Dominie; unconquered head but his plain golden crown. and should there be fledged or puddock-haired Tales of the Snow-house! Had we but the young ones among the wool, whirling with gutgenius to recall you to life in undying song ! tural cawings down a hundred feet descent, on

Nor was our frozen hall at all times uncheer- the hard rooty ground-floor from which springs ed by the smiles of beauty. With those smiles pine, oak, or ash, driven out is the life, with a was heard the harmless love-whisper, and the squelsh and a squash, from the worthless carharmless kiss of love; for the cottages poured rion. At swimming we should not boggle to forth their little lasses in flower-like bands, nor back him for the trifle of a cool hundred did their parents fear to trust them in the fairy against the best survivor among these waterfrozen palace, where Christopher was king. serpents, Mr. Turner, Dr. Bedale, Lieutenant Sometimes the old people themselves came to Ekenhead, Lord Byron, Leander, and Oursee the wonders of the lamp, and on a snow- selves—while, with the steel shiners on his table stood a huge bowl-not of snow-steam-soles, into what a set of ninnies in their ring ing with nectar ihat made Hyems smile as he would he not reduce the Edinburgh Skating hung his beard over the fragrant vapour. Nay, Club? the minister himself with his mother and Saw ye ever a Snowball Bicker? Never? sister-was with us in our fantastic festivities, Then look there with all the eyes in your head and gave to the architecture of our palace his —only beware of a bash on the bridge of your wondering praise. Then Andrew Lindsey, nose, a bash that shall die the snow with your the blind Paisley musician, a Latin scholar, virgin blood. The Poet-pedagogue, alias the who knew where Cremona stood, struck up on Mad Dominie, with Bob Howie as his Second his famous fiddle jig or strathspey—and the in Command, has chosen the Six stoutest stripswept floor, in a moment, was alive with a lings for his troop, and, at the head of that saconfused flight of foursome reels, each begun cred Band, offers battle to Us at the head of the and ended with kisses, and maddened by many whole School. Nor does that formidable force a whoop and yell—so like savages were we decline the combat. War levels all foolish in our glee, dancing at the marriage of some distinctions of scholarship. Booby is Dux island king!

now, and Dux Booby-and the obscure dunce Countless years have fled since that Snow- is changed into an illustrious hero. palace melted away-and of all who danced

“The combat deepens-on, ye brave, there, how many are now alive! Pshaw! as

Who rush to glory or the grave! many probably as then danced anywhere else.

Wave, Nitton, all thy banners wave,

And charge with all thy schoolery!" It would never do to live for ever let us then live well and wisely; and when death comes Down from the mount on which it had been - from that sleep how blessed to awake! in a drawn up in battle-array, in solid-square comes region where is no frost—no snow—but the sun the School army, with shouts that might waken of eternal life!

the dead, and inspire with the breath of life Mercy on us! what a hubbub!-can the har- the nostrils of the great Snow-giant built up at riers be hunting in such a snow-fall as this, the end of yonder avenue, and indurated by last night's frost. But there lies a fresh fall-overthrow! Heavens and earth! sixty are and a better day for a Bicker never rose flakily flying before Sıx!_and half of sixty-oh! that from the yellow East. Far out of distance, we should record it!-are pretending to be dead!! and prodigal of powder lying three feet deep on Would indeed that the snow were their windthe flats, and heaped up in drifts to tree and ing-sheet, so that it might but hide our dischimney-top, the tirailleurs, flung out in front, honour! commence the conflict by a shower of balls Look, we beseech you, at the Mad Dominie ! that, from the bosom of the yet untrodden like Hector issuing from the gates of Troy, snow between the two battles, makes spin like and driving back the Greeks to their ships; spray the shining surface. Then falling back or rather-hear, spirit of Homer!-like some on the main body, they find their places in the great shaggy, outlandish wolf-dog, that hath front rank, and the whole mottled mass, gray, swum ashore from some strange wreck, and, blue, and scarlet, moves onwards o'er the after a fortnight's famine on the bare seawhiteness, a moment ere they close,

cliffs, been driven by the hunger that gnaws “Calm as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm!”

his stomach like a cancer, and the thirst-fever “ Let fly,” cries a clear voice and the snow

that can only be slaked in blood, to venture ball-storm hurtles through the sky. Just then prowling for prey up the vale, till, snuffing the the valley-mouth blew sleety in the faces of scent of a flock of sheep, after some grim the foe-their eyes, as if darkened with snuff tiger-like creeping on his belly, he springs at or salt, blinked bat-like-and with erring aim last, with huge long spangs, on the woolly flew their feckless return to that shower of people, with bull-like growlings quailing their frosty fire. Incessant is the silent cannonade poor harmless hearts, and then fast throttling of the resistless School-silent but when shouts them, one after another-till, as it might seem

rather in wantonness of rage than in empty proclaim the fall or flight of some doughty pangs, he lies down at last in the midst of all champion in the adverse legion.

See-see-the Sacred Band are broken! The the murdered carcasses, licking the blood off cravens taken ignominiously to flight-and listening round with his red turbid eyes, and

his Aews and paws--and then, looking and the Mad Domine and Bob Howie alone are left to bear the brunt of battle. A dreadful sharp-pointed ears savagely erect, conscious brotherhood! But the bashing balls are show- of crime and fearful of punishment, soon as ered upon them right and left from scores of and still, again gloatingly fastens his tusks be

he sees and hears that all the coast is clear catapultic arms—and the day is going sore hind the ears, and then eats into the kidneys against them, though they fight less like men than devils. Hurra! the Dominie's down, and of the fattest of the flock, till, sated with gore Bob staggers. “Guards, up and at them !" and tallow, he sneaks stealthily into the wood, “A simultaneous charge of cocks, hens, and and coiling himself up all his wiry length yearocks !” No sooner said than done. Bob now no longer lank, but swollen and knotted Howie is buried—and the whole School is like that of a deer-devouring snake-he falls

suddenly asleep, and re-banquets in a dream trampling on its Master!

of murder. “Oh, for a blast of that dread horn,

That simile was conceived in the spirit of On Fontarabian echoes borne,

Dan Homer, but delivered in that of Kit North. When Rowland brave and Olivier,

No matter. Like two such wolf-dogs are now And every paladin and peer,

Bob Howie and the Mad Dominie- and the

School like such silly sheep. Those other hellThe smothered ban of Bob, and the stifled dogs are leaping in the rear-and to the eyes denunciations of the Dominie, have echoed of fear and fight each one of the Six seems o'er the hill, and,

more many-headed than Cerberus, while their “Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell,'

mouths kindle the frosty air into fire, and thunthe runaways, shaking the snows of panic derbolts pursue the pell-mell of the panic. from their pows,

Such and so imaginative is not only mental

but corporal fear. What though it be but a “ Like dewdrops from the lion's mane,"

Snowball bicker! The air is darkened-no come rushing to the rescue. Two of the Six brightened by the balls, as in many a curve tremble and turn. The high heroic scorn of they describe their airy flight—some hard as their former selves urges four to renew the stones-some soft as slush--some blae and charge, and the sound of their feet on the snow drippy in the cold-hot hand that launches them is like that of an earthquake. What bashes on the flying foe, and these are the teazerson bloody noses! What bungings-up of eyes ! some almost transparent in the cerulean sky, Of lips what slittings! Red is many a spittle! and broken ere they reach their aim, abortive And as the coughing urchin groans, and claps“ armamentaria cæli”-and some useless from his hand to his mouth, distained is the snow- the first, and felt, as they leave the palm, to be ball that drops unlaunched at his feet! The fozier than the foziest turnip, and unfit to bash School are broken-their hearts die within a fly. them-and-can we trust our blasted eyes ?- Far and wide, over hill, bank, and brae, are the white livers show the white feather, and spread the flying School! Squads of us, at fly! O shame! O sorrow! O sin! they turn sore sixes and sevens, are making for the their backs and fly! Disgraced are the mothers frozen woods. Alas! poor covert now in their that bore them-and “happy in my mind,” naked leaflessness for the stricken deer! Twos wives and widows, “were ye that died,” un- and threes, in miserable plight floundering in doomed to hear the tidings of this wretched l drift-wreaths! And here and there-wofulest

That to King Charles did come,

On Roncesvalles died !"

A thousand wild waves on the shore.

sight of all-single boys distractedly ettling at bless him !-to guard us from scathe, would the sanctuaries of distant houses with their have risked his life against a whole crael of heads all the while insanely twisted back over tinkers. With open arms they come forward their shoulders, and the glare of their eyes to receive us; but our blood is up—and we fixed frightfully on the swift-footed Mad Dom- are jealous of the honour of the School, which inie, till souse over neck and ears, bubble and has received a stain which must be wiped out squeak, precipitated into traitorous pitfall, and in blood. From what mixed motives act boys in a moment evanished from this upper world! and men in the deeds deemed most her and

Disturbed crows fly away a short distance, worthy of the meed of everlasting fame! Even and alight silent-the magpies chatter pert so is it now with us when sternly eyeing the even in alarm-the lean kine, collected on the other Six, and then respectfully the Mad Domilown sides of braes, wonder at the rippet- nie, we challenge-not at long bowls--but toe their horns moving, but not their tails--while to toe, at the scratch on the snow, with the the tempest-lamed bull-almost dull now as an naked mawlies, the brawny boy with the red ox-gives a short sullen growl as he feebly shock-head, the villain with the carrots, who paws the snow.

by moonlight nights, But who is he-the tall slender boy--slender, “ Round the stacks with the lasses at bogles to play," but sinewy—a wiry chap-five feet eight on had dared to stand between us and the ladye his stocking-solesmand on his stocking-soles of our love. Off fly our jackets and stocks he stands for the snow has sucked his shoes it is not a day for buff--and at it like bull-dogs. from his feet--that plants himself like an oak Twice before had we fought him-at our own sapling, rooted ankle-deep on a knoll

, and option-over the bonnet; for 'twas a sturdy there, a juvenile Jupiter Stator, with voice and villain, and famous for the cross-buttock. But arm arrests the Flight, and fiercely gesticula- now, after the first close, in which we lose the ting vengeance on the insolent foe, recalls and fall—with straight right-handers we keep him rallies the shattered School, that he may re- at off-fighting--and that was a gush of blood lead them to victory? The phantom of a vi- from his smeller. “How do you like that, sionary dream! Kit North HIMSELF- Ben ?" Giving his head, with a mad rush, he “In life's morning march when his spirit was young.” makes a plunge with his heavy left--for he And once on a day was that figure-ours ! was kerr-handed-at our stomach. But a dip Then like a chamois-hunter of the Alps! Now, of our right elbow caught the blow, to the loud alas ! like

admiration of Bob Howie and even the Mad But be hush'd, my dark spirit-for wisdom condemns, Dominie, the umpire, could not choose but When the faint and the feeble deplore;

smile. Like lightning, our left returns beBe strong as a rock of the ocean that stems

tween the ogles-and Ben bites the snow. Through the perils of chance and the scowl of disdain, Three cheers from the School--and, lifted on

Let thy front be unalter'd, thy courage elate ; the knee of his second, James Maxwell WalYea! even the name we have worshipp'd in vain Shall awake not a pang of remembrance again;

lace, since signalized at Waterloo, and now a To bear, is to conquer our fate!

knighted colonel of horse, “he grins horribly Half a century is annihilated as if it had never a ghastly smile," and is brought up staggering been: it is as if young Kit had become not old to the scratch. We know that we have him Kit—but were standing now as then front to --and ask considerately, “what he means by front, with but a rood of trampled snow be- winking ?" And now we play around him, tween them, before the Mad Dominie and Bob

" Just like unto a trundling mop, Howie-both the bravest of the brave in Snow

Or a wild-goose at play." ball or Stone bicker-in street, lane, or muir He is brought down now to our own weightfight-hand to hand, single-pitched with Black then nine stone jimphis eyes are getting moKing Carey of the Gipsiesmor in irregular mently more and more piglike-water-logged, high-road row—two to twelve--with a gang of like those of Queen Bleary, whose stone image Irish horse-cowpers from the fair of Glasgow lies in the echoing aisle of the old abbey-church returning by Portpatrick to Donaghadee. "Tis of Paisley-and bat-blind, he hits past our head a strange thing so distinctly to see One's Self and body, like an awkward hand at the flail, as he looked of yore-to lose one's present when drunk, thrashing corn. Another hit on frail personal identity in that of the powerful the smeller, and a stinger on the throat-apple past. Or rather to admire One's Self as he -and down he sinks like a poppy-deaf to the was, without consciousness of the mean vice call of “time”-and victory smiles upon us of egotism, because of the pity almost border- from the bright blue skies. “Hurra-hurraing on contempt with which one regards One's hurra! Christopher for ever!" and perched Self as he is, shrivelled up into a sort of shrimp aloft, astride on the shoulders of Bob Howie of a man-or blown out into a flounder. he, the Invincible, gallops with us all over the

The Snowball bicker owns an armistice-field, followed by the shouting School, exulting and Kit North--that is, we of the olden and that Ben the Bully has at last met with an the golden time--advance into the debatable overthrow. We exact an oath that he will ground between the two armies, with a frozen never again meddle with Meg Whitelaw branch in our hand as a flag of truce. The shake hands cordially, and Mad Dominie loved us, because then-a-days- “Off to some other game we all together flew. bating and barring the cock and the squint of And so ended the famous Snowball Bicker of his eye-we were like himself a poet, and Pedmount, now immortalized in our Prosewhile a goose might.continue standing on one Poem. leg, could have composed one jolly act of a Some men, it is sarcastically said, are boys tragedy, or book of an epic, while Bob-God) all life-long, and carry with them their puer

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