Page images

The Frenchmen, they say, feed on frogs,
The Germans are stupid as dogs,
The Dutchmen are clumsy as hogs;

Hail England! Old England for me!
We'll beat them—the cowardly slaves !
For nobly a Briton behaves,
He rules both the land and the waves,

0, none but bold Britons are free!”
Thus Edward sang, as round the spacious hall,
He whipped his top-A map adorned the wall,
On which his father looked, yet listning stood,
Then called the boy, but in no angry mood.
He lifts him to the map, and says, “Look here ;
Tell me those countries on each hemisphere :"
“ Here's Europe, father, 'twixt this sea and this
How wonderfully large all Europe is!
Yet Asia's larger, to the right it stands;
I scarce can cover it with both my hands.
Then there's America, take South and North,
What sums of money all this land is worth ?
Those heaps of islands in the sea beside,
And Africa ! how vast! how long ! how wide !"

“But Edward,” cries the father, with a smile, “ You have not shown me England, all the while ; Edward, my boy, look sharp, use well your eyes ;

Says Ned, “ Ay, this is it; but, dear, how very small;
I was afraid it was not here at all.”
Ned listens, and his father thus replies ; [wise,
“ God formed all things, you know—he's good and
And can you think so large a world he'd make,
Sun, moon, and stars, for little England's sake?
Think of the people by the map or chart,
We do not make their hundred thousandth part.
If we're the only grain, they chaff and bran,

God's work was ill bestowed in making man;
Do for your own, what in your power lies,
But other countries hate not, nor despise.”
Cries Ned, “ I'll love all good men that I see,
And where they're born is all alike to me."

“ Your cloak an old one seems to be

Why, sir, 'tis good enough for me."
My cloak is old and quite thread-bare

Yet, on my shoulders, thus it goes ;
'Twill shield me from the frosty air

And also from the driving snows.
And thread-bare though, and old it be,
I think 'tis good enough for me.
The boys at school will laugh, you say?

Well, they may laugh then, and who cares 3
I learn as fast though, any day,

In my clothes, as they do in theirs,
And so, for aught that I can see,
This cloak is good enough for me.
But many a boy, sir, I have known,

And heard beside of many more,
Who good kind friends and home had none;

And ragged were the clothes they wore ;
And when I think of them, I see
This cloak is good enough for me.
My Father labours, every day,

To get us food and things to wear,
And shall I ask for clothing gay
And so redouble all his care? .

Of little use, sir, I can be,
This cloak is good enough for me.
Mother for us, at evening, sews

Until the lamp is quite burnt out,
And, please you, sir, she keeps our clothes,

As whole as any boys about.
Sure, when so kind my Parents be,
This cloak is good enough for me.
Besides, they say they do not seek

For us this world's gay gear,
But " ornament of spirit meek,”

They pray that we may wear.
Oh, sir, when such their lessons be,
This cloak seems good enough for me.


I hope to meet with the countenance and encouragement of this assembly, while I attempt a theme of which, I trust, all will confess the utility. I would speak the praises of a long and heavy purse-well stuffed with substantial coin. While orations are made on all other subjects of all kinds, it seems quite improper that this should be neglected. The present scarcity of cash, must give peculiar force to the arguments with which this theme abounds; it is generally the scarcity of any thing valuable, which effectually teaches us to esteem it. Who then can be more sensible than we are of the value of that ready assistant in all manner of business? Some have asserted that it is in the power of money to do any thing; that it can change vice into imaginary virtue, and deformity into beauty. But while we are speaking in this respectable assembly, we have nothing to say of vice, but that we hope it exists not here; and while we are addressing this lovely assemblage of ladies, to mention deformity would be straying wide from the purpose. It will not be denied, that with the perfection of beauty, it is very well to possess a handsome interest in pecuniary matters; it makes the heart cheerful, and the business of life easy. It

the Vicar of Wakefield, that she would have her daughters each carry in their pockets a guinea, without ever changing it, to keep them in spirits. If a single guinea has such virtue, what may not be expected from a long and heavy purse, well stuffed with them? It must doubtless do wonders. There are those who maintain that many evils arise from the length and heaviness of the purse ; that it makes prodigals of young heirs, and instigates them to all manner of excesses. But that their purse is not to be blamed may readily be proved. For money is just as willing to do good as to do evil, nay it answers its own the purpose best by being the instrument of happiness to human kind. If it does, a man's money is no more! to blame for his crimes than his bodily strength for his committing murder. For my part, though I have never experienced so much of the benefit of money, as some men have, yet the little I have had, has done me so much good, that I most earnestly desire to have more ; and I shall think it strange if you doubt / of my sincerity in this assertion. I have a strong imagination that if I had a great fortune, I should do much good with it; and if I could handsomely come to the possession of an affluent" estate, I have so much confidence in my own integrity, that I should

not be afraid to trust myself with it. And while I am wishing for a great plenty of money myself, I cannot help wishing that my neighbours had more than they now possess; and in this respect, I hope I have the happiness of coinciding with their own ideas.

The fox and the crow,

In prose I well know
Many good little girls can rehearse ;

Perhaps it will tell

Pretty nearly as well,
If we try the same fable in verse.

In a dairy, a crow

Having ventured to go,
Some food for her young ones to seek,

Flew up in the trees,

With a fine piece of cheese,
Which she joyfully held in her beak.

A fox who lived nigh,

"To the tree saw her fly,
And to share in the prize made a vow !

For having just dined,

He for cheese felt inclined,
So he went and sat under the bough.

She was cunning, he knew,

But so was he too,
· And with flattery adapted his plan;

For he knew if she'd speak,

It must fall from her beak,
So bowing politely, began :

« PreviousContinue »