They decreed that he should wear
The appearance of a bear,
With a tendency to tear
And to growl;

With the roughness of a hound,
And at times to be spell-bound,
In the sulkiness profound
Of an owl.

While they pinched his giant frame,
With more pains than I can name,
And a pride that nought could tame,
Made him bear,

With a scorn for lordly gifts,
Through innumerable shifts,
Where, of wintry want, the drifts
Blind the air!

But the spell was to be moved,
When the Prince his work had proved,
And his claim to be beloved,
Clearly shown.

Shall I tell you how he wrought,
With what kind of arms he fought,
For the noble end he sought,
All alone?

Of his gallant deeds, but few,
I have time to tell to you,
But, attend to one or two—
Three or four;

He a humble dwelling stocked
Where the poorest suff'rers flocked,
To affliction never locked

Was the door.

An old dame-not over-kind
Or good-tempered-merely blind!
In his home could refuge find,
And respect;

With a simple negro clown,
And a druggist, broken down,
Whom he met in London town,
Sorely wrecked!

Though he kept them all by work,
Which the stoutest now would shirk,
On the wages of a clerk—
Less than that!

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When this goodly man was old,
On a night so wet and cold,
As towards his home he strolled,
He espied,

In a bitter London street
Lying drenched with rain and slect,
A poor girl with naked feet,

Who had died

Of the cruel, cruel cold,
If this sage, so worn and old,
Had by accident not strolled
Where she lay.

He was torn by illness' wrack,
His old joints were fit to crack,
But he bore her on his back

Safe away,

Through the streets without a fear-
You must understand, my dear,
That the girl I speak of here
Was not good:

And, for reasons strange to you,
"Twas a daring deed to do,
Bringing consequences few
Had withstood.

But the Doctor (so he's named),
Ne'er by deed of mercy shamed,
His true Christian heart proclaimed,
Scandal braved;

And his noble task performed,
While the bitter tempest stormed,
Till the girl was lodged and warmed,
Aye, and saved!

Shall I tell you the reward

Of this Christian Greatheart's sword? 'Twas that sovereign and lord, Sage and fool,

At his bearing checked their mirth—
Grew to recognise his worth,
As a Prince upon the earth,
Fit to rule:

And beneath the bearish skin
Saw the lovely soul within,
And were proud to claim him kin—
Aye, the best!

In their hearts they made him room,
And shed tears above the tomb
Where he waits the crack of doom
With the blest.

Oh! my little fairy girl,
household chain the pearl,
Of this gentle-hearted churl
Learn the life!

Learn, like him, to stand the test,
And the husband shall be blest,
Born to clasp thee to his breast
As a wife!

(From "The Welcome Guest.")


[James Smith was born in London, Feb. 10th, 1775; he was the son of Robert Smith, Esq., solicitor to the Board of Ordnance, and elder brother of Horace Smith, the celebrated novelist. He was ultimately taken into partnership with his father, and succeeded to his official appointments. He was the joint author, with his brother Horace, of the celebrated "Rejected Addresses," and wrote light articles for several periodicals of the day, as well as supplying the elder Mathews, the actor, with material for his popular "At Home." The literary ambition of James did not extend beyond middle life, while his brother continued a worker at the craft to the end of his career. He died in 1839, Horace surviving him ten years.]

ÆTATIS 30. Looked back through a vista of ten years. Remembered that, at twenty, I looked upon a

man of thirty as a middle-aged man; wondered at my error, and protracted the middle age to forty. Said to myself, "Forty is the age of wisdom." Reflected generally upon past life; wished myself twenty again; and exclaimed, "If I were but twenty, what a scholar I would be by thirty! but it's too late now." Looked in the glass; still youthful, but getting rather fat. Young says, "a fool at forty is a fool indeed;" forty, therefore, must be the age of wisdom.

31. Read in the Morning Chronicle, that a watchmaker in Paris, aged thirty-one, had shot himself for love. More fool the watchmaker! Agreed that nobody fell in love after twenty. Quoted Sterne, "The expression fall in love, evidently shows love to be beneath a man." Went to Drury-lane: saw Miss Crotch in Rosetta, and fell in love with her. Received her ultimatum : none but matrimonians need apply. Was three months making up my mind (a long time for making up such a little parcel), when Kitty Crotch eloped with Lord Buskin. Pretended to be very glad. Took three turns up and down library, and looked in glass. Getting rather fat and florid. Met a friend in Gray's Inn, who said, I was evidently in rude health. Thought the compliment ruder than the health.

32. Passion for dancing rather on the decline. Voted sitting out play and farce one of the impossibilities. Still in stage-box three nights per week. Sympathized with the public in vexation occasioned by non-attendance the other three: can't please everybody. Began to wonder at the pleasure of kicking one's heels on a chalked floor till four in the morning. Sold bay mare, who reared at three carriages, and shook me out of the saddle. Thought saddle-making rather worse than formerly. Hair growing thin. Bought a bottle of Tricosian fluid. Mem. "a flattering unction." 33. Hair thinner. Serious thoughts of a wig. Met Colonel Buckhorse, who wears one. Devil in a bush. Serious thoughts of letting it alone. Met a fellow Etonian in the Green Park, who told me I wore well;

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