the seeds of jealousy and emulation as early as possible) that you have a fine little brother " come to put your nose out of joint?" There will be nothing to be done then but to be mighty good; and prove what, believe me, admits of very little dispute (though it has occasioned abundance), that we girls, however people give themselves airs of being disappointed, are by no means to be despised. The men unenvied shine in public; but it is we must make their homes delightful to them-and, if they provoke us, no less uncomfortable. I do not expect you to answer this letter yet awhile; but, as I dare say you have the greatest interest with your papa, will beg you to prevail upon him that we may know by a line (before his time is engrossed by another secret committee) that you and your mamma are well. In the meantime, I will only assure you that all here rejoice in your existence extremely; and that I am, my very young correspondent, most affectionately yours, &c The Schoolmistress. BY SHENSTONE. THE Schoolmistress is one of those poems (delightful, to our thinking) which are to be read with a smile on the face, and thoughtfulness at heart: the smile, for the assumption of dignity in its tone; the thoughtfulness, for the human interest of the subject. It is Shenstone's masterpiece. Its playful imitation of the manner of Spenser saved him from that inferior artificial style of the day, which injured the natural feeling of most of his other poems; and the manliness at the heart of its gentle wisdom ought to have saved the writer from the fears which he condescended to entertain, lest undiscerning critics should take it for something as dull as themselves. The poem has the pungent sweetness and balminess of the herbs described in its cottage garden. We never think of it without seeming to inhale their fragrance. The good dame, the heroine of the poem, was the schoolmistress of Shenstone's own infancy. He was the offspring of a race now almost extinct, the small uneducated country-gentleman, farming his own estate; and he was sent to the first nurse-like teacher that presented herself in the neighbourhood. Her name was Sarah Lloyd. Let this be known, for the glory and encouragement of all such educers of infant "bards sublime," or future "Chancellors in embryo." The birchtree is not in so much request as it was in her days. The "little bench of heedless bishops" may now look at it without "shaping it into rods," "and tingling at the view." The change is better for all parties, considering that a proper amount of healthy vigour, reflection, and superiority to petty pains is to be secured by better means. It is not for its mode of infant training that the poem is here reprinted; but for its archness, its humour, its agreeable description, and the writer's thoughtful humanity. A H me! full sorely is my heart forlorn, To think how modest worth neglected lies, In every village mark'd with little spire, For unkempt hair, or task unconn'd, are sorely shent And all in sight doth rise a birchen tree, So I have seen (who has not, may conceive) So doth it wanton birds of peace bereave, Of sport, of song, of pleasure, of repast; They start, they stare, they wheel, they look aghast; May no bold Briton's riper age e'er taste! Near to this dome is found a patch so green, The noises intermix'd, which thence resound, Where sits the dame, disguis'd in look profound, Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow, Few but have ken'd, in semblance meet pourtray'd, Libs, Notus, Auster;† these in frowns array'd, A memorial of the tremendous ingredients that composed the thunderbolts of Jupiter. ↑ The winds, in the likeness of children, puffing and blowing in the corners of old maps. How then would fare or earth, or sky, or main, The cot no more, I ween, were deem'd the cell, A russet stole was o'er her shoulders thrown; 'T was simple russet, but it was her own; And think, no doubt, she been the greatest wight on ground. Albeit ne flattery did corrupt her truth, Yet these she challeng'd, these she held right dear ; But there was eke a mind which did that title love. One ancient hen she took delight to feed, |