ned--and soon I saw
My houses stand against its law;
And "keeping" all unkept!
My beauties were no longer things
For love and fond imaginings;
But horrors to be wept!

Ah! why did knowledge ope my eyes?
Why did I get more artist wise?
It only serves to hint,
What grave defects and wants are mine;
That I'm no Hilton in design--
In nature no De Wint!

Thrice happy time!--Art's early days!
When o'er each deed, with sweet self-praise,
Narcissus-like I hung!
When great Rembrandt but little seemed,
And such Old Masters all were deemed
As nothing to the young!

THOSE EVENING BELLS.

Those evening bells, those evening bells,
How many a tale their music tells,--
Of Yorkshire cakes and crumpets prime,
And letters only just in time!

The Muffin-boy has passed away,
The Postman gone--and I must pay,
For down below Deaf Mary dwells,
And does not hear those Evening Bells.[40]

And so 'twill be when she is gone,
That tuneful peal will still ring on,
And other maids with timely yells
Forget to stay those Evening Bells.

[Footnote 40: The muffin-boy, with his "evening bell," is still in the
land; but the evening postman, perambulating the streets and collecting
letters "just in time," has "passed away" for ever.]

THE CARELESSE NURSE MAYD.

I sawe a Mayd sitte on a Bank,
Beguiled by Wooer fayne and fond;
And whiles His flatterynge Vowes She drank,
Her Nurselynge slipt within a Pond!

All Even Tide they Talkde and Kist,
For She was Fayre and He was Kinde;
The Sunne went down before She wist
Another Sonne had sett behinde!

With angrie Hands and frownynge Browe,
That deemd Her owne the Urchine's Sinne,
She pluckt Him out, but he was nowe
Past being Whipt for fallynge in.

She then beginnes to wayle the Ladde
With Shrikes that Echo answered round--
O foolish Mayd! to be soe sadde
The Momente that her Care was drownd!

DOMESTIC ASIDES; OR, TRUTH IN PARENTHESES.

"I really take it very kind,
This visit, Mrs. Skinner!
I have not seen you such an age--
(The wretch has come to dinner!)

"Your daughters, too, what loves of girls--
What heads for painters' easels!
Come here and kiss the infant, dears--
(And give it p'rhaps the measles!)

"Your charming boys I see are home
From Reverend Mr. Russell's;
'Twas very kind to bring them both--
(What boots for my new Brussels!)

"What! little Clara left at home?
Well now I call that shabby:
I should have loved t