HORACE SMITH.

1779-1849.

[AUTHOR of several novels and verses. In connection with his brother James he wrote clever parodies and criticisms in the Picnic, the London Review, and the Monthly Mirror. In the last appeared those imitations from his own and his brother's hand which were published in 1813 as The Rejected Addresses, one of the most successful and popular works that has ever appeared. Besides these he wrote Brambletye House, in imitation of Scott's historical novels; also, Tor Hill, Walter Colyton, The Moneyed Man, The Merchant, and several others. His best performance is the Address to the Mummy, some parts of which exhibit the finest sensibility and an exquisite poetic taste.]

ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY IN | Perhaps thou wert a mason, and for

bidden

By oath to tell the secrets of thy

trade

Then say, what secret melody was hid

den

In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise play'd?

Perhaps thou wert a priest- if so my struggles

Are vain, for priestcraft never owns its juggles.

Perchance that very hand, now pinion'd flat,

Has hob-a-nobb'd with Pharaoh,
glass to glass;

Or dropp'd a halfpenny in Homer's hat,
Or doff'd thine own to let Queen Dido

pass,

Or held, by Solomon's own invitation, A torch, at the great Temple's dedication.

I need not ask thee if that hand, when arm'd,

Has any Roman soldier maul'd and

knuckled,

For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalm'd,

Ere Romulus and Remus had been
suckled:

Antiquity appears to have begun
Long after thy primeval race was run.

Thou couldst develop, if that wither' tongue

Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen,

REV. GEORGE CROLY.

1780-1860.

CUPID CARRYING PROVISIONS.

THERE was once a gentle time
When the world was in its prime;
And every day was holiday,
And every month was lovely May.
Cupid then had but to go
With his purple wings and bow;
And in blossomed vale and grove
Every shepherd knelt to love.

Then a rosy, dimpled cheek,
And a blue eye, fond and meek;
And a ringlet-wreathen brow,
Like hyacinths on a bed of snow;
And a low voice, silver sweet,
From a lip without deceit;
Only those the hearts could move
Of the simple swains to love.

But that time is gone and past,
Can the summer always last?
And the swains are wiser grown,
And the heart is turned to stone,
And the maiden's rose may wither,
Cupid's filed, no man knows whither.
But another Cupid's come,
With a brow of care and gloom:
Fixed upon the earthly mould,
Thinking of the sullen gold;
In his hand the bow no more,

EBENEZER ELLIOTT.

1781-1849.

[BORN 17th of March, 1781, at the New Foundry, Masbro', near Rotherham, Yorkshire; wrote in his seventeenth year The Vernal Walk; worked in his father's foundry until 1804: made trials of business in Sheffield, of which the first failed; published his first volume of verse, 1823: Village Patriarch, 1829; Corn Law Rhymer, 1831; retired from business, 1841; died 1st of December. 1849.]

SONG.

Mother has sold her bed:

Better to die than wed!
Where shall she lay her head?

Home we have none!