He must leave his former manners;
  Bid adieu to female games,
  And forget their very names,
  Puss in Corners, Hide and Seek,
  Sports for girls and punies weak! 
  Baste the Bear he now may play at,
  Leap-frog, Foot-ball, sport away at,
  Show his skill and strength at Cricket,
  Mark his distance, pitch his wicket,
  Run about in winter’s snow
  Till his cheeks and fingers glow,
  Climb a tree, or scale a wall,
  Without any fear to fall. 
  If he get a hurt or bruise,
  To complain he must refuse,
  Though the anguish and the smart
  Go unto his little heart,
  He must have his courage ready,
  Keep his voice and visage steady,
  Brace his eye-balls stiff as drum,
  That a tear may never come,
  And his grief must only speak
  From the colour in his cheek. 
  This and more he must endure,
  Hero he in miniature! 
  This and more must now be done
  Now the breeches are put on.

NURSING

  O hush, my little baby brother;
    Sleep, my love, upon my knee. 
  What though, dear child, we’ve lost our mother;
    That can never trouble thee.

  You are but ten weeks old to-morrow;
    What can you know of our loss? 
  The house is full enough of sorrow. 
    Little baby, don’t be cross.

  Peace, cry not so, my dearest love;
    Hush, my baby-bird, lie still.—­
  He’s quiet now, he does not move,
    Fast asleep is little Will.

  My only solace, only joy,
    Since the sad day I lost my mother,
  Is nursing her own Willy boy,
    My little orphan brother.

THE TEXT

  One Sunday eve a grave old man,
    Who had not been at church, did say,
  “Eliza, tell me, if you can,
    What text our Doctor took to-day?”

  She hung her head, she blush’d for shame,
    One single word she did not know,
  Nor verse nor chapter she could name,
    Her silent blushes told him so.

  Again said he, “My little maid,
    What in the sermon did you hear;
  Come tell me that, for that may aid
    Me to find out the text, my dear.”

  A tear stole down each blushing cheek,
    She wish’d she better had attended;
  She sobbing said, when she could speak,
    She heard not till ’twas almost ended.

  “Ah! little heedless one, why what
    Could you be thinking on? ’tis clear
  Some foolish fancies must have got
    Possession of your head, my dear.

  “What thoughts were they, Eliza, tell,
    Nor seek from me the truth to smother.”—­
  “O I remember very well,
    I whisper’d something to my brother.

  “I said, ‘Be friends with me, dear Will;’
    We quarrell’d, Sir, at the church door,—­
  Though he cried, ‘Hush, don’t speak, be still,’
    Yet I repeated these words o’er