bards that ripple
  Like shallow pools—­who pose and pant,
    And vaguely smudge or softly stipple,—­
  These have not brain or heart to sing
    As Biglow sang, our quaint Hosea,
  Whose “Sunthin in the Pastoral line,”
    Full primed with picture and idea,
  Lives, with “The Courtin’,” unforgot,
    And worth whole volumes of sham-Shen-stone. 
  Yes, you could catch, as prigs may not,
    Pure women’s speech and valiant men’s tone.
  Zekle and Huldy in our hearts
    Have found a place.  But a true Poet,
  Like SHAKSPEARE’s Man, plays many parts. 
    You chid us sharply, well we know it,
  For you’d the gift of Satire strong,
    And knew just how to lay the lash on. 
  You smote what you thought British wrong,
    Well, that won’t put us in a passion. 
  “I ken write long-tailed if I please,”
    You said.  And truly, polished writer,
  More like “a gentleman at ease,”
    Never touched quill than this shrewd smiter. 
  Your “moral breath of temperament”
    Found scope in scholarly urbanity;
  And wheresoever LOWELL went
    Sounded the voice of Sense and Sanity. 
  We loved you, and we loved your wit. 
    Thinking of you, uncramped, uncranky;
  Our hearts, ere we’re aware of it,
    “Run helter-skelter into Yankee.” 
  “For puttin’ in a downright lick
    ’Twixt Humbug’s eyes, there’s few to metch it.” 
  Faith, how you used it; ever quick
    Where’er Truth dwelt, to dive and fetch it. 
  Vernacular or cultured verse,
    The scholar’s speech, the ploughman’s patter
  You’d use, but still in each were terse,
    As clear in point as full in matter. 
  You’d not disdain “the trivial flute,”
    The rustic Pan-pipe you would finger,
  Yet could you touch “Apollo’s lute”
    To tones on which Love’s ear would linger. 
  Farewell, farewell!  Two countries loved,
    Two countries mourn you.  None will quarrel
  With English hands, which, unreproved,
    Lay on your bier an English Laurel!

* * * * *

AN OLD SCHOOL BUOY.—­Under the heading of “Church and Schools,” the St. James’s Gazette gave an interesting illustration of “public spirit in schools.”  It recounted how “An Old Bedford Boy”—­no relation to ROBERT, the Waiter, we believe—­in the course of returning thanks, said, “I have bathed in all the great rivers of the world.”  Then he added, “the water of the sluggish Ouse is the sweetest of them all.”  Oddly enough his name was “ZINCKE,” though evidently he must be a first-rate “Zwimmer.”  With genuine love for his old school, he might have added that he wished he was a Buoy again.  But he seems to have got on swimmingly everywhere.

* * * * *

“HELPS” AND WHELPS.

    The following advertisement appeared some little time since in
    the columns of a daily contemporary:—­