"Little boy blue! come blow your horn!

The sheep in the meadow, the cows in the corn!

Where's little boy blue, that looks after the sheep?

He's under the hay-mow, fast asleep!"

Of morals in novels, we've had not a few;

With now and then novel moralities too;

And we 've weekly exhortings from pulpit

to pew;

But it strikes me,—and so it may chance

to strike you,—

Scarce any are better than "Little Boy

Blue."

For the veteran dame knows her business:

right well,

And her quaint admonitions unerringly

tell:

She strings a few odd, careless words in a

jingle,

And the sharp, latent truth fairly makes

your ears tingle.

"Azure-robed Youth!" she cries, "up to

thy post!

And watch, lest thy wealth be all scattered

and lost:

Silly thoughts are astray, beyond call of

the horn,

And passion breaks loose, and gets into the

corn!

Is this the way Conscience looks after her

sheep?

In the world's soothing shadow, gone sound-

ly asleep?"

Is n't that, now, a sermon? No lengthened

vexation

Of heads, and divisions, and argumenta-

tion,

But a straightforward leap to the sure ap-

plication;

And, though many a longer harangue is

forgot,

Of which careful reporters take notes on

the spot,

I think,—as the "Deacon" declared of his

"shay,"

Put together for lasting for ever and aye,—

A like immortality holding in view,

The old lady's discourse will undoubtedly

"dew"!