Suck, baby, suck, mother's love grows by giving,
Drain the sweet founts that only thrive by wasting;
Black manhood comes, when riotous guilty living
Hands thee the cup that shall be death in tasting.
Kiss, baby, kiss, mother's lips shine by kisses,
Choke the warm breath that else would fail in blessings;
Black manhood comes, when turbulent guilty blisses
Tender thee the kiss that poisons 'mid caressings.
Hang, baby, hang, mother's love loves such forces,
Strain the fond neck that bends still to thy clinging:
Black manhood comes, when violent lawless courses
Leave thee a spectacle in rude air swinging.--
So sang a wither'd Sibyl energetical,
And bann'd the ungiving door with lips prophetical.
C. LAMB. _Blackwood's Magazine._
* * * * *
EPICURES.
As a mere untravelled practical Englishman, and, moreover, of the old
school, Quin, no doubt, ranks high in the lists of gastronomy: but he is
completely distanced by many moderns, both in love for and knowledge of
the science. Among the most noted of the moderns we beg to introduce our
readers to Mr. Rogerson, an enthusiast and a martyr. He, as may be
presumed, was educated at that University where the rudiments of palatic
science are the most thoroughly impressed on the ductile organs of
youth.
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