legs of mutton, until they should have attained
that self-confidence which is so necessary in a
carver, and which practice alone can insure.
It would be only just to the apprentice to
provide specially in the indentures that he
should not be required, under any circumstances,
to eat any of his own journeywork.
As evidence of progress, it might be desirable
to deposit, in the windows of the society's
offices, two sirloins of beef, the one showing
the carving capabilities of the student on his
first joining the society, the other exhibiting
his progress after six lessons.

When, by theoretical instruction, practical
experience, and emulative excitement,
the undergraduates shall have become so
far versed in the ordinary duties of the table
as to know what gastronomy requires to be
cut thick, and what thin; when they shall
have learnt in which direction to obtain the
best cut of venison, and how to divide the
ribs from the shoulder in a forequarter of
lamb; in short, when acquainted with the
more ordinary and elemental branches of the
art; it is proposed that select carving réunions
should be held in the college hall, at which
they should enjoy opportunities of displaying
their adroitness. It might be well that the
neophytes should be required, on these occasions,
to cut up large geese and fowl of mature
years, on small dishes, from very low chairs,
with knives of the bluntest description.
Mysterious side-dishes might also be handed
round; which it should be their duty to
dispense with as much coolness as if they
knew what they were made of; and they
should be expected to maintain an easy,
unembarrassed flow of small talk, even when
in the agonies of dissecting a tough old
ptarmigan.

The course of study should conclude with
a series of lectures on those refinements of
the art, a knowledge of which is indispensable
to the reputation of an accomplished carver.
During the course, observations would naturally
be directed to the prevalence and character
of second-day dishes, with a view to
place the student in a position to detect at a
glance whether a dish had ever done duty in
any other shape. He would thus be enabled
to trace the mulligatawney soup of to day
back to the curried chicken of yesterday,
and again to the boiled fowl of the day before.
Some hints might likewise be given on physiognomy
in connection with carving, by
which the carver could be enabled to discriminate
between the honoured guest, to whom
it would be proper to offer the wing, from the
victim who might, without offence, be put off
with the drumstick.

It is confidently believed that, by these
means, the day may yet arrive when thousands
of our benighted countrymen and
countrywomen will be so well skilled in
the art of carving, as to be able to define
"joints innumerable in the smallest chick
that ever broke the heart of a brood hen,"
and supply fourteen people handsomely, from
a single pheasant, still retaining the leg for
himself.

               THE INVALID'S MOTHER.
               TO THE SUN, AT LISBON.

O SUN! whose universal smile
    Brightens the various lands,
From burning Egypt's fruitful Nile
    And Lybia's desert sands—

To where some frozen Lapland hut,
     Dingy, and cold, and low,
Bids half its gleaming surface jut
     In light above the snow;

I loved thee, as a careless child,
     Where English meadows spread
Their cowslip blossoms sweet and wild
     By Thames' translucent bed!

Now, with a still and serious hope,
     I watch thy rays once more,
And cast life's anxious horoscope
    Upon a foreign shore.

O sun! that beam'd to Camöen's eyes
     Bright as thou dost to mine,
That calmly yet shall set and rise,
     On life and death to shine.

O sun! that many an eager heart
     With false hope hath beguiled.
Deal gently with me, ere we part,
     And heal the alien's child!

A stranger stands on Tagus' banks,
     And looks o'er Tagus' wave,
Oh! shall we leave here joy and thanks,
     Or weep beside a grave?

Dear rivers of my native land,
     Where paler sunshine gleams,
On your green margin shall we stand
     And laugh beside your streams;

And talk of foreign flowers and climes
    Whose glorious radiance shed
Such pleasure o'er these travell'd times,—
    Or shall we mourn our dead?

No answer comes! Beyond the ses,
     Beyond those azure skies,
A speck in God's eternity,
    Our unseen future lies!

And not as one who braves His will,
    (Which, murmur we or not,
Must guide our onward course, and still
    Decide the dreaded lot):

But with a deep, mysterious awe,
     I see that orb of light,
Which first by His creative law
    Divided day from night;

Which, looking down upon the earth
     With strong life-teeming rays,
Compels the diamond's star-like bath,
     The red gold's sultry blaze;

Or bids some gentle fragile flower
     Burst, from its calyx cold,
To bloom, like man, its little hour,
    Then sink beneath the mould.