passed--the family present, and all complimentary--such as, "Never saw such a likeness in the course of all my born days. As like 'un as he can stare." "Well, sure enough, there he is." But at last--there is one dissentient! "'Tain't like--not very--no, 'tain't," said a heavy middle-aged farmer, with rather a dry look, too, about his mouth, and a moist one at the corner of his eye, and who knew the attorney well. All were upon him. "Not like!--How not like? Say where is it not like?" "Why, don't you see," said the man, "he's got his hand in his breeches' pocket. It would be as like again if he had his hand in any other body's pocket." The family portrait was removed, especially as, after this, many came on purpose to see it; and so the attorney was lowered a peg, and the farmer obtained the reputation of a connoisseur. But it is high time, Eusebius, that I should dismiss you and portrait-painting, or you will think your thus sitting to me worse than sitting for your picture; which picture, if it be of my Eusebius as I know him and love him, will ever be a living speaking likeness, but if it be one but of outward feature and resemblance, it will soon pass off to make up the accumulation of dead lumber--while do you, Eusebius, as you are, _vive valeque_. * * * * * MY FRIEND. Wouldst thou be friend of mine?-- Thou must be quick and bold When the right is to be done, And the truth is to be told; Wearing no friend-like smile When thine heart is hot within, Making no truce with fraud or guile, No compromise with sin. Open of eye and speech, Open of heart and hand, Holding thine own but as in trust For thy great brother-band. Patient and stout to bear, Yet bearing not for ever; Gentle to rule, and slow to bind, Like lightning to deliver! True to thy fatherland, True to thine own true love; True to thine altar and thy creed, And thy good God above. But with no bigot scorn For faith sincere as thine, Though less of form attend the prayer, Or more of pomp the shrine; Remembering Him who spake The word that cannot lie, "Where two or three in my name meet There in the midst am I!" I bar thee not from faults-- God wot, it were in vain! Inalienable heritage Since that primeval slain! The wisest have been fools-- The surest stumbled sore: _Strive_ thou to stand--or fall'n arise, I ask thee not for more! This do, and thou shalt knit Closely my heart to thine; Next the dear love of God above, Such Friend on earth, be mine! O.O. LONDON, _January_ 1844. * * * * * THE LAND OF SLAVES. "Le printemps--le printemps!"--_Berenger_. 'Twas a sunny holiday, Scene, Killarney--time, last May; In the fields the rustic throng, Every linnet in full song, Not a cloud to threaten rain, As I walk'd with lovely Jane.