It is true throughout _The Country Squire_ that every pair of lines taken alternately ends in rhymes which are perfect or nearly so. Now a perfect rhyme is one in which the two rhyming syllables are both accented, the vowel sound and the consonants which follow the vowels are identical, and the sounds preceding the vowel are different. For instance, the words _smile_ and _style_ rhyme. Both of these are monosyllables and hence accented. The vowel sound is the long sound of _i_; the consonant sound of _l_ follows. The sounds preceding the _i_ are similar but not identical, represented by _sm_ in the first case and _st_ in the second. In the fifth stanza the first line ends with the word _dispatch_, the third with the word _batch_. This rhyme is perfect, because the accent on the word _dispatch_ is naturally on the second syllable. In the ninth stanza the word _dress_ is made to rhyme with _nakedness_. This is not strictly perfect, for the natural accent of _nakedness_ is on the first syllable. It may be interesting for beginners to work out the rhyme scheme of a poem and write it down. This is very easily done. Take the first stanza in _The Country Squire_. Represent the rhyming syllable of the first line by _a_, the rhyming syllable of the second line by _b_. It follows then that the rhyming syllable of the third line must be represented by _a_, and the rhyming syllable of the fourth line by _b_. Writing these letters in succession we have the nonsense word _abab_, which will always stand for stanzas of this kind. If you are interested in this turn to the studies at the end of the next poem, _To My Infant Son_. TO MY INFANT SON _By_ Thomas Hood Thou happy, happy elf! (But stop, first let me kiss away that tear,) Thou tiny image of myself! (My love, he's poking peas into his ear,) Thou merry, laughing sprite, With spirits, feather light, Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin; (My dear, the child is swallowing a pin!) Thou little tricksy Puck! With antic toys so funnily bestuck, Light as the singing bird that rings the air,-- (The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!) Thou darling of thy sire! (Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!) Thou imp of mirth and joy! In love's dear chain so bright a link, Thou idol of thy parents;--(Drat the boy! There goes my ink.) Thou cherub, but of earth; Fit playfellow for fairies, by moonlight pale, In harmless sport and mirth, (That dog will bite him, if he pulls his tail!) Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey From every blossom in the world that blows, Singing in youth's Elysium ever sunny,-- (Another tumble! That's his precious nose!)