is Mr. A-FR-D A-ST-N. Like others who
might be named, he has not the honour to be an agricultural labourer;
but no living man has sung at greater length of rural life, and its
simple joys. Many of his admirers have asserted that Britain ought to
have more than one Laureate, and that Mr. A-FR-D A-ST-N ought to be
among the number. Others are not prepared to go quite so far. They
have been heard to complain that cows and trees, and woodmen and
farms, and sheep and wains, and hay and turnips, do not necessarily
suggest the highest happiness, and that it is not always dignified for
an aspiring Poet to be led about helpless through the byeways of sense
by those wilful, wanton playfellows, his rhymes. The two factions may
be left to fight out their quarrel over the present example, which,
by the way, is _not_ taken from the collected edition of the Poet's
works.

IS LUNCH WORTH LUNCHING?

(_BY A-FR-D A-ST-N._)

Is Lunch worth lunching? Go, dyspeptic man,
Where in the meadows green the oxen munch.
Is it not true that since our land began
The horned ox hath given us steaks for lunch?

Steaks rump or otherwise, the prime sirloin,
Sauced with the stinging radish of the horse.
Beeves meditate and die; we pay our coin,
And though the food be often tough and coarse,

We eat it, we, through whose bold British veins
Bold British hearts drive bubbling British blood.
No true-born Briton, come what may, disdains
To eat the patient chewers of the cud.

Or seek the uplands, where of old Bo Peep
(So runs the tale) lost all her fleecy flocks;
There happy shepherds tend their grazing sheep
(Some men like mutton, some prefer the ox).

Ay, surely it would need a heart of flint
To watch the blithe lambs caper o'er the lea,
And, watching them, refrain from thoughts of mint,
Of new potatoes, and the sweet green pea.

Is Lunch worth lunching? The September sun
Makes answer "Yes;" no longer must thou lag.
Forth to the stubble, cynic; take thy gun,
And add the juicy partridge to thy bag.

Out in the fields the keen-eyed pigeons coo;
They fill their crops, and then away they fly.
Pigeons are sometimes passable in stew,
And always quite delicious in a pie.

Or pluck red-currants on some summer day,
Then take of raspberries an equal part,
Add cream and sugar--can mere words convey
The luscious joys of this delightful tart?

Is Lunch w