ANECDOTE FOR FATHERS SHEWING HOW THE ART OF LYING MAY BE TAUGHT.

I have a boy of ?ve years old,

His face is fair and fresh to see;

His limbs are cast in beautys mould,

And dearly he loves me.

One morn we strolld on our dry walk,

Our quiet house all full in view,

And held such intermitted talk

As we are wont to do.

My thoughts on former pleasures ran;

I thought of Kilves delightful shore,

My pleasant home, when spring began,

A long, long year before.

A day it was when I could bear

To think, and think, and think again;

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