Among the numerous fascinating and delightful members of the male sex whom I have the honour to count as friends, there is one very handsome and devotedly attentive gentleman of four years old, who is particularly fond of reciting to me in private the following striking poem on the Fall of Man.
When Mister Sarpint did deceive
Poor little silly Missis Eve,
The Lord he spied an apple gone
From off the branch it hanged upon;
That apple was a heavy loss,
And so the Lord got very cross,
He searched the garden through and through,
And called "Hi Adam! where are you?"
But Mister Adam, he,
Clum up a tree.
There is something in this graphic narrative which appears to tickle my young cavalier's fancy immensely, for whenever he says "Mister Adam, he, Clum up a tree," he opens his big blue eyes very widely, claps his tiny hands very loudly, and gives vent to ecstatic shrieks of laughter. It is quite evident that he entirely understands and appreciates Adam's position. Young as he is, he has the instinctive knowledge within him that when the time comes, he will likewise adopt the "Clum up a
