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HENRY TORRENS.


But (as the boys must eat) let's see what's on the tapis now,—
With army full and navy dull, what can be said?
Join the Canadian O'Connell, Monsieur Papineau,
Or Cavaliero Evans's Isle of Dogs brigade?
Command King Otho's grenadiers (supposing that he's got any),
Or live on hope and kangaroo near much-belauded Botany:
Try Sidney, Perth, Van Dieman, or (I'd have you keep on all an eye)
My cousin Colonel Torrens' new pound-an-acre colony?
Here then's some hope without sinecure or chancery,
To pick up something decent for a younger son.

Yet 'tis cold comfort, for the price-makes-value principle
May suit well-dinnered theorists, but won't suit you;
He who eats may argue, but say how is he convincible.
Who has to prove in person if the fact be true?
You'll send Bill there?—he must go somewhere—yet, Sir Robert, that I call,
Merely making him a victim to economists dogmatical:
No, with your backstairs interest (than which nothing better wheedles) treat
The potentates by patent at the large house near Thread-needle-street.
They (worthy gentlemen) sans sinecure or chancery.
Will give you quid pro quo, and aid a younger son.

Yes, Bill must go, for see how great our population is
With anti-nuptial Malthusites in dire dismay!
Miss Martineau's preventive check, Sir, now our sole salvation is.
Yet flesh and blood is flesh and blood say what you may:
Bill's a clever chap, too, and can turn his hand to any thing, come
Don't forget you can't afford to furnish him a yearly income;