LITERARY OLLA. No. x 
For the Bee. 
Gray the Poet,—.A dialogue concerning Youth, 
To D***d Mette, [LRREKK g 
—‘ The insect youth are on the wing, 
Eager to taste the honied spring, . 
And float amid the liquid noon: 
Some lightly o’er the current fkim, 
Some thew their gaily. gilded trim, 
Quick glancing to the sun. 
* To contemplation’s sober eye, 
Such is the race of man: 
And they that creep and they that fly, 
Shall end where they began.’ , 
Alike the busy and the gay, 
But flutter thro’ life’s little day, 
: In fortune’s varying colours drest : 
- Bruth’d by the hand of rough mischance, 
Or chill’d by age their airy dance, 
They leave, in dust to rest,’ ’ 
These, (nephew!) with other charming lines of the 
excellent Gray, were sent inclosed in a letter to his ace 
complifhed and beloved young friend Wesr, the son of 
_ the lord chancellor of Ireland, But “ Azs, sun was set,”? 
his spring was gone, before the letter arrived at his resi- 
dence in Hertfordthire ; and he died [ believe on the firs¢ 
of June, the same day that brought me into the world ; so 
that if I believed in the metempsychosis, I might be foolith 
enough to imagine that I am the very person to whom 
this pretty little copy of verses was addrefsed. 
When I was sitting in my garden under the fhade of a 
weeping beech of singular beauty, which spreads its fo- 
liage over an area of near four hundred feet in circum- 
ference, admitting the light agreeably without the scorch- 
ing or glaring rays of the sun, I had in my hand the life 
