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I find Broad Street, St. Giles's a poor narrow nook,

Battle Bridge is unconscious of slaughter; Duke's Place cannot muster the ghost of a duke,

And Brook Street is wanting in water.

I went to Cornhill for a bushel of wheat,

And sought it in vain every shop in; The Hermitage offer'd a tranquil retreat

For the jolly Jack Hermits of Wapping.
Spring Gardens, all wintry, appear in the wane,

Sun Alley's an absolute blinder,
Mount Street is a level, and Bearbinder Lane

Has neither a bear nor a binder.

No football is kick’d up and down in Pall Mall,

Change Alley, alas! never varies;
The Serpentine River's a straighten'd canal,

Milk Street is denuded of dairies.
Knights Bridge, void of tournaments, lies calm and still,

Butcher Row cannot boast of cleaver,
And (though it abuts on his garden) Hay Hill

Wont give Devon's duke the hay fever.
The Cockpit's the focus of law, not of sport,

Water Lane is afflicted with dryness;
And, spite of its George Street approach, Prince's Court

Is a sorry abode for his highness.
From Baker Street North all the bakers have fled,

So in verse (not quite equal to Homer)
Methinks I have proved what, at starting, I said,

That London's one mighty misnomer.

Had he consulted me, had he given any time to me to consider—to write an answer, instead of bringing her down upon us in this peremptory way—and none of us, too, knowing what she is like in the least, or what....."

“ Perhaps a fairy,” said one of the younger ladies, playfully.

“ Perhaps a fool,” said the other in a hard voice, which promised a hard countenance, and a hard heart;-neither of the two, it may be said, on acquaintance, belied the promise.

“ So much the better if she be,” replied her mother, scarcely less bitterly, “ for a fool you may manage; but I suspect we shall find your aunt Lagarde's daughter something less tractable.”

“ She was very handsome, my aunt Lagarde, was she not?” asked the

younger

voice. “ Indeed, I can't tell ; I never saw her very often. A gentleman's beauty, I dare say, but bold and self-willed, and fond of being flattered. O, I was not sorry, I promise you, when she made the match she did ; and your father (she was his favourite sister, and he could never forgive being deceived) swore he would see her no more. No, she was not handsome, but eaten up with romance, and poetry, and nonsense, and all that sort of thing; and I dare say her daughter will turn out her counterpart.”

A sentimental young lady, who writes verses, perhaps, and sits up to look at the moon,” sneered Miss Harden.

“ Or a beauty, perhaps, who steals all our lovers from us, Alicia” said her younger sister, archly.

“For shame, Lucy, you are too pert to say such things; this comes of bringing you out too early.”

H EL EN

A SKETCH.

BY HENRY F. CHORLEY, ESQ.

“Thou’rt constancy!—I'm glad I know thy name!"

THE HUNCHBACK
She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers around her are sighing."

MOORE.

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It was a rich, warm, golden evening, early in autumn, showing that most beautiful appearance of nature, on one side of the heaven, the sun sinking down to rest in a glory of mellow light and gorgeous colour, and on the other, the pure, pearly, crescent moon, rising above the tree tops, with a single star at her side, and the sky between as cloudless and placid as if it could never be crossed by a storm. The cawing of a large company of returning rooks was the only sound that broke upon the ear, and that not unpleasantly—the air was fresh, without a breath of dampness or frost; it was a night, in short, to invite the three ladies of Fairmeadows to linger long upon their terrace seat, which, shaded by a thousand fragrant deciduous plants and shrubs, commanded an extensive view over the whole domain. The ladies, however, did not linger there for the sake of the bright sunset, or to watch the tender, rising moon :-and two of them at least were talking so fast and so earnestly, as to drown (as far as they were concerned) the pleasant talk of the birds coming home to their own tall elms for their night's rest.

“ So like one of your father's strange, random tricks !

K

Had he consulted me, had he given any time to me to consider-to write an answer, instead of bringing her down upon us in this peremptory wayand none of us, too, knowing what she is like in the least, or what....

Perhaps a fairy,” said one of the younger ladies, playfully.

Perhaps a fool,” said the other in a hard voice, which promised a hard countenance, and a hard heart;-neither of the two, it may be said, on acquaintance, belied the promise.

“ So much the better if she be,” replied her mother, scarcely less bitterly, “ for a fool you may manage; but I suspect we shall find your aunt Lagarde's daughter something less tractable.”

“ She was very handsome, my aunt Lagarde, was she not ?" asked the younger voice.

“ Indeed, I can't tell ; I never saw her very often. A gentleman's beauty, I dare say, but bold and self-willed, and fond of being flattered. O, I was not sorry, I promise you,

when she made the match she did ; and your father (she was his favourite sister, and he could never forgive being deceived) swore he would see her no more. No, she was not handsome, but eaten up with romance, and poetry, and nonsense, and all that sort of thing; and I dare say her daughter will turn out her counterpart.”

“ A sentimental young lady, who writes verses, perhaps, and sits up to look at the moon,” sneered Miss Harden.

“ Or a beauty, perhaps, who steals all our lovers from us, Alicia” said her younger sister, archly.

For shame, Lucy, you are too pert to say such things; this comes of bringing you out too early.”

66

“O, let her go on, if it amuses her,” said Miss Harden, thinking aloud in the most acid tone of twenty-seven; “I assure you, mamma, I don't mind it.”

But the distant sound of swinging gates, and then of approaching wheels, put an end to this little scene, and in another moment the carriage was at the door, and the hero restored to his family (have I not said that I am speaking of events that happened in the memorable year of the battle of Waterloo ?) half lifted, half bore from the vehicle the unexpected and unwelcome subject of the conversation just chronicled.

“Bless you, Helen,” said the veteran, kissing her throbbing forehead; “ I hope you are not much tired with your journey :-cheer up, and remember you are at home !-and now Gertrude, Alicia, Lucy, come to me, all of you—at once ;” and in the embrace of the moment, the new comer was permitted to stand aside, to feel that most perplexing and desolate of all feelings—a sense that she was alone among strange kindred.

The first ecstacy of meeting was over, and candles were lighted, and the ladies then turned an eager, two of them a curious look, towards their new relation. Alicia felt her heart sicken at the first glance, for she was aware that a beauty had come in among them—that pale, and fatigued, and wretchedly invalided as she seemed to be, Helen Lagarde could not be passed over, or hidden under a bushel, for her exquisite form, and her complexion as transparently fine as the inmost leaves of certain delicate flowers, to say nothing of large sybilline eyes, and hair as excellent in its profusion as in its rich, silky, intense blackness,- for her bonnet being laid aside, it fell round her like a heavy veil.

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