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.

STANZAS.

THOU'RT fair, how passing fair! but on that brow, Alas, alas! dark clouds are low'ring now;

Its joyous brightness all is fled, and care

Sits throned in gloom, and reigns triumphant there.

I gaze on thee! it grieves my heart to think
That 'neath affliction's weight that form will sink;
That life for thee hath lost its charm, that all
Thy joys are crush'd beneath affliction's pall.

And who hath caused this grievous wreck? can he
Unmoved, thy wretchedness, thy sufferings see?
Look on that form, and feel that he alone
Hath damp'd its mirth, that he's the guilty one?

Hath he no heart, no spark of feeling left
For thee to cherish? is he quite bereft
Of e'en the wish to soften to thy heart
The poignancy of sorrows murd'rous dart?

Oh! could he know the hatred, the disdain,
Lavish'd on him, the author of thy pain,
His selfish heart, perhaps, for once might feel,
Though deaf to honour's or to love's appeal.

I love thee for thy griefs, and oh! may He,
In joy our guide, in grief our all, teach thee
To win the false one back, to end this strife,
And give thee once more happiness and life.

R. H.

I

“O, let her go on, if it amuses her," said Miss Harden, thinking aloud in the most acid tone of twenty-seven; 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.

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.

66

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

"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.