AN EPISODE IN FASHIONABLE LIFE.

"Maravigliati anzi attoniti stanno,

Come quei che del fatto nulla sanno."-Orl. innamorato.

"He is most decidedly a very extraordinary young man, mamma-a person far above the common herd of mortalsdepend upon it, he is."

"Well, my dear Georgiana, it may be so. I don't altogether know that he is not."

"Indeed, mamma, it is beyond the slightest doubt. On that point I am positive: the more I see of him, the farther am I convinced of it."

"Are you really? Well, my love, then no doubt it is so." These were the terminating sentences of a colloquy between the young Lady Georgiana Cardale, and her mother, old Lady Tuffley. The object it referred to was no less a personage than Mr. Frederick Merrivale Tierceleyne, who had been a short time before introduced to the two ladies at a very crowded, and therefore fashionable, evening party, by the person best qualified to recommend his qualifications-in short, by himself.

Who is there, among all those who resolve themselves into somebody, that has not warmly felt the inconvenient operation of that steam engine of high pressure, a London July rout? Who has not, on such occasions, suffered to so high a pitch from the accumulation of caloric, as to believe, for the moment, that the only true happiness consisted in being cool? It was just at such a moment that the gentleman in question put the first date to a warm intimacy with the two ladies, through the cold medium of a pine-apple ice, which he handed to them (after having almost fought for its possession,) with a gallantry that was doubly recommended by the difficulty and importance of the service. In the conversation that naturally ensued, he exhibited (during the intervals from the state of being elbowed and brushed about) so much suavity of manner, so large a share of small-talk, and so white an assemblage of teeth, as to advance very materially the impression in his favor,- and when, after assisting

Price 3d.

the two ladies to scramble and gasp their way through the select five hundred who occupied Lady Crowder's drawingroom, he handed them down stairs to their carriage, and expressed the most ardent solicitude that they might escape the slightest cold, the work of fascination was rendered complete. His anxiety on their behalf was rewarded by an intimation from the elder lady, that they should be happy to receive the honor of his inquiries at their house in Harleystreet; and, as he wished them a good night, the amenity of his smile seemed only rivalled by the grace of his bow.

With the proverbial force of a first impression thus ranged on his side, and his own subsequent employment of considerable pains to improve it, there remains little wonder that Mr. Frederick Merrivale Tierceleyne should have succeeded in establishing himself as a guest at Lady Tuffley's house. It is true, their acquaintance with him had not been formed according to the strictest ordinations of etiquette, which rather insists on the positive, corporeal intervention of mediator C, between A and B, candidates for reciprocal introduction: but surely, the fact of a presence at Lady Crowder's rout was a receipt in full of all demands from gentility, and a passport into all good society. Besides, Mr. Tierce leyne's appearance spoke definitely for him: he looked "the gentleman"-and that was every thing. Nay, his very name itself, his three-fold name, was a letter, or rather letters, of credit: it had a most convincing air, and bespoke with additional force that fine abstraction, the gentleman. And then, as to family, where could be the possible objection to a person claiming filial relationship to Mr. Tierceleyne, senior, a man of acknowledged respectability and reputed wealth, at Benares, in the East Indies?

The young Lady Cardale, in commou with the majority of only children in their minority, was a spoiled child, and had a will, or, more fitly to speak, many a will of her own. In her mother, the usual copious amount of fondness was united to the most acquiescent, laissez-aller sort of temper that a negative character can possess. Whatever the daughter affirmed, the parent confirmed-to whatsoever she preferred, her mamma deferred-when the one was suppliant,

the other was pliant. Nor was the young lady under any more effective control from her father, the Earl of Tuffley, a man turned of sixty, who resided in bed, under the discipline of an inseparable rheumatism. He was not, indeed, of a disposition so assenting as his wife, but was, on the contrary, prone to the expression of doubt on all occasions : his doubts, however, were chiefly the consequence of that unsettled feeling that belongs to disease, and were never cured by the healthy result of a decision. Thus, he frequently questioned whether the system pursued with, or rather by, his daughter, were a good one; but he supplied no rules, and exercised no authority for her better governance.

The particular juncture at which Mr. Tierceleyne had achieved his admission into the family, was most favorable for the interest of a new acquaintance. Every other idle gentleman who might have busied himself in convoying the two ladies through the vortex, and straits, and roads, and channels of the town, happened to be in some way or other under the ban of Lady Georgiana's displeasure. One had been discarded for being monosyllabic, another was cut short for being too tall to walk with, a third was ecarte for his excessive addiction to whist, and a fourth was banished for being too old to be otherwise than dull, although a rattling talker. Such, by the by, is the petulance permitted to female fashionable youth! Here then was a choice opportunity for an ambitious young gentleman to court advantage in the form of an Earl's daughter, by administering the ingenious confectionary of smiles and sweet things, while engaged in the lady's-man's office, in rendering les petits soins, and doing the duty of being amiable towards a beautiful girl of the best prospects, and her not disagreeable mother. Mr. Tierceleyne accordingly commenced, with all requisite energy, the practice of an intense flirtation. He played protector, enlivener, and indicator, on special occasions of ball, theatre, auction, promenade, lounge, exhibition, toy-shop, bazaar, diorama, horticultural breakfast, and craniological lecture. He was an invaluable companion, likewise, at the monotonous varieties of morning and evening concerts. He could afford information, more or less correct, as to what letter of the scale bounded the altitude of Madame Pasta's voice, or the profundity of Signor Porto's. He could explain the history of the last cold caught by the prima donna, or anticipate the next one to be caught by the basso cantante; and he could recal the words of a new song that had defied every body else's recollection.

66

en

Thus usefully and agreeably accomplished, how could Mr. Frederick Merrivale Tierceleyne fail to be irresistible ? From being pronounced by Lady Georgiana, and allowed by her mother, to be "a nice young man," which is, we believe, the phrase whereby all ladies express an incipient liking, he was gradually voted to be "a fascinating young man,” and an agreeable creature"-then he was invited to dine" famille," a mode of dining which secured to him the undivided advantages of his own attractions, and made him, for the moment, what he longed to be longer, "one of the family"-next, he was consulted, as the "friend of the family," upon the little troubles that climb up and reach even persons in high life-and lastly, he was adimitted to all admissible privileges with the young lady, such as the custody and execution of her album, the adjusting her bracelet or deciduous comb, the familiar indulgence of being called Frederick, and that indulgence sometimes magnified into the diminutive, Fred; the unchecked correspondence of the eyes, and the tolerated pressure of the hand, through the purest accident-circumstances all somewhat allied to the symptoms of a future alliance.

That matters should have proceeded thus far without pa

ernal intervention will not appear so very extraordinary, when it is remembered that the principal management of young ladies in these cases, (when they can be managed) is assumed by the mamma; and moreover, that the father of our heroine was particularly uninfluential, through age and perpetual recumbency. The old gentleman had not, indeed, entirely disregarded the small amount of information that had reached the prison, his apartment. He considered the appearances of the affair-that is, he bestowed on them an abundant exercise of his usual habit of mind, "the fidgets." He spoke of the intimacy that seemed to be forming, as a thing that might have been as well if it had been otherwise. He declared that he had his doubts, and gave repeated assurances that he was uncertain; but he had nothing newer or more effective than this to advance, and he ended by remark. ing, very complainingly, (and not very distantly from the truth) that he knew nothing at all about it.

"What a flutter this communication has thrown me into, mamma," said Lady Georgiana to her indulgent mother, about a week after the time of which we have been speaking; the two ladies being seated together, engaged in a boudoir consultation.

"Well, my love, I think it has," was the reply.

"His manner was so impassioned, and the terms of his delaration 80 sincere and honorable! And then, the eloquence of his posture! He certainly kneels beyond expres. sion well better than Mr. Kean in his suit to Lady Anne." "Does he indeed, my dear? You don't say so."

66

Yes, indeed. I did not grant him the direct reply matrimonial; but of course I could not say no, mamma." "Well, my dear, perhaps I don't know but what you couldn't."

"As soon as I was able to sortir d'embarras, and fashion something to say, I referred him to you, and told him I should be guided in my decision by your unlimited authority; I must have him, you know, mamma."

66

Why yes, I suppose you must as you seem to say so, Georgy."

"He told me he was not unaware of the fortune that rumour is busy enough to attribute to me, but that the treasures of my mind and person (pardon such a repetition from myself,) were the sole wealth that he coveted-that his present income is not excessive, but that his father, for whom he has a great respect, can hardly survive a century, to say nothing of his rich bachelor uncle in the north, whom we have heard so much of—and that he is confident of obtaining from his father, hereafter,the fullest approval of the proposal which he has uttered at my feet. All this, in my confusion, I listened to-for, you know, one could not well be guilty of a direct interruption of what a gentleman has to say, mamma." "Nay, I don't exactly say you could, my dear."

"Well, Mr. Tierceleyne has intimated that he hopes to consult you in form to-morrow. Of course you will be at home, mamma.”

"Of course I shall, my love," replied the concessive mother, as she kissed her daughter's cheek, with all the kindness and blindness of maternal idolatry.

The morrow produced the momentous meeting. Mr. Tierceleyne conciliated the old lady's usual habits of assent by the most candid explanations of general nature, and a copious utterance of the most gentlemanly sentiments, clothed, (as old ladies like that they should be) in "taffeta phrases, silken terms precise." He was thenceforward advanced to the privileges of a declared suitor to the privilege of leaning over his adorable's chair, and practising other attitudes of personal attention-to the privilege of juxta-position at table, &c., and of open correspondence with half-shut

eyes-to the privilege of taxing his invention to talk "an infinite deal of nothing," and whisper broken sentences cruelly divorced from meaning-and to the privilege of being minutely contemplated through a great part of the day by as many pair of eyes as belonged to the butler, footmen, lady's maid, and some others of the household attendants.

As for the old earl, with

"Pain at his side, and Megrim at his head,"

he was as passive as a gentleman under horizontal circumstances is expected to be. When made intelligent of what was going on, he agreed to it with a forbidding face, wondering and doubting and exclaiming after his manner, and protesting again that he knew nothing at all about it.

In the mean time it was decided, amid the conscious blushes of our young heroine, and the very pressing instances of her licensed pursuer, that the hymeneal torch should light them to happiness on the following Wednesday-he being compelled through "particular circumstances, which he would take an early opportunity of explaining," to quit London shortly, and being, besides, most unwilling to defer that fondly-anticipated object, which, as he affirmed, was of more value to him than he could trust himself to express.

A handsome carriage from Leader's, an elegant assortment of bijouterie from Howell and James's, a splendid suit of wedding apparel from Mrs. Bell's, and, above all, a wellappointed house in Wimpole-street, were in all readiness for the occasion. A multiform bustle reigned through the family cirele, and the palpitating tide of Lady Georgiana's heart was at the full-for the next day was to be the bridal one. impatient lover had not manifested himself at Lady Tuffley's since the early part of the preceding morning, owing, as it was readily surmised, to incidental preparations on his side.

The

The sundry elements of breakfast were under discussion, in the midst of which the footman, advancing with his smoothest look, deposited on the table the diurnal sheet of the "Morning Post." Lady Georgiana's white hand leisurely took it up, and she was skimming its surface with far less care than the London vendors do their milk, when her eye casually stopped at a morceau headed "Curious Case," and pre-headed "Marlborough Street." It ran thus :-"Yesterday morning, a young man of highly prepossessing appearance, in a blue military frock-coat, fashionable white hat, and trowsers to correspond, whose name was stated to be Frederick Merrivale Tierceleyne, alias Benjamin Spinks, was placed at the bar of this office under a charge of extensive swindling and forgery. Only a few of the accusations which, it is said, will be exhibited against him, were gone into: one of these was his having written, and obtained the cash for, a counterfeit checque on Messrs. Blockley, Swallow, and Flatman; and another, his having borrowed a handsome stanhope and harness, from a Mr. Gosling, which he neglected to return."

Scarcely thus far was the poor girl able to read or falter through, before the shock of emotion proclaimed its power, and she was conveyed to her apartment in a hysterical condition.

The result of subsequent enquiry discovered Mr. Frederice Merrivale Tierceleyne to have owed his origin, under the humbler name, aforesaid, of Spinks, to a worthy cow-keeper, or cow-doctor, for it was never precisely ascertained which. The first exploit produced by his ambitious temperament, had been the running away from home. He had then peregrinated through a series of adventures, during which he had learned to cultivate dress and address, as a linendraper's assistant, and had taken a free sketchy copy of modish

manners and assurance at the places of public amusement, to which he added some finishing touches by the attentive perusal of what are called "Fashionable Novels"-so that, with quick natural powers of imitation, and a remarkably showy person, he contrived to enact the impostor felicitously enough, both as to manner and success, through a certain length of career. The ingenious ensemble which he had assumed be. fore Lady Tuffley and her daughter, as the tone of high life was indeed touched, of course, with the exaggeration of an imitator; but what artifice may not be practised with some avail upon love, blind love, and upon maternal zeal, equally blind?

It may be worth while, perhaps, to account a little more particularly for his obtaining access to the company where we have described him as having first ingratiated himself with the two ladies. Fortified previously with no employable information, save the name belonging to the mistress of the mansion, and the fact of a very large rout being in progress, he had dressed himself on the most approved principle, and entered the house in that spirit of pure speculation or adventure which is sure to effect "curious coincidences" and wellturned accidents. He took care to have himself announced under the comprehenssive name of Smith, well knowing that he was thus almost certain to escape any scrutinizing notice from the hostess, Lady Crowder, beset and distracted as she must be on such an occasion; and indeed, that lady happened, naturally enough, to be acquainted with seven gentlemen of the name of Smith, and to be also rather near-sighted. Ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute: having once got ingress, he was safe; for the chances are abundantly in favour of any given individual who would avoid particular observation in a mob, whether that mob be in an extensive suite of drawing-rooms, or a public street. Thus successful in the use of one appellation, our gay deceiver, (who chanced to have heard favourable and convenient mention of old Mr. Tierceleyne, of Benares, in the East Indies) proceeded to the assumption of another, of higher and longer pretensions, with what degree of efficacy has been already seen.

Lady Georgiana Cardale has now formed a violent resolution against all matrimony, which she means to keep, and has taken to the novel office (by way of intermediately composing her mind,) of nurse to her infirm father.

A VERY PARTICULAR ADVERTISEMENT.

WANTED, board and lodging in a good
Quiet, airy, healthy neighbourhood,
For a single gentleman, whose taste
Is on comfort principally placed.
Somewhere near the Parks would be preferr'd,
Where the din of carts is little heard;
Where no hackney-coach stand gives annoy;
Where no shops their vulgar place enjoy;
Where with nuisances the eye's ne'er grieved;
Where no other boarders are received.
Rus in urbe, town with country blent,
Is, in short, the kind of thing that's meant.
Family must be select, genteel,
Cheerful, fond of music, whist, quadrille,
Draughts, chess-nor in any way refuse
Him (the advertiser) to amuse;
People that will treat him with respect,
Nor his wants and wishes e'er neglect.

D.

Children not by any means allow'd,
Present or expected-nor the crowd
Of impertinents call'd visitors,
(Wretches who a Babel build in-doors ;)
Nor, in short, what plague soever that's
Noisy-monkeys, parrots, dogs, or cats.
Washing is a thing he cannot bear

In a house where he's himself a stayer.
Dinner must be punctual at four;
Table excellent, with ample store.
First-rate reference of course will be
Given and expected rigidly.
Letters to C. R. A. B., Cross Street,
Will such answer as they merit meet.
N.B. As economy's a law

With the Advertiser, he no more
Than a guinea weekly can afford
On this score of lodging and of board.
Those not as above-named need not try;
And no office-keeper need apply.

THE LEGENDARY.

No. 8.

'BROTHER MERRY;

OR, THE ADVENTURES OF AN OLD SOLDIER.

(Concluded from our last.)

Now had Brother Merry plenty of money, but he did not know what to do with it, but spent it and gave it away, till, in the course of a little time, he found himself once more penny less. Then he came into a country where he heard that the king's daughter was dead. "Ah!" thought he, "that may turn out well: I will bring her to life again." Then went he to the king and offered so to do.

Now the king had heard that there was an old soldier who went about restoring the dead to life, and thought that Brother Merry must be the very man; yet, because he had no confidence in him, he first consulted his council, and they agreed that as the princess was certainly dead, he might make the attempt. Then Brother Merry commanded them to bring him a cauldron of water, and when every one had left the room, he separated the limbs and threw them into the cauldron, and made a fire under it exactly as he had seen St Peter do; and when the water boiled and the flesh fell from the bones, he took and placed them upon the table, but, as he did not know how to arrange them he piled them one upon another.

Then he stood before them and cried, " in the name of the Holy Heaven, thou dead arise," and he cried so three times, bnt still to no purpose. "Stand up, you vixen, stand up, or it shall be the worse for you." Scarcely had he said this, ere Saint Peter came in at the window, just as before, in the likeness of an old soldier, and said, "you impious fellow, how can tne dead stand up when you have thrown the bones thus one upon another?

Ah, Brother Heart," answered Merry, "I have done it as well as I can."

"This time will I help you out of your trouble, but this I tell you, whenever you again undertake anything like this, you

will repent it: moreover, for this, you shall neither ask for nor receive the least thing from the king."

Thereupon St. Peter placed the bones in their proper order, and said three times, "in the name of the Holy Trinity, thou dead arise," and the princess stood up, sound and beautiful as formerly. Then St. Peter immediately went away again out of the window, and Brother Merry was glad that all had turned out so well; but he was sorely grieved that he might take nothing for it. "I should like to know," thought he, "what he had to grumble about-what he gives with one hand he takes with the other; there is no wit in that."

Now the king asked him what he would have; but, durst not take any thing; yet, he managed by hints and cunning that the king should fill his knapsack with money; and with that he journeyed forth.

But, when he came out, St. Peter was standing before the door, and said, "see what a man you are, have I not forbid. den you to take any thing, and yet you have your knapsack filled with gold?" "How can I help it," answered the soldier, "if they would thrust it in ?""This I tell you thenmind that you do not a second time undertake such a business: if you do, it will fare badly with you." "Ah, Brother, never fear: now I have money, why should I trouble myself with washing bones?" "Ah!" said St. Peter, "that will not last a long time; but, in order that you may never tread in a forbidden path, I will bestow upon your knapsack the power that whatever you wish into it, that shall be there. Farewell!-You will never see me again." "Adieu," said Brother Lusty, "and thought he, I am glad you are gone, you wonderful fellow: I am willing enough not to follow you. But he thought not of the wonderful property bestowed upon his knapsack.

Brother Merry went off with his gold, which he very soon spent and squandered as before.

When he had nothing but fourpence left, he came to a public house, and thought the money must go; so he called for three pennyworth of wine and one pennyworth of bread. As he ate and drank these, the flavour of roasting geese tickled his nose. So he peeped and pried about, and saw that the landlord had placed two geese in the oven. Then it occurred to him that his comrade had told him, whatever he wished in his knapsack should be there; so he determined the geese should be the test of it. He went out therefore and stood before the door, and said, "I wish that the two geese which are baking in the oven were in my knapsack,” and, when he had said so, he peeped in, and there they were, sure enough. "Ah, Ah, that is all right," said he, "I am a made man," and he went on a little way, took out the geese, and began to eat them.

As he was thus enjoying himself, there came by two labouring men, who looked with hungry eyes at the one goose which was yet untouched.

Now when Brother Merry saw that, he said, " one was quite enough for him." So he called them, gave them the goose, and bade them drink his health. When they had finished, they thanked him, and therewith went to the public house, called for wine and bread, took out their present, and began to eat it. When the hostess saw what they were eating, she said to her good man, "those two men are eating a goose, you had better see whether it is not one of ours out of the oven." The host opened it, and there was the oven empty. "Oh, you pack of thieves!-this is the way you eat geese, is it?-pay for them directly, or 1 will wash you tboth with green bajel-juice." The men said, "we are no hieves an old soldier whom we met on our road made us a present of the goose."—"You are not going to hoax me that

way: the soldier has been here, but went out of the door like a honest fellow-I took care of that,-you are the thieves and you shall pay for the geese." But, as they had no money to pay him with, he took a stick and beat them out of doors.

Meanwhile, as Brother Merry journeyed along, he came to a place where there was a noble castle, and not far from it little public house. Into this he went and asked for a night's lodging, but the landlord said his house was full of guests, and he could not accommodate him. "I would," said Brother Merry, "that the people should all come to you instead of going to the castle." "They have good reason for what they do, for whoever has attempted to spend at the castle, have never come to say how they were entertained." "If others have attempted it why should'nt I?" said Merry.—“You had better leave it alone," said his host, you are only thrusting your head into danger."—"No fear of danger," said Brother Merry, "only give me the key and plenty of brave eating and drinking." So the hostess gave him what he asked for, and he went off to the castle, relished his supper, and when he found himself sleepy, laid himself down on the floor, for there was not a bed in the place.

Well, he soon went to sleep, but in the night he was awakenened by a great noise, and when he aroused himself, behold! he saw nine very ugly devils, dancing in a circle which they bad made round him. "Dance as long as you like," said Brother Merry, "but don't come near me.' But the devils kept coming nearer and nearer, and almost trod on his face with their misshapen feet. "Be quiet," said he, but they behaved still worse. At last he got angry, and crying "Holla! I'll soon make you quiet," he caught hold of the leg of a stool and struck it about him. But nine devils against a soldier were too much, and if he laid about lustily upon those before him, those behind pulled his hair aud pinched him miserably. "Aye, aye, you pack of devils, now you are too hard upon me, but wait a bit," and thereupon he cried out, "I wish all the nine devils were in my knapsack,' and it was no sooner said than done: there they were; so he buckled it close up and threw it into a corner. Then was

all still again; so Brother Merry laid himself down and slept till morning.

When the landlord and the nobleman to whom the castle belonged came to see how it had fared with him, and when they saw him sound and lively, they were astonished, and asked "Did the ghosts, then, do nothing to you?” "Why not exactly," said Merry; "but I have got them all nine in my knapsack. You may dwell quietly enough in your castle now; from henceforth they won't trouble you." Then the nobleman thanked him, and gave him great rewards, and begged him to remain in his service, saying that he would take care of him all the days of his life. "No," answered he, "I am used to wander and rove about: I will again set forth.'

Then he went on till he came to a smithy, and he went in and laid his knapsack on the anvil, and bade the smith and all his men to hammer away upon it as hard as they could, -so they did, with their largest hammers, and all their might; and the poor Devils set up a piteous howling. And when at last they opened the knapsack, there were eight of them dead; but one, which had been snug in a fold of the knapsack, was still alive, and he slipt out and ran away or in a twinkling.

After that, Brother Merry wandered about the world for a long time; but at last he grew old, and began to think upon his latter end. So he went to a hermit, who was held to be a very pious man, and said, "I am tired of roving, and will now endeavour to go to heaven." The hermit answered, "there stand two ways, the one broad and pleasant, that

leads to hell; the other is rough and narrow, and that leads to heaven." "I must be fool, indeed," thought Brother Merry, "if I go the rough and narrow road." So he went the broad and pleasant way, till he at last came to a great black door, and that was the door of hell.

Brother Merry knocked, and the door-keeper opened it; and when he saw that it was Merry, he was sadly frightened, for who should he be but the ninth devil, who was in the knapsack, and thought himself lucky to have escaped with nothing but a black eye! So he bolted the door again directly, and ran to the chief of the devils and said, "There is a fellow outside with a knapsack on his back, but pray don't let him in, for, by wishing it, he can get all hell into his knapsack. He has got me a terribly ugly hammering in it." So they called out to Brother Merry, and told him he must go away, for they should not let him in. "Well, if they will not have me here," thought Merry, "I'll e'en try if I can get a lodging in heaven,-somewhere or other I must rest." So he turned about and went on till he came to the door of heaven, and there he knocked.

St. Peter, who sat close by, had the charge of the entrance, and Brother Merry knew him, and thought-" Are you here, old acquaintance? then things will go better with me here. But St. Peter said, "I suppose you want to get into heaven." Aye, aye, brother, let me in; I must put up somewhere. If they would have taken me into hell, I should not have come hither." "No," said St. Peter; "you don't come in here."-" Well, if you won't let me in, take your dirty knapsack again; I'll have nothing that can put me in mind of you," said Merry, carelessly. Then give it to me," said St. Peter. Then he handed it through the grating into heaven, and St. Peter took it, and hung it up behind his chair. Then said Brother Merry, "Now I wish I was in my own knapsack,"-and instantly he was there; and thus being once actually in heaven, St. Peter was obliged to let him stay there.

TO A TEAR.

Pure, silent messenger of sympathy!

Gliding with stealthy progress o'er the cheek Of beauty or of manhood, thou dost speak, With the heart's powerful eloquence: the sigh Upheav'd reveals not more expressively

The poignancy of woe remediless.

Doth sorrow, pain, or pity of distress,
Meck passion, rapture deep, or pleasure high
Send thee, pale pilgrim, for some succour nigh?—
Vainly I ask-but this I truly know,
Relief thou dost afford in joy and woe;
When hopes are born to man, and when they die.

Ne'er will thou fail to soothe, soft, healing balm, Like oil pour'd on the sea-which works an instant calm!

THE LITTLE SHROUD.

We are tempted to violate the rule which we have laid down with regard to the originality of all compositions admitted into our pages, in favour of the following touching little poem, which appeared in the Literary Gazette of Saturday last. Why we do so, the flattering note appended to it by its gifted authoress, will sufficiently explain. It is the first acknowledgment of our merits by any of the magnates of the literary world which has