Ormsby, who will most likely be too glorious. With respect to Lady Frettington

"With great respect, if you please, for she is my very particular friend."

"What can be the meaning of all her exertions for the mere purpose of giving a ball?"

"Because she does not know a soul in London. The Frettingtons have been buried alive these ten years in the Highlands."

"But she has no daughter out?"

"Clara Frettington is only fifteen."

"Then there can be no occasion for giving balls on her account." Poz, Poz, your ignorance of the world is quite distressing! Don't you know that in certain clubs, a man must be black-balled thrice before he can get in? Don't you know that three unsuccessful ballottings are necessary to become an India Director?"

"But Lady Frettington (though an old woman) don't want to be made an India Director?"

"She wants to get into society. She wants to make a good London acquaintance. Every new woman must give two bad balls before she can filter her set into anything satisfactory,

"Had she waited till her eldest daughter was presented," resumed her ladyship, not noticing my interruption, "poor Clara and Louisa would have risked the acquaintance of all the tigers in town (who will probably be at Lady Frettington's on the 23rd). As it is, thanks to my good advice, she will get through all the dirty work before the girls come out. Two years hence, Lady Frettington's balls will have become the right thing. People will have done inquiring, "Who is that Lady Frettington?

"En attendant-who is this Lady Frettington?"

66

Why, to say the truth, but I can't explain the whole to you, just now. That is my sister Matcham's knock, and you know we don't sit in the same room. A demain, my dear Poz, and a Dieu.

Court Journal.

THE DYING MOTHER'S GIFT.

I'm dying, my life is ebbing fast ;

Draw nearer, my son, this hour is my last.

Press warmly my hand, while my tongue shall praise
The God who alone my soul shall save.
A few short moments my spirit shall flee,
And thou wilt, my child, an orphan be,
With no earthly friend thy feet to guide,

But the God of the friendless will near thee abide.
Yes, near thee; trust to him he'll bear thee along,
Though thy lot be hard, and thy years be young,
Trust to thy Saviour who lives on high;
Who trusteth in him shall never die.

Take for thy succour this Book of Truth,
I've treasured it up from my early youth,
And found it my comfort, support and stay
The beacon of light to an endless day.

When friends have forsaken, acquaintance grown cold,
I've turned me, my son, to that book of old,
I love it and treasure it, be it thy care,

To treasure like to me the truths that are there.
Learn from it how Jesus was scoffed at, reviled,
That we to his Father might be reconciled,

How he offered himself as a ransom to save

Us from sin, and from sorrow, from death and the grave.
May my blessings attend thee, my own darling child,
God keep thee from sorrow, and save thee from guile
Preserve thee and comfort the days of thy youth
Lest thou swerve from the path of the sunbeam of truth.
Come closer, receive the last kiss from my lips,
The last kiss of sorrow is followed by bliss,
The struggling with spirit and flesh is now o'er,
Farewell! we shall meet on a heavenly shore.

BY-GONE DAYS.

J. M. HOLLYOCK.

BALLAD.-WRITTEN AND COMPOSED BY LANGTON WILLIAMS.

Oh! 'tis sweet 'neath the shade of an old oak tree,
When the summer's sun fades in the sky;

To sit at our ease 'mid the berries and leaves,
And to think upon days gone by.

To think once again on those bright smiling hours,
Of our childhood so artless and free;

Oh! how joyous we played 'mid the acorns and flowers,
That bloomed 'neath that old oak tree.

And tho' long years have passed, the tree stands unchanged,
Its acorns still scatter the ground;

'Neath its sheltering brow, the wild daises still grow, And the children are playing around.

But where are those forms, and those faces so dear?

I have bid them adieu one by one;

As the leaves when they droop, at the fall of the
Like a dream they are faded and gone.

year

Still 'tis sweet 'neath the shade of an old oak tree
Tho' the mem'ry may cause us a sigh;

To sit at our ease, 'mid the sheltering leaves,
And to think upon days gone by.

ALL MEN EQUAL.

AN EASTERN APOLOGUE.

THE Pacha one day said to the Sultan, " All men are equal in the sight of the Prophet, wherefore then shouldst thou sit upon a throne, when I have only a divan: or possess an empire, whilst my rule only extends over a province ?"

"It is possible that thou mayst be in the right," replied the Sultan, "to-morrow I will bestow on thee my empire and my throne, if thou canst find the means of making all men really equal.'

The Pacha went forth from the presence of the Sultan with a joyous heart, and immediately began to proclaim aloud the equality of all the followers of Mahomet. But just as he reached his own door, he met a Vizier, who said to him-"Wherefore then dost thou bear rule over a province, while I am only the governor of a town; and why shouldst thou wear a jewelled turban, while mine is of simple cloth of gold?"

"To-morrow," replied the Pacha, "thou shalt rule over my province, and my jewelled turban shall glitter upon thy brow."

The delighted Vizier went his way, longing for the morrow, but as he bent his steps homeward, he met a captain who thus addressed him, "Why shouldst thou command an army, whilst I only command a battalion; and wear a golden turban, whilst mine is only made of silk?"

"To-morrow," replied the vizier, "my army and my turban shall be placed at thy disposal."

But a lieutenant said to the captain: "In the name of equality, I desire that thou shouldst yield up to me the command of thy battalion."

And as the lieutenant went his way, a cavalry soldier approached him, and said, "I must have thy rank in the army, and my pay must be made equal to thine."

Now whilst he yet spoke, a foot soldier came near, and said, "Give me thy horse and thy sabre, and take my gun, which is too heavy for me to carry any longer."

And the reply which each of these men gave to his neighbour was: -"To-morrow thou shalt have what thou requirest;"-for each had sought to place himself on a level with his superior, without remembering that he left an inferior also behind him.

But as each had still a superior above him, and none was disposed to remain a subaltern, they were all incessantly striving to rise higher and higher, in the name of equality.

So at last a terrible civil war broke out, and the opposing parties being unable to come to any agreement, there was nothing but bloodshed and slaughter to be met with from one end of the kingdom to the other-the victors disputed amongst themselves over the spoil of the

vanquished, and inequality had no sooner vanished than it quickly reappeared.

Those who survived were yet more miserable than those who had perished, and every man's hand was against his fellow, when a poor slave who had remained contentedly in his own position, without envying the lot of others, thus addressed the dethroned sultan, the despoiled pacha, the viziers who had been deprived of their command, the captains who had lost their battalions, the dismounted horseman, and unarmed infantry-" Each of you once thought himself more fortunate than me, and yet I am now happier than any of you. Know ye wherefore I am so? Even because there is a prophet who is yet greater than your prophet, and he has thus spoken in his book which lieth open for all men to read: The lofty cedar protects the head of the lowly hyssop, and the hyssop nourishes the roots of the cedar.' Each therefore, alike stands in need of the other, and herein does their true equality consist. There must ever be some amongst you who are poor in this world's goods, for man is not destined to find his happiness here below, Blessed are they that weep now, for they shall be comforted hereafter. Woe to them who take away from others instead of giving to them of their abundance, for it is easier for a camel to pass through the needle than for a wicked rich man to enter into the kingdom of heaven.'

eye

of a

"And this prophet," added the slave, as he signed himself with the sign of the cross, "is the God whom I worship."

THE ONE SWEET FACE AT HOME.

BALLAD

WORDS BY STUART FARQUHARSON. MUSIC BY STEPHEN GLOVER.

Oh! tell me, hast thou never sighed,
Amid the gay and festive hall.

Where splendour revels in its pride,

For one sweet face, more dear than all !
Oh! where can love like that be found,

As o'er the wide, wide sea we roam ?
Oh! where can smiles like those abound,
That light one sweet, sweet face, at home.

Bring not the flowers of Araby,

Nor gems, that glitter to the view;
Such gifts would have no charms for me,
For such my cottage never knew.
But bring to me in faney's dream,

Should fate condemn me hence to roam,

That gentle smile with sunny gleam

That lights one sweet, sweet face at home,

THE VICTIM.

BY JOHN CHARLES HALL, ESQ.

"Oh, ever thus from childhood's hour,
I've seen my fondest hopes decay.
I never lov'd a tree, or flower,

But 'twas the first to fade away."

"AND can you love me, Henry? Can you, who command rank, fortune, everything, consent to marry a country rustic? and the tears dimmed the lustre of each lovely eye). You never can. No! no!

Your p

"Oh, say not so, dearest Mary," replied Henry Cavendish; "say not so. Need I again repeat the oft-pronounced vow? By the moon that beams from yonder heaven-by the ten thousand stars that glitter round it-by the power that wields the thunder-bolt, and scatters the golden dust on the petals of the flower

By the memory of that hour, when in silence and bliss,

I left on that fair cheek my fond, parting kiss

By the truth that I said should for ever remain-
By the tears that I've shed since of anguish and pain,

I swear, till this bosom shall exhale its breath,

I fondly will love thee! nor change but in death.

But to-morrow I leave you: to-morrow (for a time at least) I must be severed from all that is dear to me; must leave this garden, where we so often have strayed together; the mossy bank, where reclining, I have read to you that favourite poem. But the air grows chill, we must away-say you will see me before I depart :" and, leaning on his arm, they soon reached the vicarage.

who, at a

Henry Cavendish was the youngest son of Lord very early age, placed him under the care of Dr. (Mary's father). When Henry first came there, Mary and he were but children, and the Doctor thought no harm could result from their playing together. Time passed on, and when Mary returned from school, where she had been staying four years, Henry found his little playmate had grown a beautiful girl of seventeen. The Doctor now began to regard Henry as his son, and perhaps suffered the young people to be more together than prudence dictated. They sang together, walked together, read together; and one moonlight night, as they were returning from the house of a friend, Henry confessed he loved her, and was accepted.

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The next morning they all met at breakfast: it was passed in silence, and sent away almost untouched; no one seemed inclined to speak,

N. S. VOL. XXXV.

P