lady, to have a whole day to ourselves!' They agreed to try whether this was not possible; and at last found a small apartment in the Tuileries, belonging to a friend, which was unoccupied, and in which they proposed to meet. They arrived, accordingly, in sepa rate conveyances, about 11 in the forenoon, appointed their carriages to return at 12 at night, and ordered dinner from a Traiteur. The morning was passed entirely to the satisfaction of both, in the effusions of love and friendship: If every day,' said the one to the other,' were to be like this, life would be too short.' Dinner came, and before four o'clock, sentiment had given place to gaiety and wit. About six, the lady looked at the clock: "They play Athalie to night,' said she, and the new actress is to make her appearance. 'I confess,' said the President,' that if I were not here, I should regret not seeing her.' 'Take care, President,' said the lady, what you say is really an expression of regret; if you had been as happy as you profess to be, you would not have thought of the possibility of being at the representation of Athalie.' The President vindicated himself, and ended with saying, ' Is it for you to complain, when you were the first to look at the clock, and to remark that Athalie was acted to night? There is no clock for those who are happy.' The dispute grew warm, they became more and more out of humour, and by seven they wished most earnestly to separate. That was impossible. Oh!' said the lady, I cannot stay here till twelve. Five hours longer! What a punishment!' There was a skreen in the room; the lady seated herself behind it, and left the rest of the room to the President. The President, piqued at this, takes a pen, and writes a note full of reproaches, and throws it over the skreen; the lady picks up the note, and writes an answer in the sharpest terms. At last, twelve o'clock arrived, and each hurried off separately, fully resolved never to try the same experiment again.

In the late naval disaster at the Isle of France, the Néréide contended alone against the enemy's force, consisting of three heavy frigates, an Indiaman, and batteries on which were mounted sixty pieces of cannon. She fought while she had a man or a mast standing, and drove the whole of the Gallic vessels on shore. two hundred and eighty brave hearts, comprizing her crew, two hundred and sixty were either killed or wounded, thereby not

Of

leaving a number sufficient to work a gun. In memory of such men! England must weep-EXULTING weep!'

ORIGINAL POETRY.

WEEL TIM'D DAFFIN.'

ADDRESSED TO THE EARL OF DALKEITH.

LET dunces grave of Zeno's school
Wisely pretend to live by rule;
We'll steal an hour to play the fool
In Weel-tim'd Daffin.

Whate'er sententious greybeards say,
T'enjoy is often to obey;

And we'll our grateful tribute pay
In Weel-tim'd Daffin.

Let rising tempests howl around,
Our mirth shall echo to the sound,
And evening's social hours be crown'd
Wi' Weel-tim'd Daffin.

Enough of care we all shall find
To overcloud the brightest mind,
And wreck the soul that's not inclin'd
To Weel-tim'd Daffin.

Ye venal slaves wha haunt a court,
Ambition's victims, Folly's sport,
Your only comfort lies in Port,
And Weel-tim'd Daffin.

Ye rueful swains wha idly rove
By purling stream, or myrtle grove;
Take respite from the frowns of love
In Weel-tim'd Daffin.

Ye sordid miscreants wha spare
The gold you count, your lavish heir
Shall purchase soon an ample share
O' Weel-tim'd Daffin.

Weel-tim'd daffin.'-These words were given by his Lordship as a toast. Perhaps the idiom is not altogether translatable; it may however be pretty faith fully rendered by the phrase, 'Seasonable merriment.'

For

Through which November's blasts are mourning,

Thy hollow sounds a dirge shall be

For hours of joy no more returning!

If

If, at that hour, by fortune led,

Forgetful JULIA should pass by thee; May howling gusts, portentous, dread,

With saddest notes of grief supply thee!
Who knows, but from that plaintive sound,

Her heart some sympathy may borrow;
And, on that brow, where anger frown'd,
Be seen some transient gleam of sorrow.
Yet, O my Lyre! if down that cheek
One soft, relenting tear be stealing,
In softest tones of pity speak,

And blunt each harsher, keener feeling!

For still, to me, her peace is dear,

Still this distracted brain' remembers, The hours when bright-eyed Hope was near, And fans expiring passion's embers.

Nor can those embers ever die ;

Though every dream of hope be ended; Still, JULIA, thou shalt prompt the sigh Of tenderest love, and sorrow blended!

B. B. W.

STANZAS

ADDRESSED TO A VERY YOUNG LADY,
November hirples o'er the lea,

Chill, on thy lovely form;

And gane, alas! the shelt'ring tree,

Should shield thee frae the storm.-BURNS.

LOVELY cherub, sweetly smiling,
Mid' this scene of earthly strife;
Let the bard, his cares beguiling,
Hail thy entrance into life!

Early have the blasts of sorrow

Howl'd around thy infant head;
But we trust some happier morrow
Will her richest blessings shed!

Oft the gloomy clouds of morning
Flee before advancing day;
When the sun's bright rays adorning,
Gild the beauteous landscape gay.

Though the tender name of mother,

Be to thee, sweet girl! unknown; Though the ties of sister, brother, Thou canst never call thine own:

Though thy father, o'er the ocean,
Bends his steps to India's coast;
By the bounding billow's motion,
To and fro tempestuous toss'd:

Yet, by kindest friends protected,
All thy wants are well supplied;"

No precaution is neglected,

For thy comfort to provide.

May thy HEAVENLY PARENT's blessing
Well repay their guardian care;
And mayst thou, each grace possessing,
Long survive, their love to share.

Mildest zephyrs, softly playing,
Round this lovely opening flower;
Health and beauty still conveying
By your breezes every hour!

Vernal showers, from heaven descending,
Shed your influence all around!
Guardian angels, too, attending,

Clear from noxious weeds the ground!

When, progressively advancing,

Buds and blossoms charm no more;
May the eye discern, quick-glancing,
Of rich fruit an ample store!

Sense and wit, for childish beauty,
Then shall charm the ravish'd sight;
Faithfully perform'd each duty

Thou shalt hail approaching night.

Night how short! and soon succeeded
By the beams of endless day;
Then the soul, no more impeded,
Wings to Heaven its destin'd way.

Borne aloft, on eagle pinion,

To the realms of light and joy;
Subject of a new dominion!
Child of immortality!

There, in peace for ever dwelling,
Grief and sorrow felt no more,

May'st thou find, my lovely ELLEN!
Happiness unknown before!

B. B. W.