sphere is Vrania, the goddess of astrologiens. Polimnia inhabiteth the sphere of Sage Saturne, and is goddess of the depe-witted philosophers. Terpsichore, who dwelleth in the sphere of Jupiter, is goddess of all gladness made with instruments of low, softe, and swete sounde. Clio remaineth in the sphere of Mars, as goddess of the historiographers, and of suche, as with steely strokes have stablished stout stomakes. Melpomene, whose being is in the sonne sphere, is goddess of tragical writers. Erato, that dwelleth in the sphere of Venus, is the goddess of all solace. Euterpe resteth in the sphere of Mercury, and is goddess of loude noysed instruments, as trumpets that geve warning of peace and warre. Thalia occupieth the sphere of the moone, and is counted the goddess of all gode dities, as songes and sonnets*"

Ye gods, what a classification! Heraldry first among the Muses, and Poetry last. Of all the solemnities that ever were solemnized in this solemn world, solemn impudence is certainly the most amusing.

R.

BON MOTS AND EPIGRAMS

BY CELEBRATED MODERN CHARACTERS.

No. II.

"Ego auditor tantum."-JUVENAL Sat. i. 1.

THE gate into St. James's Park, near Mr. Canning's house at Spring-Gardens, had been taken down, and a

* "The Accedens of Armory, imprinted at London in Flete-streete within Temple-barre at the signe of the Hande and Starre by Rich. Cottyle. Anno 1572." It is one of the most curious and most scarce volumes ever an antiquarian dived into.

turn-stile substituted in its place; a gentleman inquired of Mr. Canning, why the entrance to the park had been altered-"Oh," he replied, "such very fat people went through."

When the army were supposed to be disaffected, during the Queen's trial, Luttrell asked one of the Ministers, "What they designed doing now their extinguisher was on fire."

It was at one time supposed, that the poem of Ampthill Park was written by Mr. Luttrell and Lord Nugent in conjunction. "How do people manage it, Rogers," said Sidney Smith, "when they write a poem together; does one person give one line and another the second, like two men at a saw-pit?"

It was told Jekyl, that one of his friends, a brewer, had been drowned in his own vat-"Ah!" he exclaimed, "floating on his watery bier."

ON WALTER SCOTT'S POEM OF WATERLOO,
BY LORD ERSKINE.

On Waterloo's ensanguined plain,

Full many a gallant man lies slain;

But none by bullet or by shot
Fell half so flat as Walter Scott.

Madame de Stael, who had no peculiar preference for female society, and confessed that she never knew what to say to a woman, on arriving very early at a dinner

』

party in Paris, before the master and mistress had come down stairs, found one lady already in the room before her. Mme de Stael felt it necessary to speak. What could she say? The lady had some beautiful diamonds. She first admired these. This was not sufficient. The lady smiled, and made no answer. She must speak again : and to a woman, of course, thought it necessary to speak only of dress. Continuing the subject of the jewels, she expressed herself, "très-curieuse," to be informed of the value of one of her rings. The lady, with a look of feigned surprise, repeated, "Curieuse, Madame ?—je me suis toujours imaginée que la curiosité était une passion de femme."

66

Dr. Holland was with Mr. Rogers at Pæstum, at the time when the latter is supposed to have written his verses, dated from that place. Some months after, Sidney Smith met Dr. Holland at a dinner, and inquired, whether it were true, that Rogers had written any thing at the moment of their visit. "No-not that I remember-only a verse or two." Only a verse or two?" interrupted Sidney Smith-" Only a verse or two-why, Rogers takes to his bed after writing a verse or two :-he has straw flung down before the door; his knocker is muffled his friends send to inquire after him: and the servant answers,' As well as can be expected.""

THE IDRIAN MINER'S WIFE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "MAY YOU LIKE IT.”

Thou know'st, that in my desert halls
The pride of youth and hope is o'er,
That sunk, defaced, my crumbling walls
Repose, or shelter, yield no more.

Yet on this dark, and dreary pile,

Thy love its tender wreaths hath hung;

And all it asks, is still to smile,

Bloom, fade, and die, where once it clung.

C. H. TOWNSEND.

THE Young Countess Blanch Volner stood alone in the magnificent saloon, which had been just thronged with lordly company. She had that day taken possession of her immense property; and her high rank and remarkable beauty and talent had gathered around her the noblest and wealthiest families of Vienna. Not a guest returned home dissatisfied; the dignity and simple grace of the young Countess, and the unaffected sweetness of her manners, had charmed even more than her surprising loveliness; and much more than the splendour of her entertainment. But Blanch had far higher claims to the admiration and love of all who really knew her: every one talked with rapture of her graces and accomplishments; a few hearts thought chiefly of her unpretending consistency of conduct-her real, humble goodness, the fair fruit of genuine piety. Blanch stood alone, and sighed; she partly sighed over her beautiful flowers, which hung in fading garlands round the room; she pressed her hand for a moment over her eyes, for they ached with the glare of the tapers still blazing around her; with a true girlish fancy she took from the tall candelabra beside her a long drooping branch of white

roses, which seemed dazzled like herself with the brilliant light; but as she touched them, the rose-leaves fell on the ground; she sighed again, but from a very different cause her heart had not been in the gaiety and splendour of the evening; she could not help reproaching herself for having shared in it at all, while Herman Alberti was exposed to the dangers of a distant war. As the young Countess was about to retire to rest, the arrival of a stranger, agitated and in haste, who earnestly requested to see her, was announced. She hesitated at first, but after a few moments' consideration she consented to appear; and, returning to the deserted saloon, there waited till the stranger was introduced to her presence. The Countess desired her servant to remain in the ante-room, for she observed that the young stranger hesitated to speak. How often did she turn pale !-how often did she tremble with agitation during that short interview! The man was the servant of the Count Alberti, and he had hurried to inform her that his master had dangerously wounded his commanding officer in a duel, and that he had not been since heard of, though a high reward was offered for his life. He had fought against the express command of the Emperor.

Many months passed away-months of sorrow and anxiety to the hapless Lady Blanch. The young deserter was never heard of, and the festive magnificence that had flashed for a moment in the palace of the Countess, entirely disappeared; but she was not giving way to useless grief; she sought out the wretched and the forsaken, and she relieved and consoled them. Her money, her time, and her prayers were devoted to the afflicted; and it was not their gratitude, but their restored happiness which rejoiced her; she loved to watch the clouds of sorrow gradually rolling away from