Poverty.

Oh Poverty! 'tis said thou art no crime;
Then why am I thus friendless, thus forsaken ?
Why does the great man shun me, scorn me, loathe

me,

As if my mean attire were leper spots

That would infect him? Why am I passed by
Unheeded and disdained by those who once
Were my companions? Who holds out the hand
Of fellowship to me, the outcast wretch?
Yea, poverty, thou art a foul disgrace,
And ignominy treads upon thy heels;
Thou must bear insult, shame, and apathy;
Thou canst not walk erect 'mongst other men ;
Thou art a pestilence, abhorred, despised,-
Thy garb betrays thee, Hang or drown thyself;
Thou hast no business in this sordid world,
Where industry and wealth go hand in hand,
And proud man will not own thee as a brother.

Charity.

Yesterday

A great man visited me in my cottage,

And questioned me as to my misery,

Even to minute details. He wore a cowl too,
And promised me his prayers. To-day an angel
Probes not my wounds, but heals them. I am free!

Virtue its own Reward.

Distress should ever claim our sympathies;

Nay, should command them. Using money thus,

I feel I am its master.
The miser is its slave.

When 'tis hoarded,

How sweet the peace

Of mind arising from the consciousness

Of having done our duty.

A Secret.

It is not only what one tells a friend
In confidence that constitutes a secret.
There are a thousand passions which the mind
May agitate, and when in such a frame
All that one utters should be sacred held.
Besides the very essences of friendship
Consist of sympathies so woven and 'twined
In the possessors, that when either speaks
It is as if one held an intercourse

With one's own soul.

Rank.

B. My character is, I hope, unexceptionable; and my rank is scarce inferior to the proudest in the land,

M. Were the latter your only recommendation, chevalier, I fear your suit would make but sorry

progress with my girls. They owe much of their moral training to myself, and I have ever inculcated it as a maxim that unearned titles are only proofs of departed worth, and in many instances can only serve to sink their owners in our estimation, from a contrast with their original possessors.

First Lobe.

H. Had she the wealth of Creesus, I would still be true to my first love.

E. First! Who was that pray? You who have been in Paris and in London, must have admired many?

H. This seems like cruelty; but listen to me,
And I will tell you all my early feelings.
When first the gay world opened on my view
It seemed so dazzling, bright, and beautiful,
That methought nature was all loveliness,
And no dark spot disturbed the harmony
That reigned throughout. I could not read men's
hearts.

I knew my own, that like a mirror gave
To all that it reflected its own hue,-
Painting mankind like angels, and this earth
One sunny landscape but to be admired.

I dreamt not then of love; its hopes and fears

Were a sealed book I did not care to open.
But 'mid the starry eyes and blushing cheeks
Of the great cities, when almost bewildered
Amid that galaxy of beauty,-there

I felt a void within; there first I learned
It was not meet for man to be alone.

E. And did you pass that brilliant maze unscathed?

II. Yes; when I look'd around thro' that bright

Scene

Of Fashion for refreshing sympathy,

No eye met mine that I could love. The blaze
Of ton and dress,-the flashes of light wit
Were evanescent to the morning sun,

And, meteor-like, the spot which they illumed
Was left more dark than ever.

E. 'Tis too true.

II. I felt it so, and longed again to range The mountain paths rather than crowded rooms,To look upon the glittering vault of heaven, More radiant than the lustre-lit saloon.

To hold communion with the forest spirits

Was to me more congenial than to mix
With crowds in courts. Again I sought my home,
Again I wandered through the leafy grove;
Held converse with the genii of the stream,
And lived a new existence. Then I first

Met with young Love-there first I saw my Emma.

A Felon's Soliloquy,

A nice place this for a deed however foul. I have scarce a heart for it; and yet it must be done. What if I should draw out of it now? Why, then Paul steps in for the 300 francs, and I shall be laughed at for my pains. I fell into bad ways by little and little, and now I'm forced to be dishonest in despite of myself. My own nature made me a spendthrift, and the world pushed me into crime. I was not a felon till the doubt aud distrust of my neighbours made me one; and now the unkind and bitter selfishness of mankind keeps me so. Where can I turn for that generous treatment that will induce me to turn to Virtue for its own sake, and shun my present course from a hope of amelioration in my circumstances. Where will I be received with welcome, but amid the officials of a court or the turnkeys of a gaol? Its of no use thinking or debating, I must be a villain, and there's no help for it.

Profession and Practice.

C. Did you address the people

As I advised?

B.-I did.

C.-With what result?

B. You shall hear all. I thought I knew the

people;

So I addressed them in my wonted strain.

P