serted Village_ and the _Vicar of Wakefield_."
Goldsmith died in the Inner Temple. Aikin says he was buried with
little attendance in the Temple church; the correspondent of the
_Herald_ states, in the _churchyard_, so that the poet's biographers
are not even agreed WHERE he was buried. Yet, since his death,
thousands of pounds have been expended in restoring the architecture
of the Temple church, and one hears everlastingly of the rare series
of effigies of Knights Templars: but a few pounds have not been spared
for a stone to tell where the poor poet sleeps. True it is, that a
monument has been erected to his memory in Westminster Abbey, with a
Latin inscription, by Dr. Johnson, but the locality of his actual
resting-place is untold. We may say with equal truth and justice--

Oh shame to the land of his birth!

PHILO.

* * * * *

THE SAVOYARD.

_By E.B. Impey, Esq._

[The following ballad is founded on the melancholy fact of a Savoyard
boy and his monkey having been found starved to death in St. James's
Park during the night of a severe frost.]

Weary and wan from door to door
With faint and faltering tread,
In vain for shelter I implore,
And pine for want of bread.

Poor Jacko! thou art hungry too;
Thy dim and haggard eye
Pleads more pathetically true,
Than prayer or piercing cry.

Poor mute companion of my toil,
My wanderings and my woes!
Far have we sought this vaunted soil,
And here our course must close.

Chill falls the sleet; our colder clay
Shall to the morning light,
Stretch'd on these icy walks, betray
The ravages of night.

Scarce have I number'd twice seven years;
Ah! who would covet more?
Or swell the lengthen'd stream of tears
To man's thrice measur'd score?

Alas! they told me 'twas a land
Of wealth and weal to all;
And bless'd alike with bounteous hand
The stranger and the thrall.

A land whose golden vallies shame
Thy craggy wilds, Savoy,
Might well, methought, from want reclaim
One poor unfriended boy.

How did my young heart fondly yearn
To greet thy treach'rous shore!
And deem'd the while, for home-return
To husband up a store.

Why did I leave my native glen
And tune my mountain-lay,
To colder maids and sterner men
Than o'er our glaciers stray?

There pity dews the manly cheek
And heaves the bosom coy,
That q