s belong,
The living memory--with the lifeless token!

Barry Cornwall has contributed several minor pieces, though we fear his
poetical reputation will not be increased by either of them.

Some of the minor pieces are gems in their way, and one of the most
beautiful will be found appended to our current Number.

To the _prose_:--The first in the volume is "the Sisters," a pathetic
tale of about thirty pages, which a little of the fashionable
affectation of some literary coxcombs might fine-draw over a brace of
small octavos. As it stands, the story is gracefully, yet energetically
told, and is entitled to the place it occupies. The author of Pelham
(_vide_ the newspapers) has a pleasant conceit in the shape of a
whole-length of fashion, which, being the best and shortest in its line
that we have met with, will serve to enliven our extracts:--

TOO HANDSOME FOR ANY THING!

Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy was one of those models of perfection of which
a human father and mother can produce but a single example,--Mr.
Ferdinand Fitzroy was therefore an only son. He was such an amazing
favourite with both his parents that they resolved to ruin him;
accordingly, he was exceedingly spoiled, never annoyed by the sight of
a book, and had as much plum-cake as he could eat. Happy would it have
been for Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy could he always have eaten plum-cake, and
remained a child. "Never," says the Greek Tragedian, "reckon a mortal
happy till you have witnessed his end." A most beautiful creature was
Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy! Such eyes--such hair--such teeth--such a
figure--such manners, too,--and such an irresistible way of tying his
neckcloth! When he was about sixteen, a crabbed old uncle represented to
his parents the propriety of teaching Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy to read and
write. Though not without some difficulty, he convinced them,--for he
was exceedingly rich, and riches in an uncle are wonderful arguments
respecting the nurture of a nephew whose parents have nothing to leave
him. So our hero was sent to school. He was naturally (I am not joking
now) a very sharp, clever boy; and he came on surprisingly in his
learning. The schoolmaster's wife liked handsome children.--"What a
genius will Master Ferdinand Fitzroy be, if you take pains with him!"
said she, to her husband.

"Pooh, my dear, it is of no use to take pains with _him_."

"And why, love?"

"Because he is a great deal too handsome ever to be a scholar."

"And