ot ask, in houses splendid,
To be by liveried slaves attended;
I ask not for estates, nor land,
Nor host of vassals at command;
I ask not for a handsome wife--
Though I dislike a single life;
I ask not friends, nor fame, nor power,
Nor courtly rank, nor leisure's hour;
I ask not books, nor wine, nor plate.
Nor yet acquaintance with the great;
Nor dance, nor sons, nor mirth, nor jest,
Nor treasures of the East or West;
I ask not beauty, wit, nor ease,
Nor qualities more blest than these--
Learning nor genius, skill nor art,
Nor valour for the hero's part;
These, though I much desire to have,
I do not, dearest goddess, crave.--
I modestly for MONEY call--
For _money_ will procure them _all_!

ANACREONTIC.

Come fill the bowl!--one summer's day,
Some hearts, that had been wreck'd and sever'd,
Again to tempt the liquid way,
And join their former mates endeavour'd;
But then arose this serious question.
Which best to kindred hearts would guide?
Water, was Prudence' pure suggestion,
But that they thought too cool a tide!

Peace bade them try the milky way,
But they were fearful 'twould becalm them;
Cried Love, on dews of morning stray,--
They deem'd 'twould from their purpose charm them.
Cried Friendship, try the ruby tide,--
They did--each obstacle departs;
'Tis still with wine 'reft hearts will glide
Most surely unto kindred hearts.

THE PILGRIM PRINCE.--BALLAD.

At blush of morn, the silver horn
Was loudly blown at the castle gate;
And, from the wall, the Seneschal
Saw there a weary pilgrim wait.
"What news--what news, thou stranger bold?
Thy looks are rough, thy raiment old!
And little does Lady Isabel care
To know how want and poverty fare."
"Ah let me straight that lady see,
For far I come from the North Country!"

"And who art thou, bold wight, I trow,
That would to Lady Isabel speak!"
"One who, long since shone as a prince,
And kiss'd her damask cheek:
But oh, my trusty sword has fail'd,
The cruel Paynim has prevail'd,
My lands are lost, my friends are few,
Trifles all, if my lady's true!"
"Poor prince! ah when did woman's truth,
Outlive the loss of lands and youth!"

* * * * *

THE SKETCH-BOOK.

THE SPLENDID ANNUAL.

_By the Author of "Sayings and Doings_."

Literature, even in this literary age, is not the ordinary pursuit of
the citi