shionable
_artistes_. What idle delights are all these compared with the wisdom
and virtue which once dwelt on the same spot. But had Clarendon lived
to see Crockford's splendid subscription-house rise after a golden
shower, in St. James's Street, (and this he might have done from the
front-windows of Clarendon House) he would, perhaps, have given us an
extra volume of _Essays_. We would that he _had_ so lived, if only
that his sublime truths might thus nave been multiplied for the good
of mankind, if not for the weak heads of St. James's Street.

* * * * *

THE GLANCIN' E'E.

Oh lassie tell me can'st thou lo'e,
I hae gaz'd upon thy glancin' e'e;
It soars aboon, it rolls below,
But, ah, it never rests on me.

Oh lassie I hae socht the hour
When pity wak'nin' lo'e might be,
Tell my sair heart a gauldin' flower
Has droopit in thy glancin' e'e.

Oh lassie, turn not sae awa'
Disdainfu', gie na death to me;
Does pity mark the tears that fa'?
Exhale them wi' thy glancin' e'e.

C.C.

* * * * *

WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

(_For the Mirror_.)

"There is a voice from the grave sweeter than song."--_Washington
Irving_.

Illustrious dead! one tributary sigh,
In that great temple where the mighty lie,
I breath'd for you--a magic charm was there
Where rest the great and good, the wise and fair;
Their glittering day of fame has had its close
And beauty, genius, grandeur, there repose.
Immortal names! kings, queens, and statesmen rise
In marble forms before the gazer's eyes.
Cold, pale, and silent, down each lessening aisle
They clustering stand, and mimic life awhile.
The warrior chief, in sculptur'd beauty dies,
And in Fame's clasping arms for ever lies.
"Each in his place of state," the rivals stand,
The senators, who saved a sinking land;
Majestic, graceful,--each with "lips apart"
Whose eloquence subdued and won the heart.
Pitt! round thy name how bright a halo burns,
When memory to thy day of glory turns;
And views thee in life's bright meridian lie,
And victim to thy patriot spirit die!
Round Fox's tomb, what forms angelic weep,
And ever watch that chill and marble sleep!
Silence, how eloquent! how deep--profound--
She holds her reign above the hallow'd ground.
Here sceptred monarchs in death's slumbers lie,
Tudors, Plantagenets--they too could die!