morality, to rake in the grave for dusty mementos of our evanescency: to hold up a dead man's scull before our eyes, as if we drank our wine out of it, and wished to hob-a-nob; to beat the devil's tattoo upon our memories with a skeleton's drumsticks! If we wish to stamp this moral upon our hearts, let us compare man with himself; let us contemplate the death of the living, of those who have survived themselves, and become their own tombs. Never did I feel so acutely the vanity of life, as when, in a palsied and superannuated old woman, I was told I beheld the celebrated beauty upon whom Lord Chesterfield had written the well-known song-- Fair Kitty, beautiful and young, But there is one pang, and an agonizing one it is, from which bachelors are happily exempt. Heaven sometimes reclaims the most beautiful of our angels for itself. When our children have just fastened themselves to our hearts by a thousand ties, Death, then, indeed, "a foul ugly phantom," will stretch forth his bony hand to wrench them from us, and almost tear up our hearts by the roots in the struggle ! Paternity is as garrulous as old age. God help the reader, when both are combined! Under such circumstances, it is hardly fair to visit him with the fond babblings of a mother, and yet I cannot refrain from concluding with the following maternal effu sion: ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 'Tis hard, dear babe, to think that for ever we must part, That thou again wilt never be press'd unto my heart; For tho' thou wert but young, thou wert made to us most dear, By a little age of sickness, anxiety, and fear.— How often with thy father have I sat beside thy bed, How we look'd at one another when thy colour came and fled; How sweet it was to listen to each newly prattled word, Fix'd open without winking, when thy spirit took its flight; Then what must we have suffer'd, who so watch'd them when awake, And nightly on their sleep stole a silent kiss to take? In every thing there lingers some thought of thee behind,- Thy trinkets, toys, and dresses, we are forced to hide them all; But if such sights of sorrow can our sympathies excite, MILLER REDIVIVUS; OR, AN OLD JOE IN A NEW DRESS. Mrs. Rose Grob. NONE would have known that Siegmund Grob But that he died, and left the job Of Tombstone-making to an Undertaker ; (The Sexton of Whitechapel Church will show it,) Then carved the following couplet from his own"STOP, READER, STOP, AND GIVE A SOB FOR SIEGMUND GROB!" Grob's Widow had been christen'd Rose, Roses, which quickly fled in scorn, To guard her lips from kisses. She relish'd tea and butter'd toast, Better than being snubb'd and school'd; Liking no less to rule the roast, Than feast upon the roast she ruled And though profuse of tongue withal, Now, as she was a truly loving wife, As well as provident in all her dealings, Just as a little hedge against her feelings- Two thousand pounds, besides her savings, Accordingly in Mile End Road She quickly chose a snug retreat; 'Twas quite a pastoral abode, Its situation truly sweet! Although it stood in Prospect Row, 'Twas luckily the corner house, With a side-window and a bow: Next to it was the Milkman's yard, whose cows Under the very casement stood to low. That was a pleasant window altogether, And when there was no dust or foggy weather, And see, without a glass, the people Across the road, half down a street, You caught a field, with hoofs well beaten ; For cattle there were put to eat, Till they were wanted to be eaten. Then as for shops, want what you will, A Tallow Chandler's nearer still; And as to stages by the door, Besides the Patent Coach, or Dandy, A dozen in an hour or more- One dust was never gone before Another came:-'twas monstrous handy! Behind, a strip of garden teem'd With cabbages and kitchen shrubs; 'Twas a good crop when she redeem'd Half from the worms, and slugs, and grubs. Beyond these was a brick-kiln, small But always smoking; she must needs In town she always had a teasing Here she was quite a different creature:- Give her the country air, and nature! Her cottage front was stucco'd white; Upon the house-top, on a plaster shell, "Rose Cottage" was inscribed, its name to dub : The green door look'd particularly well, Pick'd out with blue to match the tub; Whene'er they stopp'd to fix their eye on Here she resided free from strife, Except perpetual scolds with Betty, For one no savings were too petty, |