a paltry hundred a year, that poor Petitjean asked, in addition to his very moderate salary. He only stipulated for that, and to be allowed French wines at his table; (how could Lord Hendon expect him to set his throat on fire with port and sherry!) and yet his very reasonable demands were refused. So the invaluable creature was suffered to depart, and the Carberrys secured him instantly, on his own terms.

MR. LESLIE.

Lord Hendon's mad-actually insane! Better have cut off his right-hand, than parted with Petitjean—who the devil will eat his dinners now? There's not a man in England, besides Petitjean, who can send up a salmi or a vol aú vent,-Lord Hendon must take the consequences. If the Duke and Lord Wigblock hear this, I should not be surprised, if- and who could blame them? Carberry's a lucky man!

LADY MARY.

Yes; and really, every thing at Beau-Vallon is in the best taste! du meilleur ton. So rigidly exclusive — no odd people ever get in there: and whatever you may say, my dear Mr. Leslie, Lady Carberry is an enchanting woman, though rather too fastidious. She has settled, by the by, that you are the only creature existing who can take Jaffier.

MR. LESLIE.

Oh! there's Harry Dormer, you know; ha, ha, ha! Harry Dormer-why the fellow's not five feet six !

LADY MARY.

And you are just six feet!—that's what Lady Carberry said—" such height," said she, "such a figure to set off the dress; et puis des moustaches; ah, ciel!" You know how enthusiastic she is.

MR. LESLIE.

A fascinating creature, certainly, at times, and not without considerable tact; but, won't Harry Dormer's mustachios do?-ha, ha, ha! they might drop off, to be sure

LADY MARY.

I hear he does nothing, from morning to night, but practise before a pier glass; and says you're just six inches too tall for the part.

MR. LESLIE.

Good; excellent; capital!— he makes quite sure of it then?

LADY MARY.

Oh, yes! for when I was sounded on the subject, I gave no hope whatever of our breaking the Hendon engagement.

MR. LESLIE.

Confound the Hendon engagement !—you might have consulted me, Lady Mary. I never give definitive answers; always to be avoided, if possible; and I hate a decisive tone in women. My brother may be led by the nose, if he pleases; but I However, my life! I know your intention was admirable, but another time—

are you sure they've really got Petitjean at Beau-Vallon?

LADY MARY.

Oh, positive! — Lord and Lady Cormorant are just come from thence, and they rave about the new chef de cuisine: and poor Marchmont, who has been down at Hendon, filant le parfait amour, with your sister, you know, and is really devotedly attached to her, told me, the other day, he was absolutely obliged to run up to town to get a decent feed. Such a table at Hendon now! des infamies — he swore he could not stand it a day longer.

MR. LESLIE.

Nor will I try the experiment, by all that's good. Lord Hendon must take the consequences; for, in my state of health—under existing circumstances—taking every thing into consideration-I know how wretched you would be on my account, my dear Lady Mary—and there's a certain duty a man owes to himself—and,— and all that sort of thing—and, thereforeDo you think the part of Jaffier is open yet?

LADY MARY.

Oh, I'm sure of it—or if it were not, Lady Carberry would not hesitate a moment to discard Harry Dormer, and make room for you. But consider a moment, what will Lord and Lady Hendon say? what will people think ? They may fancy you are influenced by me.

MR. LESLIE.

Oh, no! they know me too well-that would be

vastly too absurd; but, when a man's life's at stake (and I really do not feel well); and as my Lord Hendon pleases to forget what is due to his family and friends; and—and then, Beau-Vallon being near town; that all things considered, you may accept Lady Carberry's invitation, and I will arrange the other matter. Poor Dormer! ha, ha, ha! "six inches too tall;" capital! [Exit, laughing.

SILBURY-HILL.

GRAVE of Cunedha, were it vain to call
For one wild lay of all that buried lie
Beneath thy giant mound? From Tara's hall
Faint warblings yet are heard, faint echoes die
Among the Hebrides; the ghost that sung
In Ossian's ear, yet wails in feeble cry
On Morvern; but the harmonies that rung
Around the grove and cromlech, never more
Shall visit earth: for ages have unstrung
The Druid's harp, and shrouded all his lore,
Where under the world's ruin sleep in gloom
The secrets of the flood,—the lettered store,
Which Seth's memorial pillars from the doom
Preserved not, when the deep was Nature's tomb.

H.

TO A DEPARTED SPIRIT.

BY MRS. HEMANS.

I.

FROM the bright stars, or from the viewless air,
Or from some world, unreached by human thought,
Spirit, sweet spirit! if thy home be there,

And if thy visions with the past be fraught,

Answer me, answer me !

II.

Have we not communed here, of life and death?
Have we not said that love, such love as ours,

Was not to perish, as a rose's breath,

To melt away, like song from festal bowers ?

Answer, oh! answer me !