POETRY. . true queen’s quasyroiv. or: THE RIVAL FLOWERS».

,3} joint CRITCHLIY PRINCE, q’uruon or “nouns erH was - ' ‘ ’ noses, 6w. __._ 'Lndies,—who linger o'er this page With pure and, tranquil pleasure,

.‘ Moved by the words oan and Sage,

" " Ur Bard’s romantic meas_ure,—-‘ ’ ' . . Deign to receive this random rhyme,

f‘-"'l.‘h'rl‘briof andsimple story, ‘ ,Of Solomon’s transcendent tirne Ofgrandeur and of glory.

Fired at the splendour of his fame, \

=33. ., . A proud sud regal maiden , I »To Israel’s distant kingdom crime

' ,fflVVitlr costly presents laden. ' brought bright gold from Ophir's mine, ' Rich gems ofinighty ices, * ‘ Reimcntofcolours lial divine, I -With,perfunies and with spices.

. ‘Wilh mingled majesty and grace,- . ,A gorgeous crpwd attending, , fshé met the monarch face to face, In silent homage bending. ' i-Witli dignified, bot gentle, tone, . ‘ His eyes with kindness beaming, {rhe‘uod king placed her on his throne, In posture more bes'ecrniug.

‘ ‘ -The than was spread, the hymn was sung, 1” ‘ -'"I‘hs dancers bounded lightly, . ' ' .' its-re music through the palace run‘g, I ‘- And scentgd lamps burned ,briglitly. " _ Meanwhile the monarch urged his guest "' . i To pleusuro’s sweet employment; And both, by radiant- looks, confessed - ‘ A The depth of their enjoyment.

A . With questionssubtle, deep, refined, \ In changing conversation, I ' ~The maiden tasked the monarch’s mind With skilful penetration. But still, like gold annealed by fire, Wit, wisdom, lore, and learning .Came from the king. the sage, the sire, , With richer lustre bunting.

3h The bullied queen was sorely triad, And dumb with pleasing wonder; But what can quell a women's pride, ' 0r keep her spirit'under ’ " I _ ' Sheba. with persevering pains, ‘ “ Assuniesa modest meckness, For one last question still remains To prove her. strength or weakness.

\_ With qu'ck and cunning hand she cull'd , , A mass ofscemlng flowers, ; - And one offers] sweetness pulled From lavish nature’s bowerv. ln equal parts, with silken tie, ,' She bound the blushing roses, =Till each appeared, to casual eye, Twin pyramids of pusius. '

Within the spacious palace ball, A fair mischievous thing» She stood apart from cuch and all, -Al1d thus addressed the king:— uPrayltell nie,’tliou oflrigh commend, . ,_ To whom great thoughts are given, W hicli is the work ofhurnan hand— VVhicli drank the dews oflieaven ?"

He gazed with earnest look and long— 'I.‘lte.question was repeated; M v . But still beheld a silent tongue, 2 . Hulfangry, hulfdcfeuted. ; ‘ . lTho pleased spectators clustered nigh, , " u And whispered—almost loudly—l . y ’ While Sheba, with inquiring eye, ' r‘ - Stood patiently and proudly.

; I, ' -'Twas sommer,end some bees had straved . - Away front fields and bowers, ' They hovered round the royal maid, And round the rival fiovvsrs; ,_ Tthol‘lfl gay group they clung at last, ’ Their own strange instinct guiding; 1But careless o’er the other passed, V 1.- Not one'lone win; abiding.

, :th Farr queen ! tlrose'fioral gems ofthirie, ' A, m __ _ Where yet the wild bee lingers, ' ' r i , ‘ " Where all the rainbow hues combine, - ’ ' Were trained by Nature’s fingers." Thus spoke old Israel's king aloud, And every bosom started; ' l 'The vanquished maiden blushed and bowed, , " Then gracefully departed; '

,pf Solomon’s exalted soul, OfSlieba’s mental merit, A portion of the glorious' whole, ' "Tis well if we inherit. Wryb sight to see, desire to know, And reason our adviser, Better and happier we may grow, And surely something wiser.

Fair female flowers, which breathe and bloom , Where’cr our lot. hath bound 'us; ' Flinging afi'oction’s dear perfume Delightfully around us. Born with a beauty all your own, In proud u'hd pure completeness, May Well-deserving bees alone ’ ~ . EnJoy your summer sweetness. q Ashton-under-Lyne, IGth November, 1843.

——._____ THE FORSAKEN GIRL.

BY .r.’o. WHIT‘I'III. V ” They parted—its all lovers part—- , She with her wronged and broken heart-— . But he, rejoicing he is free, Bounds like a captive from his chain And wilfully believing she ’ Hath found her liberty again." V Iftheres‘s any act which deserves deep and bitter con- damnation, it rs that of trifling with the inestimable gift of we an'e affection. The female heart may be compared to a delicate harp, over which the breathinvs ofearly affections wander, until each tender chord is awskoened to tones of in- efl‘able sweetness. It is the music of the soul which is thus forth—a music sweeter than the full of the fountains , . synthesizing ofHouri in the Moslern’s paradise. But “'0 for I {he del'testc fiishioning ofthat harp, ifa change pass over th pve which first called forth its hidden harmonies. Let ne e lect and cold unkindncss sweep over its delieate strin vs- trian they wiil break one after another—slowly perha s~bui surely. brivrsited, unrequited by the light oflove tile sot I like nxdy will be hushed in the stricken bosorrf—like tl - inorm l the Egyptian statue before the coming of sunr' ‘le _ I hsve'lieen Wandering among the graves. I love sorii: tnnes to dose. _ I feel a melancholy not ttnallied to ileasure in cornrriunnig with the resting place of those who have gone harm's—to go forth alone among the thronged tomb- stones, raining from each grassy undulation like the hostl sentrnels of the departed—And when I kneel abgvc ting IIaII'I‘OW-fllnI-IBIOH‘OLODB whom I have known/ and loved in ‘ _ life, I feel strange assurances that the spirit of the sleeper is , riser me, a viewless and ministering angel. It is a beautiful philosophy whrchshas found its way unsoughtand me‘trri- { _ ppsly into the silence ofmy heart—and ifit be only ailream l

——the unreal imagery offanc --I ' G ~ svnk'e from the heflullflll‘(Ielllilgndinuy' 0d mm 1 may [lever

i, I have been this evening by the rave of ‘ V ‘

. .plain;whtte tombstone, lrallihid WIIILflOWeE‘SmIIIII; :filhglsfla : read as pmurnful epitaph in the clear moonlitilrt wliich fally , upon piliketbe smile ol'riu angel, through an liipening in tin; } 7 ‘dmoptnghlfallélhiis- , hardy was a beautiful girl—the fairest , ofonr village maidens. Ithink lsee her now as shel k d l ,uhpnthe loved qua—tho idol; oflrerufl'ectionst-wns new? be

l rwnb his smile of COIlSOlOllI'lt‘ltltllPl’l and exultiug love ulster % had then seen but eighteen summers, and her whole. heir“5 ; seemed woven ot- the dream of: her first passion. The ob‘elii , other passion was a proud and wayward being—whit);

= .ness ofa pure and devoted heart. Naturehad deprived him

- of beauty. The flowers of Poetry were in his imagination a ’ perpetual bloSsoming; and it was to his intellectual beauty

haughty spirit never relaxed from its habitual st_ernness,’§ave when he found himselfin the presence of this young and beautiful creature, who had trusted her all “on the venture ofher vow,” and who loved him with the confidmg earnest-

of the advantuve of outward grace and beauty; and it Was the abiding coilsciousness of this which gave to his ruler- course with society a character of pride and sternness. He felt himself in some degree removed from . his fellow-men by the partial fashion of Nature, and scornedto seek a nearer affinity. His mind was ofnn exalted bearing, and prodigal

that/Emilv knelt down—bearing to the altar of her idol the fair flowei‘s of her affection, even as the dark-eyed daughters ofthe ancient Gliebcr spread 'out their offerings from the gardens oftbe East' upon the altar ofthe Sort. ‘ _ ,

There is surprising strength in low: like that of Emily s.— it has nothing gross nor earthly in its yearning—rt has its source in the deep fountains of the human heart—and it is such as the redeemed and sanctified. from earth might feel for another in the fair land of SPII‘IIS+HIRGE tlrnt such love should be unrequited, or turned back inl coldness upon the crushed heart of its giver.

.They parted—Emily and her lover—but not before they had voived et’ernal constancy to each other. The one re- tired to the quiet of lier‘liouie—to dream over again the scenes of her eerly passion—to count with untiringeugerncss the hours ofsepnration—‘and to weep over the long interval of ‘ hope defarred.’ The other witha strong heart to mingle with the world——girdcd with pride and impelled by ambi- tion. He \found the world cold and callon’s and selfish, and his own spirit insensiny took the litre of those around him. He shot his eyes upon the past—it as too pure and mildly beautiful for the gaze of'his manhoor .—lle forgot the passion of boyhood ;al| beautiful and: holy as it was, he ttirned not back to the young and lovely and devoted girl, who poured out to him in the confiding earnestness ofwbman’s confidence the wealth 'of her affection. He came not back to fulfil the vow which he lrnrl plighted. ‘

Slowly and painful the knowledge of her lover‘s'infidelity came over the sensitive heart of Emily. She sought for n time to shut the horrible suspicion from her mind ; she half doubted the’evidence of her own senses—she could not be~ have that lie was a traitor, for her memory had. treasured every token oflrer affection—every impassioned word, and every endearing smile of his tenderness. But the truth came at last; the doubtful spectre which had- long haunted her, and from which she had turned away, as if it were sin to look tipon it,—now stood before her a dreadful and nuns- capable vision of reality. There was one burst of passionate tears—the overflow of that fountain of aflliction which quenches the last ray of hope in the desolate bosom—and she was cairn, for the struggle was over, and she gazed steadily and with the awful confidence of one whose hopes ere not of earth, upon the dark valley ofdeath whose shadow was already aronnd her.

It was a beautiful evening of summer that I saw her for the last time; The sun wnsjust setting behind a long line of blue and undulating hills, touching t'lreir tall surrrrrrits with nrngiance like the halo which circles the dazzling brow ofan angel—sand all nature had pill on the rich gurniture of greeitness and blossom. As I approached the quiet and se- cluded dwelling of the once happy Emily, I found the door oftlie little parlor thrown open, and n feman voice ofsweet- ncss which could hardly be said to belong to'earth, stole out upon the soft summer air. It was like the breathing ofan JEolinn lute to the gentlest visitation ofthe chliyr. Invo- lun‘tarily I paused to listen—rand these words, I shall never forget them,came upon my ear like the low and melancholy music which We sometimes hear in, dreams:

0 No, I do not four to die,

v [for lropc’nntl faith are bold,

And life is but a \vcariness, Arid oartli is strangely cold :

In view ofdcath‘s pale solitude My spirit hath not mourned;

’Tis kindpr than ftn'gotten love, Or Friendship unreturnad.

And Icould pass that shadowed land, In rapture all the while,

Ifone who now is far away

I \Vere near rrie with his smile :

It scenis'n dreary thing to die Forgotten and alone;

Unheeded by otir dearest love, -

~ The tears and smiles ofone'.

Oh! plant my grave with pleasant flowery. The {arrest oftlrc fair, i The vcrv flowers he loved to twin At twilight in my hair; . ’ Perclrance be yet may \'isittliem,. And shed above my bier‘ ' The holiest dew of pleasant flowers—~ Affection’s hindly tear!

lt wss the voice of Emily—it was her last song. She was leaning on the sofa as I entered the apartment—her thin white hand resting on her forehead. She rose and wel- comed me with aynelancholy smile. lt played over the few- tnres for a moment, flushing her check with a slight rind , sudden glow, and then passed away, leaving in its stead the wanness and rnournful beauty of the dying. It has been said that death is always terrible to look upon. Brit to the stricken Emily the presence of the Destroyer Was like the ministration of an angel of light and holiness. She was passing ofl'to the land of spirits like the melting ofu sunset cloud in the blue of heaven—stealing from existence like the strain of ocean music as it dies away slowly and sweetly upon the moonlight waters. _

A few days after I stood by the grave of Emily. The vil- lagers had gathered together, one and all, to pay the lust tri— liute of respect to the lovely sleeper.——They mourned her loss with a deep sincere emotion; they marvelled that one so young and so beloved‘ should yield herself up to melan- choly, and perish in the spring time ofher existence. But they k not the hidden arrow, which had rankled in her bosonfle slow and secret withering of her heart. She had b “the calamity in silence—in the uncornplaiuing quietude of one who felt that there are woes wliiclf, like the canker concealed in the heart ofsome blossom, are discover- ed only by the untimely decay oftheir victim.

. Tin: Poort no Tut: Rica—There is no part ofonr pub- hc duty, the performance of which is so grateful to our own feelings as when we are engaged in urging the claims ofths destitute, the afflicted and the oppressed. The belief that no effort ofthc kind is utterly useless, but that what is writ~ ten, however fceb‘:y and inip'crtcctly, fidls under the notice of some one whose benevolence it excites,-or‘ ivhose charity it qurrkens, is motive enough for us. The Police Courts have recently disclosed Ilr'c sufferings ofa class of persons

the extstence of which was hardly suspected till that pain: fol disclosure took place. We allude to the case of indus- trious females, reduced to the necessity of maintaining themselves, and sometimes their children,- by needlework ' and we have it irr evidence that these unhappy beings afterz toiling twelve or fourteen hours a day, barely earrf their four or five shillings a-weck ? \Ve can dispense with the cunt ofsensibility, with the maudlin sympathy which ex- hattst themselvesin ejaculating a low tender “obs!” and

“abs 3” at hearing this; and we are prepared to hear the in-

dolent question of “ what can be done ?”—~and td be asked

whether we ourselves have any remedy to propose3 But when we 100k on the surrounding luxuries of the great-— when we contemplate the worthless uses to which wealth is applied—when we remember the means which Provi- dence_hns soabunduntly bestowed, and-the grievous n —

lectof them by those on whom they are 'bestowed—WIIEn we behold, on one side, unbounded affluence and on the other extreme want, disease, and misery—the: richly clad and the naked beggar—the high fed and the starving outcast .-—when we contemplate these contrasts almost side» b side

we trernble‘for the retribution that seems tobe prepariiif ' 0f ,one_tlirng we feel perfectly assured, that a social state villiicb exhibits these extremes has rottenness at its core and that it may be a part of' the inscrutable. dealings of Phovidence

with his creatures to-make the despised and neglected pqor

one. among} own

I

\

writ- tipon property—the war ofthe destitute against the un- feeling worshippers of Mammoth—would assume this che‘

.racter. ,.It is no sickly sentiment of humanity that we are

seeking to excite, no enthusiasm of charity, at Variance wrth common sense; but a healthy, manly, sober-minded and Christian feeling; that plain, honest feeling of the heart which, where it exists, teaches us to travel out of ourselves, and to regard the power of doing good as equivalent to the obligation; the feeling which makes a r‘ightfthinkrng putt) regard liimselfas God’s almoner, whether it be one guides, or a thousand that he can devote to the happiness of others, after he has made all necdful provision for himself and those who are dependent upon him. Let it not be supposed that we are playing the cynic, and rebuking our countrymen In the gross, withoutgiving them credit for the virtues they really possess. We know that in no nation on the face of the earth is there so large a stream of public and private charity oun- stnntly flowing as in England. But the question is, not what we have done, or what we continue to do; but what we are able to do, and what remains to be done. That rrrnch, very much, does retriain to be done, is painfully shown iii the rinse- ry which walks our public streets:thut we have the ability to do more, n rich rrrore, than is done, is equally proved by the gem-goons Wealth that dazzles us wherever we turn. How many hundreds languish in hopeless poverty, how much of silent, unutterable anguish, how rnaby breaking hearts orb. there, in desolate homes, that lie almost within the sound of the revelries ofthe great? While these things are, all is not riglit.—Joltn Bull.

lnrsu BlGGABS.—II is in vain to plead inability to relieve them; ifyou have no halfpence the qrrswer is ready, “ Ah, but We’ll divide it little srxpence between us;” and then c_onres the squabble us to which of the group shall be mad: agent for the rest. Every imaginable mode ofobtniriiug n gratuity is resorted to; distorted limbs are exposed, rugs are stinliously displayed; and, almost invariably, a half idiot, with his frightful glare and pm'alysed voice, is foremost amongst them. The language in which they f‘arrie their petitions is always pointed, .forcible, and generally highly poetic :—-“ Good luck to yer ludyship’s'liuppy face this morn- ing—sure ye’ll love the light heart in my bosom before ye go ?”—“Oh, then, look at the poor that can’t look at you, my lady; the dark man that can’t see, if'yer beauty is like yer sweet voice.”—“ Darling gintleman, the heavens‘be yerbed, and give us something.”—“0li, the blessing of the widdy and five small children, that’s waiting for yer honour’s bounty, ’ill be wid ye on tho road."—“Oh, help the poor cruythttt' that’s got no cliilder_ to show yer honour; they're down in the sickness, and the man that owns them at sen.” —“ Oh, than, won’t yer ludysliip buya dying woman’s prayers chapc ?”—“'l‘licy’re keeping me back from the penny you’re going to give me, lady dear, because I’m wake in myself and the heart’s broke wid the hunger.” Such are a few of the sentences we gather from the groups. \Ve might fill pages with similar examples pf'ingenious and eloquent rip- pcnls. There is no exaggeration in the Htl‘lklltg btrt niclsn-. clioly scene the artist has pourtrayed. A beggar, on recoiv~ ing a refusal from a poor law commiSsioner, addressed him with “Ah, then, it’s little business you’dhave only forthe likes of us ;” another, vainly soliciting charity from agentle- men with red hair, thrust forward her child, with, “ And won’t you give a hu’peuny to the little boy? sure he’s foxy like ycr honour.” “ You’ve Lost all'your teeth,” was said to one oftliem—“ Time for me to lose born when I’d nothing for thorn to do,” was the reply. Sometime ago we Were truvel~ lingr in_ a stage coach, and at Nuns, where it had been said “the native beggars double the population of the town,” a person inside told it troublesome and persevering applicant to go to . The woman turned up her eyes, and said, with inimitable humour, “Ah, then, it’s a longjourney yer

_ honour’s sending us; may be yet‘ honour ’Ll give us some-

tliiugto pay our expenses.”a—.Mr. and .Mrs. Hall’s Ireland.

The luxurious live to eat and drink, but the \viSe and tem- perate cat and drink to live.—I’lutarclr.

Tun WOMEN or ENGLAND.——0tt my first visit to England, it secured to the that beauty was the general rule for the wo- men therefand, its opposite a rare exception. It‘if'teri years later, although with eyes become more critical, 1 could not avoid being amazed by the number of beautiful persons amongst all classes, and being confirmed in my earlier opi- nion that Albion is pro-eminently the land of feminine love- liness. The skin ofEnglish women is so pure, transparent, and fresh, that the most fastidious critic' eye must pronounce it faultless: The complexion usually equals the most deli- cate rose-red, the hair is oftenest luxuriant, and rarely too light in colour, mostly brown, but occasionally blackish, and now and/then ofa red tinge. The teeth commonly vie with ivory in whiteness, and are also an object of especial care and preservation to their fair owners. ‘7‘ * Blue and broth eyes are the commonest, and ,1 do not think them'in the least deficient in loveliness- but their fire is subdued by u certain softness of expression. Snub-noses (obsit-omenU, are seldom seen ; and the insipid Grecian outline ofthis im- portant feature is happily not much oftner met with., No lsck is there of coral—red lips; and the mouth which they form has often the most gracious expression, and all the charm ofloveliness. Neck and shoulders are frequently of perfect beauty. * The bust is allowed to be one ofthe chief personal graces of which Englisliwomen ‘may boast; and many oftlrerri itr this respect may undoubtedly well sus- tuin a comparison with the most faultless forms represented by the masterpieces of antiquity. Nay, I amvirrclii'ied to think that the English outline will charm the taste of many even more than the-Greek.——Diary q/‘a German Naturalist.

Expenses or THE LAW.——The case of“ Ranger v. the Great VVcsteru Railway Company” involved upon the ques- tion 'ofarnount almost as important results as were embaaced in the great case of“ Small and Attwood.” ' We are able to lay before our readers sortie of its statistics. The first l‘ill was 812 folios, the amended bill 1,157. The first supple- mental suit bill 341 folios, the second supplemental suit bill 525 folios. Tire first answer 1,299 folios, the second 132 folios, the third 212 folios. The documents admitted, tip- wsrds of 800 folios. The plaintiff’s evidence, 1,865 folios; the defendants’ 405 folios. Total of folios, upwards of6,736. for which an office copy charge was made of 10d. per folio, besides volurriinoris affidavits. Short-hand notes, on colla- teral arguments, 2,200 folios. Observatian 30 brief sheets. The total brief embracing these copies, for Cot‘rnsel, would be nearly 960 brief sheets. Sir W. Follett’s fee was 300 guineas, and 100 additional, with sundry other fees, making £500. Mr. Stuart had 2'20 guineas, and 100 additional ; Mr. Richards 220 guineas; Mr. Steven, 150 gnineus, and 50 ad- ditional. In the early stage of‘the cause the counsel had fees as follows :—l“irst counsel 150 gn'nieas, second counsel 1‘25 guineus; third counsel £80; besides numerous other small fees; making a total, in counsel’s fees alone, ofnenrlv £2,000. The Vice-Chancellor has .alreatly ordered the plaintiff to pay a great part ofthe costs of these matters. The case was five years in progress, and the, same solicitors were for the Company that were engaged in “Small and Attwood,” namely,'l\lessrs. Swain, Stevens, and Co., Frederick’s-place, London. The short-hand-writcr’s‘bills amounted to nearly £400. Thus. it will be seen, that going to “law” is a'rather expensive amusement.