MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. My mother's grave, my mother's grave! Oh! dreamless is her slumber there, And drowsily the banners wave O'er her that was so chaste and fair; Yea! love is dead, and memory faded! But when the dew is on the brake, And silence sleeps on earth and sea, And mourners weep, and ghosts awake, Oh! then she cometh back to me, In her cold beauty darkly shaded! I cannot guess her face or form; But what to me is form or face? I do not ask the weary worm To give me back each buried grace Of glistening eyes, or trailing tresses! I only feel that she is here, And that we meet, and that we part; And that I drink within mine ear, And that I clasp around my heart, Her sweet still voice, and soft caresses! Not in the waking thought by day, Not in the sightless dream by night, Do the mild tones and glances play Of her who was my cradle's light! But in some twilight of calm weather, She glides, by fancy dimly wrought, A glittering cloud, a darkling beam, With all the quiet of a thought, And all the passion of a dream, Linked in a golden spell together! W. M. PRAED. TEN YEARS AGO. Ten years ago-ten years ago— Life was to us a fairy scene; And the keen blasts of worldly woe Had seared not then its pathway green. Youth and its thousand dreams were oursFeelings we ne'er can know againUnwithered hopes, unwasted powers, And frames unworn by mortal pain. Such was the bright and genial flow Of life with us-ten years ago. Time had not blanch'd a single hair In love's deep truth, in earlier years; Though sometimes stained by secret tears. But where, O where's the spirit's glow, That shone through all-ten years ago? I too am changed-I scarce know why; In the first summer month of life; ALARIC A. WATTS. THE MARCH OF INTELLECT. BY THEODORE HOOK. It happened on the 31st of March, 1926, that the then Duke and Duchess of Bedford were sitting in their good but old house, No. 17 Liberality Place (the corner of Riego Street), near to where old Hammersmith stood before the great improvements, and, although it was past two o'clock, the breakfast equipage still remained upon the table. It may be necessary to state that the illustrious family in question, having embraced the Roman Catholic faith (which at that period was the established religion of the country), had been allowed to retain their titles and honourable distinctions, although Woburn Abbey had been long before restored to the church, and was, at the time of which we treat, occupied by a worshipful community of holy friars. The Duke's family estates in Old London had been, of course, divided by the Equitable Convention amongst the numerous persons whose distressed situation gave them the strongest claims, and his grace and his family had been for a long time receiving the compensation annuity allotted to his ancestors. "Where is Lady Elizabeth?" said his grace to the Duchess. "She is making the beds, Duke," replied her grace. 66 What, again to-day?" said his grace. "Where are Stubbs, Hogsflesh, and Figgins, the females whom, were it not contrary to law, I should call the housemaids?" They are gone," said her grace, 'on a sketching tour with the manciple, Mr. Nicholson, and his nephew." 66 Why are not these things removed?" said his grace, eyeing the breakfast-table, upon which (the piece of furniture being of oak without covering) stood a huge jar of honey, several saucers of beet-root, a large pot of halfcold decoction of sassafrage, and an urn full of bean-juice, the use of cotton, sugar, tea, and coffee having been utterly abolished by law in at the academy or the gymnasium: however, the year 1888. "I have rung several times," said the Duchess, "and sent Lady Maria upstairs into the assistants' drawing-room to get some of them to remove the things, but they have kept her, I believe, to sing to them; I know they are very fond of hearing her, and often do so. His grace, whose appetite seemed renewed by the sight of the still lingering viands which graced the board, seemed determined to make the best of a bad bargain, and sat down to commence an attack upon some potted seal and pickled fish from Baffin's Bay and Behring's Straits, which some of their friends who had gone over there to pass the summer (as was the fashion of those times) in the East India steamships (which always touched there) had given them; and having consumed a pretty fair portion of the remnants, his favourite daughter, Lady Maria, made her appearance. "Well, Maria," said his grace, "where have you been all this time?" "Mr. Curry," said her ladyship, "the young person who is good enough to look after our horses, had a dispute with the lady who assists Mr. Biggs in dressing the dinner for us, whether it was necessary at chess to say check to the | queen when the queen was in danger or not. I was unable to decide the question, and I assure you I got so terribly laughed at that I ran away as fast as I could." "Was Duggins in the assistants' drawingroom, my love?" said the Duke. "No," said Lady Maria. "I wanted him to take a message for me," said his grace, in a sort of demi-soliloquy. "I'm sure he cannot go, then," said Lady Maria, "because I know he has gone to the House of Parliament (there was but one at that time), for he told the other gentleman who cleans the plate, that he could not be back to attend at dinner, however consonant with his wishes, because he had promised to wait for the division.' to-day I caught him just as he was in a hot debate with a gentleman who was cleaning his windows, as to whether the solidity of a prism is equal to the product of its base by its altitude. I confess I was pleased to catch him at home; but unluckily the question was referred to me, and not comprehending it, I was deueedly glad to get off, which I did as fast as I could, both parties calling after me—* there is a lord for you look at my lord!'—and hooting me in a manner which, however constitutional, I cannot help thinking deucedly disagreeable.” At this period, what in former times was called a footman, named Dowbiggin, made his appearance, who entered the room, as the Duke hoped, to remove the breakfast things; but it was, in fact, to ask Lady Maria to sketch in a tree in a landscape which he was in the course of painting. Dowbiggin," said his grace in despair, "I wish you would take away these breakfast things." "Indeed!" said Dowbiggin, looking at the Duke with the most ineffable contempt―"you do-that's capital-what right have you to ask me to do any such thing?" "Why, Mr. Dowbiggin," said the Duchess, who was a bit of a tartar in her way—“ his grace pays you, and feeds you, and clothes you, to "Well, Duchess," said Dowbiggin, "and what then? Let his grace show me his superiority. I am ready to do anything for himbut please to recollect I asked him yesterday, when I did remove the coffee, to tell me what the Altaic chain is called, when, after having united all the rivers which supply the Jenisei, it stretches as far as the Baikal lake-and what did he answer? he made a French pun, and said 'Je ne sais pas, Dobiggin'—now, if it can be shown by any statute that I, who am perfectly competent to answer any question I propose, am first to be put off with a quibble by way of reply, and secondly, to be required to work for a man who does not know as much as I do myself, merely because he is a duke, why, I'll do it; but if not, I will resist in a constitutional manner such illiberal oppression, and such ridiculous control, even though I am transported to Scotland for it. Now, Lady Maria, go on with the tree." "Willy," said the duke to his son, "when you have put away your small-clothes, go and ask Mr. Martingale if he will be kind enough to let the horses be put to our carriage, since the Duchess and I wish to go to mass." "You need not send to Martingale," said | sion of their assistants, who by extending, Dowbiggin; "he is gone to the Society of Arts to hear a lecture on astronomy." "The sentiments of a coach-horse!" sighed the Duchess. with a liberal anxiety (natural in men who have become learned and great by similar means themselves), the benefits of enlightenment, in turn gave way to the superior claims of inferior animals, and were themselves compelled eventually to relinquish happiness, power, and tranquillity in favour of monkeys, horses, jackasses, dogs, and all manner of beasts. THE POSIE. [Robert Burns, born on the banks of the Doon, near Ayr, 25th January, 1759; died in Dumfries, 21st July, 1796. Carlyle says: "The excellence of Burns is, in Thanks, Lady Maria," said Dowbiggin; deed, among the rarest, whether in poetry or prose; "now I'll go to work merrily; and, Duke, whenever you can fudge up an answer to my question about the Altaic chain, send one of the girls, and I'll take away the things." Dowbiggin disappeared, and the Duke, who was anxious to get the parlour cleared (for the house, except two rooms, was all appropriated to the assistants), resolved to inquire of his priest, when he was out, what the proper answer would be to Dowbiggin's question, which he had tried to evade by the offensive quibble, when Lord William Cobbett Russell re-appeared, as white as a sheet. "My dear father," cried his lordship, "it's all over now. The philosophers have carried the thing too far; the chestnut mare swears she'll be d-d if she goes out to-day.' "What," said the Duke, "has their liberality gone to this-do horses talk? My dear William, you and I know that asses have written before this; but for horses to speak!" "Perhaps, Willy," said the Duchess, "it is merely yea and nay, or probably only the female horses who talk at all." "Yes, mother, yes," said her son, "both of them spoke; and not only that, but Nap, the dog you were once so fond of, called after me to say, that we had no right to keep him tied up in that dismal yard, and that he would appeal to Parliament if we did not let him out.' "My dear Duchess," said the Duke, who was even more alarmed at the spread of intelligence than her grace, "there is but one thing for us to do-let us pack up all we can, and if we can get a few well-disposed post-horses, before they get too much enlightened, to take us towards the coast, let us be off." What happened further, this historical fragment does not explain; but it is believed that the family escaped with their clothes and a few valuables, leaving their property in the posses but at the same time it is plain and easily recognized: O luve will venture in, Where it daurna weel be seen, Where wisdom ance has been ; To my ain dear May. The primrose I will pu', The firstling o' the year, The emblem o' my dear; To my ain dear May. I'll pu' the budding rose, O' her sweet bonnie mou'; To my ain dear May. The lily it is pure, 1 See Allan Cunningham's Essay, "Robert Burns and Lord Byron," Casquet, vol. i. page 23. The daisy 's for simplicity, And unaffected air,-- To my ain dear May. The hawthorn I will pu', Wi' its locks o' siller gray, It stands at break o' day. But the songster's nest within the bush To my ain dear May. The woodbine I will pu', When the e'ening star is near, And a' to be a posie To my ain dear May. I'll tie the posie round Wi' the silken band o' luve, HYMN OF THE HEBREW MAID. When Israel, of the Lord beloved, Out from the land of bondage can An awful guide in smoke and flame There rose the choral hymn of praise, And trump and timbrel answer'd keen; And Zion's daughters pour'd their lays, With priest's and warrior's voice between. No portents now our foes amaze, But present still, though now unseen! To temper the deceitful ray. Our harps we left by Babel's streams, And mute are timbrel, trump, and horn. COUSIN TOMKINS, THE TAILOR. Edward Stanley was a gentleman of good family and liberal education. He held an official situation of considerable trust, and proportionate emolument. Early in life he mar ried a lady whose personal charms, rather than a regard to similarity of taste and congeniality of disposition, had captivated him. He devoted much of his time to the cultivation of belleslettres, and delighted in the society of men of learning and genius, many of whom were frequent guests at his table. His lady was the daughter of humble people, who, by successful speculations, had risen rapidly to comparative wealth, by means of which they had given her an education at one of the fashionable finishing-schools, where, with tinsel accomplishments, she acquired notions much at variance with common sense and proper feeling, and quite unfitted for the society in which she had been accustomed to move. Being one of a large family, she brought her husband a very moderate fortune: but his income was ample, and she resolved to make it subservient to her taste for display, which Mr. Stanley, who loved her affectionately, was too weakly indulgent to oppose. They had one daughter, their only child, of whom her father was both fond and proud. Her mother also loved her, but she loved pleasure more, and consequently resigned her offspring to the care of menials, and committed her education to a governess. The latter, however, was a young woman of piety and ability, 1 Sung by Rebecca in Ivanhoe. Professor Wilson whose endeavours were applied to regulate the Forsaken Israel wanders lone; considered this hymn a perfect gem of its kind, in which dignity, pathos, and a religions spirit, at once pure and fervid, are admirably intermingled. 2 Abridged from the Second Series of "Tales of a Physician." heart, as well as to improve the understanding of her pupil. Mrs. Stanley was too much engaged in fashionable life to interfere with the system of instruction adopted by the governess, and the daughter was preserved from the taint of her mother's example by the latter's reluctance to "bring her out," because she feared a rival claimant for that admiration which she was still eager to attract. Much as Mrs. Stanley was gratified by the distinction which her splendid parties procured for her, she was occasionally subjected to severe mortifications, and often painfully reminded of the humble sphere in which she and her parents had previously moved. Among her relations there was one who happened to be a tailor, and who, to her horror, had the honour of being her first cousin, and bearing the family name. Had he kept a chandler's shop he might have been designated a provision merchant; or if a cheesemonger, he might have been called a bacon factor; but a tailor is a tailor all the world over, and there is no synonyme in our vocabulary by which to dignify the calling. Her dread of being associated in any way with this industrious member of a most useful trade was said to have exhibited itself in the most ridiculous manner. A vegetable, vulgarly supposed to be symbolical of the sartorial art, was never permitted to appear on her table, lest its presence should prove suggestive to her fashionable guests. Nay, it was even insinuated that no other reason could be assigned for the stopping up of a side window in the house than the fact of its commanding a view of a cutler's, who, by way of a sign, had placed a colossal pair of shears above his door. But Cousin Tomkins, the tailor, was as little ambitious of contact with his fair and proud relative as she could be anxious to avoid him. He was a sturdy and independent spirited man, who had too much good sense to be ashamed of a calling by which he was not only gaining a livelihood, but accumulating wealth. He was, moreover, better informed than the generality of his class, for he had studied other pages than his pattern-book, and, above all, was well read in that volume, compared with which the wisdom of the most subtle philosophy is foolishness and vanity. Never, but on a single occasion, and that an urgent one, did Tomkins intrude himself on the presence of his fashionable cousin, whose contemptuous civility gave him little inducement to repeat the visit. Stung by a style of treatment from which common decency, if not his relationship, should have protected him, he was hurrying back through the lacquey-lined hall when his progress was arrested by a fair blue-eyed girl, of about six years old, who, looking up in his face with an innocent smile, accosted him by the appellation of cousin, and, thrusting a little bunch of violets into his hand, dismissed him at the door with a laughing "good-bye.' It was little Clara Stanley, whom some of the servants, probably in sport, had informed of the visitor's relationship; and whose mother took occasion, on being told of the circumstance, severely to reprehend for the familiarity of which she had been guilty. Children, however, are sorry casuists, and Mrs. Stanley's eloquence utterly failed in convincing Clara that there was less impropriety in romping with her cousin the guardsman than in shaking hands with cousin Tomkins, the tailor. Tomkins was much affected by the child's behaviour, and on reaching home he placed the faded violets between the leaves of his Bible, that he might be daily reminded of the incident, and learn to forgive the unkindness of the parent for the sake of the innocence of the child. But time passed on: the girl began to grow into the woman, and the work of education drew to a close. Her preceptress, in resigning her charge, had the consolation of feeling that, though the temptations to which her pupil was about to be exposed were many and strong, she was protected against their power by her humble dependence upon God. Her taste, moreover, had not been corrupted to relish the dissipations of fashionable life. An authority, to which her piety as well as filial affection taught her to yield obedience, forced her occasionally into the ball-room; but as love of display had no place in her bosom, the scene had little charms for her, and she had discrimination enough to perceive that it was not, even to those who most frequented and most lauded it, the Elysium which they would have it be accounted. Of Having no taste for the gaieties of "society," her harp, her pencil, and her books were the sources on which she drew for recreation. books, whilst loving her Bible as the best, she was not one of those who cannot distinguish between a trashy novel and the pages illumined by the genius of Mackenzie, of Scott, and of Irving. Gifted as she was, too, in personal attractions, enhanced by a grace of manner which Nature needs not the aid of the dancing-master to confer, it will not be matter of surprise that she had many admirers; the wiser portion of whom were as much enchanted by the accomplishments and virtues of her mind as by the beauty of her person. Among them was a gentleman who was a frequent guest at the |