such as always leave with them the sting of a wounded conscience. On the other hand, what miseries and torments does not its universal prevalence inflict on wretched mortals; it rends the bonds of society; destroys confidence, sincerity, and justice; annihilates truth and integrity; spreads deception over every transaction; renders men distrustful and hateful to each other; and, finally, bursts in sunder every tie designed to contribute to our earthly felicity. How just is the inference hence drawn, that nothing can more exalt the fallen nature of man, than a strict avoidance of even every shade of deception and hypocrisy; for under the sway of honor, truth, and integrity, we cannot be far removed from that glorious title, so beautifully expressed by Pope

"

'An honest man 's the noblest work of God."

G. S.

UNION CLUB, March 7.

Happy is the man whose hands are full of business, and who has seldom to experience the fatigue of having nothing to do. Thus I thought, as between the hours of eleven and twelve in the morning, I strolled, with a kind of listless apathy, through Pall-Mall and St. James's-street, without meeting one of my friends, or having it in my power, by any means, to kill time, the great enemy of those who have no fixed occupation in this overgrown metropolis. Chance, however, directed my steps to this club-house, and I immediately determined, gentle reader, to give you a line in praise of these indispensable accommodations of a great city. You may imagine me, therefore, seated in quiet at a mahogany writing table, covered with a green cloth, and furnished with all its usual appendages. But to give you any idea of the great utility of these establishments, it will be

There

necessary for me to endeavour to draw a sketch of some of the characters which frequent them. Standing round the fire are five members of old standing, able politicians, and excellent judges of the good things of this life. Their influence in the club is great; they know the names both nomen and prænomen of all the waiters; and invariably as the clock strikes eleven, make their appearance at this favorite rendezvous, to pass judgment on the measures adopted by the ministry on the preceding evening. A very celebrated member of the Whip Club stands at one of the windows, waiting with great impatience for the arrival of his cabriolet. has been for this quarter of an hour a well-maintained dispute between him and Lord G. Sr, whether the near leader of a flash team ought to be bay or black. At a writing table on my right hand sits a clergyman (I forget his name), the incumbent of a rich living in Leicestershire, who comes up to town two or three times in the season, and always calls here in the morning to write his letters, and discuss the news of the day. To such a man this club proves a most necessary convenience; he sleeps at the Hummums, and breakfasts and dines here when not engaged elsewhere. The barister makes this place serve as a house of call in his way to or from the courts of law. The officer in the guards spends an hour or so here previous to its being his turn on duty. In short, we single men may, in such institutions, always pass our time in the society of gentlemen; whilst but for the different clubs we should be quite at a loss where and how to spend our leisure hours.

G. WENTWORTH.

A FRAGMENT.

Where yon dark yew tree in funereal gloom
Majestic rises, is my father's tomb;

No flatt'ring records mark the sacred spot,
One line declares he was, and he is not.

We know, with smile serene he look'd on death,
Without a sigh resign'd his latest breath:
Heaven sent the summons for the life it lent,
The soul, immortal, to its Maker went-

When the last trump shall call from earth's embrace,
The frail descendants of our fallen race,

Shall to assembled worlds his acts be known, Each word, each secret thought, be clearly shown.

Shed not the sorrowing tear for him that's gone: That tear is our's whom he has left alone! Death but released his frame from earthly woes, And 'mid the seraph choir his spirit rose.

But who shall soothe my mother's speechless grief,
It mocks description, and defies relief.

The soothing tones of friends in vain are heard;
It seems her heart would break at ev'ry word.
On me, her son, she looks distracted, wild,
And falters-" Wretched, but beloved child!”
I bid her cease, and wipe the falling tear,
She weeps afresh, and will not, cannot hear;
Alternate holds me from her heaving breast,
Then clasps me close, and is the more distrest.

*

*

I was my father's
's joy, his only son;

In me his life seem'd once again begun;
He shar'd in all my games, and sportive play,
As pleas'd as e'er he was in earlier day.
With kind parental care he daily sought,

In studious hours, to train my tender thought;
Bade my fond bosom feel poetic fire,
And virtue be my first, my last desire.
Thus thirteen years, with speed unnotic'd, fled,
The fourteenth bore my father to the dead.
For thirteen years it ne'er was mine to know
The sting of sorrow, nor to taste of woe.
But every dream of transport now was past,
The fourteenth told these joys could never last :
Peace to his spirit! while of him bereft,
His sad forsaken son to mourn is left.

Who now shall lead me through the paths of life,
Guard me from danger, and defend from strife?
Who teach me what to seek, and what to shun?
Who mark the course in which my life should run?
Who call me back to right, when sin beguiles
With specious promise and bewitching smiles?
Who mark the narrow line 'twixt right and wrong,
Theme of the sage's pray'r, and poet's song?
Oh! who watch o'er me with a father's care,
And guide my thoughts to all that's good and fair?
Who on my wayward steps shall now attend,
Protect, encourage, counsel, and befriend?
Who tell me what to speak, and what to do?
In vain I ask-an echo answers, Who?

See the poor found'ring skiff on yonder sea, An emblem there you find befitting me; Long has she gaily stood before the breeze, Long proudly broke the surge of angry seas. In vain the rock, aspiring, tower'd on high; Vainly did quicksands 'neath the ocean lie; In vain the eddying whirlpool sought its prey; Her rudder turn'd, she glided safe away. But one short day ago 'twas her's to sail, Where lightnings flash'd, and freshest blew the gale; Tempest on tempest pour'd-flood rose on flood,The storm she weather'd, and the sea withstood: 'Midst thunder's roar she dash'd the foam aside, And rose, in calm, triumphant o'er the tide.

This morn, as through the wave she lightly flew, That wave, scarce rippled, own'd the wave that blew, In ill-starr'd hour she felt the crashing shock, Which tells of secret but destructive rock.— The briny seas th' incautious pilot whelm, She floats a useless mass-without a helm.

Just such am I: my father now no more-
Alone I stand, to meet the tempest's roar;
On ev'ry side destruction's rock appears,
No gleam of hope my blasted prospect cheers.

When storms arise, of ev'ry wind the sport,
How can I hope to reach the wish'd-for port?
Our pilot lost, an equal fate we own,

Uncertain, frail, in danger, and alone.

I sail, like her, o'er many a treacherous wave;
Like her, ere long, must find a certain grave.
And here, again, behold our kindred lot,
We were, and are—but soon shall be forgot;
And all the most enquiring search can find,
Will be, we leave no single trace behind.

Thanks to that sire, who early bade me raise,
To One above, thanksgiving, pray'r, and praise;
Who bade me never yield to fell despair,
But flee to Him-and seek for refuge there!
Thus, then, I pray:
"Thou Source of pow'r and might,
Who, out of darkest chaos calledst light;
God of all gods; creation's only Sire,
Maker of earth, of water, air, and fire;
Thou, that in realms eternal deign'st to dwell,
Omnipotent, All-wise, Invisible,

How shall a frail, and trembling sinner dare
To Thee, all-perfect, raise his humble pray'r?
May vile, presumptuous man, approach thy throne,
And speak to Thee, thou blest and Holy One?
Shall not that prayer bring vengeance on his head,
And dye the guilty stain a deeper red ?

Thanks be to God! though man for sin was curs'd, Her dreadful fetters are by Jesus burst: Alike, both heav'n and life the Son resign'd, And op'd salvation's gates to all mankind.

In Him I trust: oh Lord, for his dear sake,
On me, a sinful mortal, pity take;

Through life's rough voyage guide my erring way;
In mercy put temptation's wiles away :
Make me, through life, obey thy holy laws,
From whom existence 'self its being draws.

H