are present deem themselves bound to contribute as their respective talents or accomplishments may enable them. Music is so highly cultivated among us, that the best compositions of the greatest masters are often better performed in our drawingrooms than in our concert-rooms. Not better, indeed, as it respects mere mechanical skill, but incomparably better in all points connected with delicacy of feeling and genuine musical enthusiasm. The art of conversation, too, has of late years been studied in England; and our social réunions, far from exhibiting the trifling, or worse than trifling character which marked those of the days of Pope and Swift, afford, more especially among the highest ranks of society, opportunity of mental and even scientific improvement, as well as of elegant enjoyment.

The accompanying plate represents a social evening party among our Gallic neighbours. Ease is the main characteristic of the scene. Form and ceremony are banished. No fetters are felt, save the golden fetters of good breeding; and youth and age meet together under circumstances which, if duly improved, are calculated to enable them mutually to minister to each other's profit and delight.

Lips that ne'er will sing again,

Here are met; ah! who may dream,

Cold despair, or hope's last gleam,
Shakes the soul, while brow and eyes
Are serene as summer-skies!

Who may tell the storms of grief
That have swept o'er life yet brief!
Who may tell the silent woe
Lurking while the sweet songs flow!
Who can read the heart's despair,
While the face is calm and fair!
None to such lone depths may go;
Hidden anguish none may know:
Faint not, ye of drooping breast,
ONE there is who giveth REST;
In the depth of grief's drear night,
He can send a gleam of light,

E'en though waves of sorrow roar,

And earth's love and joy be o'er.
Oh! there comes a radiant morn;

Shades will pass and day will dawn

On that bright eternal shore,

Where, who meet, shall part no more!

THE SONS OF THE DUKE OF BUCCLEUCH.

BY THE HON. MRS. NORTON.

OH! fair ye are, young playmates; and welcome to my sight,
With your glad eyes full of sunshine, and innocent delight;
Not for your noble lineage,—though in those lovely sons,
The best blood of all Scotland, its course unsullied runs ;-
But for that ye are CHILDREN; and in Life's dawning hour,
Beauty, and love, and happiness, seem perfect in their power.
Oh give me children's voices! the sweet, the clear, the kind;
Their bursts of merry laughter that float upon the wind;
Give me the tranquil glory that shines from children's eyes;
Their eager, restless questions, their playful, keen replies;
The freedom of their charity,

the fervour of their prayers;

(Which I hear, like one who may be guest" of angels, unawares.") Their sympathy with sorrow; their ignorance of sin;

And their wiles to be "first favourite,"-the utmost love to win!

How often from the elder world, whose path is set with thorns,

Its cares-its struggles-and its woes, its heart-burnings and scorns,

My soul hath taken refuge, within the way-side bowers,

Where peace and welcome woo'd me still, from children, and from flowers.

Oh, fair befall ye, little ones! Be happy, being men!

A blessing follow all your steps, o'er mountain, rock, and glen;
A blessing rest on all your paths, along the lone hill's side;
The trees that have o'ershadow'd ye; the blue lake's placid tide;
A blessing on the heathery tracts, which saw your frolic play;
And the moss ye climb'd to gather, by the torrent's foaming spray;
A blessing on your waking, in the glorious morning light;
And a blessing on your sleeping, in the calm soft hush of night!

The Earl of Buthath & Dras Henry John & Walter Charles Poll Douglas

SHER SNCO NINTA