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Alone by our friends, surrounded by our enemies,
Nerveless and helpless.

App. Separate them, Lictors!

Vir. Let them forbear awhile, I pray you, Appius: It is not very easy. Though her arms

Are tender, yet the hold is strong, by which

She grasps me, Appius-Forcing them will hurt them,
They'll soon unclasp themselves.

You know you're sure of her!
App.

Wait but a little

I have not time
To idle with thee, give her to my Lictors.
Vir. Appius, I pray you wait! If she is not
My child, she hath been like a child to me
For fifteen years.
If I am not her father,

I have been like a father to her, Appius,
For even such a time. They that have lived

So long a time together, in so near

And dear society, may be allow'd

A little time for parting. Let me take

The maid aside, I pray you, and confer

A moment with her nurse; perhaps she'll give me Some token, will unloose a tie, so twined

And knotted round my heart, that, if you break it, My heart breaks with it.

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No, my Virginia-come along with me.
Virginia. Will you not leave me? Will you take me
with you?

Will you take me home again? O bless you, bless you!
My father! my dear father! Art thou not
My father!

[VIRGINIUS, perfectly at a loss what to do, looks anxiously around the Forum; at length his eye falls on a butcher's stall, with a knife upon it.

Vir. This way, my child-No, no! I am not going To leave thee, my Virginia! I'll not leave thee.

App. Keep back the people, soldiers! Let them not Approach Virginius! Keep the people back!

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Upon this bank we met, my friend and I-
A lapse of years had intervening pass'd
Since I had heard his voice or seen him last:
The starting tear-drop trembled in his eye.
Silent we thought upon the school-boy days
Of mirth and happiness for ever flown;
When rushing out the careless crowd did raise
Their thoughtless voices-now, we were alone,
Alone, amid the landscape-'twas the same:
Where were our loved companions? some, alas!
Silent reposed among the church-yard grass,
And some were known, and most unknown, to Fame;
And some were wanderers on the homeless deep;
And where they all were happy-we did weep!

A LAMENT.

I stand where I last stood with thee! Sorrow, O sorrow!

D. M. MOIR.

There is not a leaf on the trysting tree;

There is not a joy on the earth to me;

Sorrow, O sorrow!

When shalt thou be once again what thou wert? Oh, the sweet yesterdays fled from the heart!

Have they a morrow?

Here we stood, ere we parted, so close side by side; Two lives that once part are as ships that divide, When, moment on moment, there rushes between The one and the other, a sea.

Ah, never can fall from the days that have been A gleam on the years that shall be!

LORD LYTTON.

THOUGHTS ON SMALL-TALK.

The science of small-talking is as valuable as it is difficult to be acquired. I never had the least aptitude for it myself, yet Heaven knows the labour I have bestowed in order to master it. It is not that I have nothing to say; but when I am in company a sort of spell seems to hang over me, and I feel like some fat sleeper who has a vision of thieves, and dreams that he cannot call out for assistance. It is in vain that I observe others, and endeavour to imitate them; a shallow-headed chatterer will make himself agreeable in society, while I sit by in silence. I have taken very considerable pains in my time to observe the various kinds of small-talk, with a view of turning my knowledge to some account; but, though the scheme has totally failed in my own person, a few remarks upon the subject may not be useless to others.

I hold it to be an incontrovertible truth, that every subject is to be best treated of dis tributive, under proper divisions and subdivisions. In pursuance of this plan, I shall distribute all small-talk into two species, I. General small-talk; II. Special, or professional small-talk. The former class includes the small-talk which we hear in mixed society, where men and women, young and old, wise and foolish, are all mingled together. In the latter division I would include the small-talk of persons of the same profession or mode of life, as between two apothecaries, two dissenters, two lawyers, two beggars, two reviewers, two butchers, two statesmen, two thieves, &c. &c. ¦ &c.; in short, all conversations which are tinctured with the art, craft, mystery, occupation, or habits of the interlocutors.

However

together, how agreeably they may pass the time in enlarging upon the above topics. "A very hot day, sir!"-"Yes, indeed, sir; my thermometer stood 80 in the shade. Pray. sir, are you related to the Rev. Jeremiah Jollison? I hope he is well."-"I am his brother, sir: he died two years ago."-God bless me! but it's more than two years since I saw him. Pray, sir, what do you think of Spanish bonds?" &c. &c. Such is the conversation you generally hear after dinner (before dinner there is none), in stage-coaches, at hotels, and at watering-places. It is most suitable for adults. The grand difficulty in this kind of small-talk is to discover any subject; for as I imagine it to be a metaphysical truth that the mind cannot, ex mero motu suo, call up any subject it pleases, the dialogue must necessarily depend on the power of association in the brain of the individuals who maintain it. It requires great presence of mind to call up a sufficient number of topies to meet a sudden emergency. Thus, when you meet a friend in the street, who, in spite of your attempts to pass him with a nod, will stop and speak to you, how awkward is it to have nothing to say! This happens to me continually. When you have shaken hands, and the one has said, "A fine day," and the other, "Yes, very," you stand for a few moments gazing with a vacant sort of look upon one another, shake hands again, and part. The same accident sometimes happens in morning calls. After having exhausted all the commonplaces of civility, you feel yourself suddenly run on shore. It is in vain you attempt to think of some subject of discourse; the longer you search, the further you are from it; except the conviction that you can find nothing to talk about, your mind is à tabula rasa. Your guest at last rises, and puts you out of your

agony.

There are some people, however, who have a genius for small-talk. Their stock seems boundless. It is no matter where, or with whom, or upon what they are talking; still it flows on and on “in one weak washy, everlasting flood." It is a great infliction to be the only person in company with these inveterate small-talkers. Their discourse makes one's head ache. It is like the perpetual dropping of water upon the crown of one's pericranium. To me, however, such people, if their conver

And, first, of general small-talk. simple the art of general small-talking may seem, and however plain and intelligible the topics may be upon which it is employed; yet, in fact, it is more difficult than the special kind. The materials out of which it is formed are few in number, and easily accessible. The following is a pretty complete assortment. The weather-the health of your friends-the funds any accidents which have happened to any of your acquaintances, such as deaths or marriages the king-Bonaparte-Lord Byron-the cheapness of meat-any watering-sation is not addressed to me, are a great relief. place the corn-bill-the author of Waverleyand the theatre. These are the coin that will pass current in any society. Thus, in a morning call, if two strangers happen to be left

They save me the trouble of attempting to talk, and the mortification of a failure.

Every one must have occasionally experienced the up-hill, heart-breaking labour of talking

to an impenetrable person. "Well, what sort of a day had you?" said I to a lively friend of mine. "Oh! my dear Peter," said he, "I had the ill-luck to be seated at dinner next to the dreariest young lady you ever did not talk with. She seemed to be afraid lest, if she opened her mouth, jewels and roses would fall from it, and she should lose them. 'I did do all that might become a man.' I tried her with Lord Byron-I tried her with Moore-I tried her with the theatre-I tried her with Walter Scott-I tried her with the park-I tried her with Albert-with Noblet-with Mrs. Hannah More-with the tread-wheelthe frost-quadrilles-lancers-Sir Charles Grandison, and Spanish boleros."-"Ah! but, my dear friend," said I, "did you try her with dress? Did you tell her of the Valenciennes lace which you brought over the other day in the collar of your coat? I see where your mistake lay. Instead of talking to her of books, you should have talked of book-muslin. You should have discoursed of milliners instead of authors, of flounces instead of poems."-You occasionally meet with the same sort of people in stage-coaches. "Beautiful country this we are travelling through, sir?" "Yes, sir.""Fine cattle this stage, sir." "Yes, sir.""Did you get any sleep in the night, sir?" "No, sir.". "Did you see the papers before we set off, sir?" No, sir." And so the conversation terminates.

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II. Of special small-talk: and, first, of such as is purely professional. Under this head I include the conversation of persons who are of the same profession or occupation, and who therefore speak a kind of language peculiar to their craft, and frequently unintelligible to the rest of the world. Physicians, lawyers, and merchants may be taken as examples.

There is something particularly piquant in the small-talk of gentlemen of the medical profession. I well recollect the conversation of two young surgeons, who were sitting in the next box to me in a coffee-house near Great Marlborough Street. "Oh, by-the-by, Jenkins, I got the finest subject yesterday you ever saw.

"Ay! where did you get it?"-"From France, to be sure, and never saw a fellow so neatly packed; by Jove, he was as round as a ball.""What was the damage?"—"Oh, the fellow who sent him me, said if I would send him back the hamper full of beef, he should be satisfied; so I sent him a trifle."-"Have you any part to spare? (Waiter, another chop.)" -"Why, you may have a limb reasonable.""Well, then, next week; but just at present I have got a very pretty small subject.”—“What

VOL. IL

did you give?"-"Two shillings an inch, but the cursed fellow had pulled the child's neck almost out of joint, to make it an inch longer. But didn't I tell you of the fun we had at Br-'s? You know we had that fellow who was hanged on Wednesday for murdering his grandmother. Well, he was devilishly ill hanged, and so we thought we'd galvanize him. We got the battery ready (you know it's a pretty strong one), and, as soon as ever it was applied, the fellow-(but won't you have some more porter? Waiter, another pint of porter!) the fellow lifted up his brawny arm and threw it twice across his breast. The pupils were all delighted, but our Irishman O'Reilly—you know O'Reilly, who nearly got into a scrape with cracking the crown of the sexton at St. Pancras-O'Reilly, who was standing by with a stout board in his hand, no sooner saw this motion, than, not quite understanding the affair, and fearing that the fellow was actually coming to life again, he caught him a thwack on the side of the head, which made the cerebellum ring again. 'Is it he's going to walk?' cried Paddy-thwack-'and shall justice be defated?'-thwack-‘and shall I be chated out of my shaving money?'thwack—' By Jasus, I've floored him!' -"Capital!" cried Jenkins, "I wish I had been there. But have you heard of Astley Cooper's operation?""No, what was it?"-"Why, he whipped off a child's leg in thirty-eight seconds and a half; the child didn't know what he was about, and only asked what was tickling it so."-"Clever that, by Jove. Do you hear who is likely to get St. Thomas's?"-"Why, some say Dr. A. and some say Dr. B. I know B.'s friends have subscribed for thirty new governors. you seen the new tourniquet?"—"No, but I'm told it's clever; what do you think of the Moxa?"-"A deal of humbug."-"Have you a small skull?"-"Yes, I've two."-"Will you lend me one?"-"Oh, certainly."—"Bythe-by, where do you get your knives from?"

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"From Millikin's."-"And your books?" "I always go to Callow's."—"By-the-by (whiff, whiff), I think you haven't changed your dissecting coat, have you?"-"Hush, hush! the people about you will hear they all think now that it's the woodcock, a little too gamy in the next box."-This was quite sufficient for me; I had been for some time aware of a strange odour, but I had laid it to the account of the woodcock. No sooner, however, did I discover the true origin of it,

1 I have since discovered that the surgeon receives a crown for shaving and dressing a subject previous to dissection.

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than, throwing down my money and seizing offence that was not capital: however, as soon my hat, I hastily sought the open air. as the jury had brought in their verdict,

and was pulling it over his terrific brows, when the officer of the court interfered, 'My lord! my lord! the offence isn't a capital one.' 'Oh yes! very true,' said his lordship, 'but-butyou know, it's a good thing to terrify the prisoner a little.' Very ingenious that of his lordship. But why don't you laugh, Styles?"

I was once a good deal amused with hearing | Rhadamanthus seized hold of the black cap, the chit-chat of two young gentlemen of the long robe. You must know that I had a sort of cousin seven times removed, who used to reside in a court in the Middle Temple. Poor fellow! he could play the violin beautifully; but as for Coke and Selden, and such people -he troubled them not. Well, sir, I occasionally visited my young relation, and by his kind offices with the very precise lady who holds the key of the Temple gardens, I was admitted whenever I chose to walk in that green retreat. I had seated myself, one warm summer's evening, on one of the benches at the back of the western alcove, when two learned young friends meeting at the entrance and adjourning into the arbour, I had the good fortune to be an auditor of the following dialogue. "What, Styles, my good fellow! Why, I didn't know you were back from sessions. How did you get on?"-"Infernally, infernally! Only got four soup-tickets at , and a single prosecution at Do you know of a small set of sky-parlours to let, for, by heavens, I shall be ruined!"—"What, you are determined then to rise in your profession! ha, ha, not so bad!"-"Why, you see, my dear Vidian, I don't make quite enough to pay Danby for dressing my wig, which is rather distressing. But come-let's sit down." (Here the learned gentlemen seated themselves.)—"By-the-by, Styles, have you heard of Gillebrand's nonsuit? -all owing to bad spelling. He put an s too much in the plaintiff's name, which has cost that unfortunate gentleman about one hundred and twenty pounds. Good fun that -Gillebrand argued, that it was idem sonans, but the judge would not believe him

"And for ever must he dwell

In the spirit of that spell. But come, cheer up, my good fellow, and show that you have some of the blood of the Styles '2 in your veins. I dare say if you can't get upon the bench, you may get into it-Not so bad, eh? Oh, have you heard the new anecdote of Mr. Justice Spark, which is flying about the Temple? I told it myself to nine men this morning. You must know that when the learned judge was on his last circuit, an unfortunate dog was tried before him for some

1 Upon inquiry, I find that soup tickets are vocabula artis, signifying briefs given indiscriminately by the town-clerks, &c. at sessions.

2 The genealogical tree of this noble family may be

seen fully set out in the second volume of Blackstone's Commentaries.

"In fact, my dear Vidian, I am not altogether in a laughing mood. There is a cursed fellow of a tailor in New Bond Street, who threatens to maintain assumpsit against me for goods sold and delivered-then the stablekeeper in Carey Street presented me the other day with a Declaration, in which I find that I am charged with the hire of fifty horses, fifty mares, fifty stanhopes, fifty tilburys, and fifty dennets: and to crown all, a well-dressed man who resides in Chancery Lane has got a present for me, which you and I know by the name of a Special Original. Oh what a special fool was I to give those bills to that rascal Samuels! Heigh oh! all my perambulations are now confined to this lawyer's paradise. I have instructed the angel at the gate stoutly to deny admittance to all suspicious strangers, which she promises me."-"I am really sorry, Styles, that I can't accommodate you with a hundred or two, or any fractional part thereof; for though my grandfather died the beginning of the year, yet I plead riens par descente. Walter, you know, is heir in tail, secundum formam doni, being filius primogenitus; and to tell you the truth, I am somewhat in the shallows myself. I confess I have of late been studying the law of Debtor and Creditor, which appears to me to require amendment exceedingly. Such have been my professional studies. In my hours of relaxation I have been conjugating the verb to dun-no, the passive, to be dunned I am dunned, I was dunned, I shall be dunned-I am about to be dunned. But see, they have opened the gates to the public-good number to-night-that's a gentlemanlike-looking fellow that's coming towards us-who is he?" "Good God! don't you know? Call a boat and help me into it-I must get into Surrey-" Here the two friends, brushing hastily past me, called a boat, and as the tide was high, they easily got into it: the stranger all the while approaching with rapid strides. Poor Styles sat dejected in the boat; but Vidian politely bowed, and "hoped he should be better acquainted with the gentleman."

There is a peculiar richness and high flavour in the confidential communications of a couple

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There is no small-talk more necessary in the present age than the Literary, which is essentially requisite at all routs, conversaziones, balls, dances, tea-drinkings, and petit soupers. I believe there is not the difficulty in this branch of the art which is generally thought to exist. There is a certain set of names and phrases which may be eternally varied, and from which the most elegant literary conversation may be framed. For the benefit of my readers, I shall present them with a catalogue of the materials, which I once made for my own use. -novels-heart-imagination-distinctionseverer sciences-ancients-chivalry-Waver

Poetry

ley-beauty-truth- nature—sublimity

simplicity-attractive-brilliant-elegantLord Byron-power-pathos-passion—sentiment-sensibility-sweetness-Thyrza-Haidee - Thyrza!-enchanting - lovely - Don Juan-dark-depraved-perversion-abuselike the splendours of the infernal regions— poetical yourself!-a sonnet-a stanza-scribble verse-Richardson--Miss Austin-Captain Wentworth-Clarissa-persuasion-Eliza Rivers-hateful young clergyman-quite differ with you-Isabella — heart-weep- -tearsDon Carlos-German-Goethe-languages— Italy-scenes of antiquity-associationsCicero-"Sunny Florence". Rossini - Di tanti palpiti-ah!-Scotch airs-Burns-Allan Cunningham-magazines-New Monthlyexcellent-wit-politeness-fancy-depth superior Quarterly Edinburgh- Madame de Stael-arm-beauty-eyes.

Such are the subjects upon which I usually attempt to ring the changes, when any fair nymph is unfortunate enough to be introduced to me at a ball; and here let me mention one very great advantage at such places. According to the modern fashion, you are compelled to change your partner every quadrille, so that you may repeat what you have already said to the former lady, observing whether she is sufficiently distant not to hear you. At a dinnerparty you can seldom repeat yourself thus. But as, in case I proceed, there may be considerable danger of my playing the same trick with the reader, I shall make a timely retreat, and bid him farewell!-New Monthly Mag.

CRUISING.1

What are the days but islands,
So many little islands,
And sleep the sea of silence

That flows about them all? There, when the moon is risen, The peaceful waters glisten; But yonder plashing-listen! It is the souls that fall.

The little boats are skimming,
The wind-led boats are skimming,
Each in its silver rimming,

Apart from fleet and shore. There not an oar is dippingWith just a cable's slipping Glides out the phantom shipping

That wanders evermore.

Every day's an island,
A green or barren island,
A lowland or a highland,

That looks upon the sea.
There fruitful groves are crowning;
There barren cliffs are frowning,
And rocky channels drowning
The little boats that flee.

How many are the islands,
The teeming, talking islands,
That in the sea of silence

The roving vessels find?
Their number no man knoweth;
Their way the current showeth;
The tide returnless floweth

As each is left behind.

The sailors long to tarry-
For rest they long to tarry-
When at some isle of faery

They touch and go ashore. With songs of wistful pleading They follow fate unheeding, And with the tide's receding Are drifting as before.

But sometime, in the sailing,
The blind and endless sailing,
They pass beyond the hailing

Of land upon the lee;
The lowlands and the highlands,
And all beyond the islands,
Behold the sea of silence-

Behold the great white sea.

CARL SPENCER.

1 From Harper's (New York) Magazine.

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