neighbour’s weak point, and make it subject matter of mirth in his evening’s conversation.  I saw a viscount help his father out of his carriage with every mark of duty and veneration, and knew that he was actually languishing for the earldom and estates of the venerable parent of whose health he was apparently taking so much care.  At Howell and James’s I saw more than I could tell, if I had ten times the space afforded me that I have; and I concluded my tour by dropping in at the National Gallery, where the ladies and gentlemen seemed to prefer nature to art, and were actively employed in looking at the pictures, and thinking of themselves.  Oh! it was a strange time then, when every man’s heart was open to me, and I could sit, and see, and hear, all that was going on, and know the workings of the inmost feelings of my associates; however, I must not detain the reader with reflections.

* * * * *

Clorinda, or the Necklace of Pearl, is an intensely interesting tale by Lord Normanby, with a most effective illustration by Heath.

But the prose of the “Keepsake” is decidedly superior to the poetry, notwithstanding the high names in the latter list.  Mr. Moore’s contribution is, however, only sixteen lines.  The poetical pieces consist chiefly of fragments or “scraps”—­among which those on Italy, by Lord Morpeth; and three by Shelley, are very beautiful.  Our specimen is—­

THE VICTIM BRIDE.

BY W.H.  HARRISON.

  I saw her in her summer bow’r, and oh! upon my sight
  Methought there never beam’d a form more beautiful and bright! 
  So young, so fair, she seem’d as one of those aerial things
  That live but in the poet’s high and wild imaginings;
  Or like those forms we meet in dreams from which we wake, and weep
  That earth has no creation like the figments of our sleep.

  Her parent—­loved not he his child above all earthly things! 
  As traders love the merchandize from which their profit springs: 
  Old age came by, with tott’ring step, and, for the sordid gold
  With which the dotard urged his suit, the maiden’s peace was sold
  And thus (for oh! her sire’s stern heart was steel’d against her
      pray’r)
  The hand he ne’er had gain’d from love, he won from her despair.

  I saw them through the churchyard pass, but such a nuptial train
  I would not for the wealth of worlds should greet my sight again. 
  The bridemaids, each as beautiful as Eve in Eden’s bow’rs,
  Shed bitter tears upon the path they should have strewn with flow’rs. 
  Who had not deem’d that white rob’d band the funeral array,
  Of one an early doom had call’d from life’s gay scene away!

  The priest beheld the bridal group before the altar stand,
  And sigh’d as he drew forth his book with slow reluctant hand: 
  He saw the bride’s flow’r-wreathed hair, and mark’d her streaming
      eyes,
  And deem’d it less a Christian rite than a Pagan sacrifice;
  And when he call’d on Abraham’s God to bless the wedded pair,
  It seem’d a very mockery to breathe so vain a pray’r.