Therefore, once, and yet again,
  Strew them o’er her bed of pain;
  From her chamber take the gloom,
  With a light and flush of bloom: 
  So should one depart, who goes
  Where no Death can touch the Rose!

New Monthly Magazine.

* * * * *

STANZAS.

    Oh! ask me not to sing to-night,

  Oh! ask me not to sing to-night
    Dejection chills my feeble powers,
  I own thy halls of glittering light
    Are festive as in former hours. 
  But when I last amid them moved,
    I sung for friends beloved and dear,
  Their smiles inspired, their lips approved,
    Now all is changed—­they are not here.

  I gaze around—­I view a throng,
    The radiant slaves of pride and art. 
  Oh! can they prize my simple song,
    The soft low breathings of the, heart? 
  Take back the lute, its tuneful string
    Is moisten’d by a sorrowing tear,
  To-night, I may not, cannot sing
    The friends that love me are not here!

Ibid.

* * * * *

THE LATE MADAME DE GENLIS.

The following smart account of the late Madame de Genlis, is translated from that very piquant French paper the Figaro of the 4th January:—­

She nearly died the day she came into the world; a mere chance saved her; and the noble lady lived eighty-five years.  What a misfortune, not only for the Ducrest and the Genlis, if the clumsy Bailiff who sat down in the arm-chair where the infant prodigy had been left by the careless nurse, had crushed under the ample and heavy developement of his various femoral muscles, the hope of French literature!  The concussion would have despoiled us of a hundred volumes, and Heaven can witness what volumes!  History in romances; morality in proverbs; and religion in comedies.  This is what the world of letters would have lost,—­society would have lost a very different thing.

Such a nose as never was possessed before; a nose modelled by Love himself, and celebrated by ten court poets, and which the censer of praise was as unable to improve as a certain tumble which its owner had in infancy.  Hands the most beautiful that could be, and which Madame de Genlis put up for exhibition during twenty years, upon the strings of a harp, now passed into a proverb.  A form without fault, and which made the delight of the Palais Royal parties in the open air.  A foot, alike triumphant at the Court and at the Porcherons.  Eyes capable of making an impression upon the running footman of M. de Brancas, and of an innumerable crowd of dukes, lawyers, officers, and men of letters.  A genius!—­oh! for her genius, if she had not been encumbered with so much modesty, Madame de Genlis would have shone by it alone in the first rank; through feminine modesty she remained in the second.