The following charming verses come to us without a head-tect for departed mortality. He commits, with sanctity, "dust to dust;" he is the amen of man, and witnesses the very last release of him on life; he prepares the feast for worms; he is the carrier of man to his long home-the dead man of Scripture who is to bury the dead. but they come from the "head of Helicon"-the fountain-head, we think. We give them unnamed, as they stand in the manuscript. "O! gently touch the tuneful string She knelt beside her harp and sung Trembled those early lays. O! who shall tell what memories glide Of him, that dying one? The song is hush'd-the harp is still- And yet she rises not-nor will! The minstrel's soul hath sped! And softly fair, with fading light, The calm, sweet summer even And palest moonbeams overspread I would not rashly lift the veil It were no bad epitome Of blest or dread eternity. But give me Hope, and let my dreams Of golden light; mid fairer flowers Bright realm of dreams! I love to stray On the glad wings of rapture soar; And thou, fair one! thou too dost rove; In dream-land's wildest minstrelsy; Flung back thy lov'd tones from the past. O! may I never lack the light Of vision'd rest, or sweet day-dreams, To wrap, or soften with its gleams, Which bids me cease to dream and live. E. H. V. B. A GRAVE SUBJECT. Why this ado in earthing up a carcase? Why you make this mighty stir ?-Blair. THE genealogy of the undertaker is of Adam; through the grave he traces his ancestry, and for his friend he has that consumptive-looking gentleman, Death. His business (or profession) is a holy, grave and serious one; it requires deep thought and a moody aspect, a melancholy vision and a tear. He is the builder of dead men's houses, the archi When one dies the undertaker is sent for; (out of compliment, he waits till he is sent for.) He attends; he weeps, but his tears are wiped away when his business is concluded. If he be a poet, he writes an epitaph; if he indite prose only, he furnishes an obituary. With him all die virtuous, invariably coming to the same end, and depart at the same door-by the natural law, not the surgeonbut the undertaker is entitled to the recompense of bodies. Alas! how he infringes on our feelings. He exposes in the streets the implements of the second journey; he vainly imagines that one is to be beckoned away from earth by a polished casement, or bribed by a silver plate; he holds out every inducement in his power for one to die. Aware that the last desire of us all is to be buried decently, he shows us not only decent but superb attire. The weak points of some men are familiar to him; those who would carry all their notions with them, these he tempts with the vanity of the grave. He knows that we can carry nothing with us, for even our thoughts perish. In the presence of death all is forgotten. There is even aristocracy in the undertaker. He would not dig a grave-that business is for his scullion; he plans, surveys, orders and commands. "Tis he who looks upon death with his arms folded, and, if the truth is certain, he is a special partner with death and the worm. He may, for aught I know, be the originator of plagues and pestilence, and are got up by him in dull times to help him with business. Who else would bury a man that died with the plague? We may escape cholera and influenza, but death and the undertaker no man can dodge. The latter is prima facie evidence of the former. The patience of both these gentlemen may become exhausted at a long life; but the success of the siege is finally certain. His name can never die who has received immortality from the bard. Shakspeare declares that in the genealogy of the world the only "ancient gentlemen" are gardeners, ditchers and GRAVE-DIGGERS. Because his inheritance is an heirloom, to wit, a man's body; he inherits all flesh. Nature has made a will of perpetual effect; none desire to break it. He who prospers on the dissolution of mortals must flourish. It must have been some miserly undertaker who made the ancient pyramids of heads; and the contemplation of such an one in a graveyard is the surest evidence that he is counting his wealth and overlooking his vast possessions. The grave is never full; it never exclaims, "I have enough;" with as little modesty the undertaker replies. Those who have any anxiety about a decent burial must pay court to him who looks to it; for unless a man, by a last will, bequeaths sufficient to deposit him in his ancient dust, the kites will bury him. The undertaker walks in the midst of death, firm in his step and tread; he surveys dissolved nature with a grin, and looks upon a funeral as a speculation. There is to him a merry chime in the slow solemn sound of a muffled bell. These things, however, can be said of him only in the way of his business. As a man, and apart from worldly affairs, none more amiable. He is a friend to everybody. Do not talk of death with him, else he might compliment you with his card, which means a special invitation to dic. Reason on family matters, and you will perceive he is a reasoning creature. He is a kind father, an endearing husband, an affectionate brother, a firm friend, a valuable citizen. He is to the community what the night is to the day; when the "BEAUTY AND THE BEAST;" OR, HANDSOME MRS. TITTON AND HER PLAIN HUSBAND. I HAVE always been very fond of the society of portrait painters. Whether it is, that the pursuit of a beautiful and liberal art softens their natural qualities, or that, from the habit of conversing while engrossed with the pencil, they like best that touch-and-go talk which takes care of itself; or, more probably still, whether the freedom with which they are admitted behind the curtains of vanity and affection gives a certain freshness and truth to their views of things around them,-certain it is, that, in all countries, their rooms are the most agreeable of haunts, and they themselves most enjoyable of cronies. the Vatican, and that brought me rather well acquainted with his son. Lord George was a gay youth, and a very 'look-and-die' style of fellow, and, as much from admiration of his beauty as anything else, I asked him to sit to me, on our return to London. I painted him very fantastically, in an Albanian cap and oriental morning-gown and slippers, smoking a narghile,—the room in which he sat, by the way, being a correct portrait of his own den, a perfect museum of costly luxury. It was a pretty gorgeous turn-out in the way of colour, and was severely criticised, but still a good deal noticed, for I sent it to the exhibition. "I was one day going into Somerset-House, when Lord George hailed me from his cab. He wished to suggest some alteration in his picture, or to tell me of some criticism upon it, I forget exactly what; but we went up together. Directly before the portrait, gazing at it with marked abstraction, stood a beautiful woman, quite alone; and as she occupied the only point where the light was favourable, we waited moment till she should pass on,-Lord George, of course, rather disposed to shrink from being recognized as the original. The woman's interest in the picture seemed rather to increase, however, and what with variations of the posture of her head, and pulling at her glove fingers, and other female indications of restlessness and enthusiasm, I thought I was doing her no injustice by turning to my companion with a congratulatory smile. "It seems a case, by Jove' said Lord George, trying to look as if it was a matter of very simple occurrence; 'and she's as fine a creature as I've seen this season! Eh, rows, and there's nobody with her, by good luck!' I had chanced in Italy to make the acquaintance of S, an English artist of considerable cleverness in his profession, but more remarkable for his frank good breeding and his abundant good nature. Four years after, I had the pleasure of renewing my intercourse with him in London, where he was flourishing, quite up to his deserving, as a portrait painter. His rooms were hard by one of the princi-old boy? we must run her down, and see where she burpal thoroughfares, and, from making an occasional visit, I grew to frequenting them daily, often joining him at his early breakfast, and often taking him out with me to drive whenever we chanced to tire of our twilight stroll. While rambling in Hyde Park, one evening, I mentioned for the twentieth time, a singularly ill-assorted couple I had once or twice met at his room,-a woman of superb beauty attended by a very inferior-looking and ill-dressed man. Shad, previously, with a smile at my speculations, dismissed the subject rather crisply; but, on this occasion, I went into some surmises as to the probable results of such "pairing without matching," and he either felt called upon to defend the lady, or made my misapprehension of her character an excuse for telling me what he knew about her. He began the story in the Park, and ended it over a bottle of wine in the Haymarket, of course with many interruptions and digressions. Let me see if I can tie his broken|| threads together. "That lady is Mrs. Fortescue Titton, and the gentleman you so much disparage is, if you please, the incumbrance to ten thousand a year, the money as much at her service as the husband by whom she gets it. Whether he could have won her had he been "Bereft and gelded of his patrimony," I will not assert, especially to one who looks on them as 'Beauty and the Beast; but that she loves him, or at least prefers to him no handsomer man, I may say I have been brought to believe, in the way of my profession." "You have painted her, then?" I asked rather eagerly, thinking I might get a sketch of her face to take with me to another country. "No, but I have painted him,-and for her,—and it is not a case of Titania and Bottom, either. She is quite aware he is a monster, and wanted his picture for a reason you would never divine. But I must begin at the beginning. "After you left me in Italy, I was employed by the Earl of, to copy one or two of his favourite pictures in "A party entered just then, and passed between her and the picture. She looked annoyed, I thought, but started forward and borrowed a catalogue of a little girl, and we could see that she turned to the last page, on which the portrait was numbered, with, of course, the name and address of the painter. She made a memorandum on one of her cards, and left the house. Lord George followed, and I too, as far as the door, where I saw her get into a very stylishly appointed carriage and drive away, followed closely by the cab of my friend, whom I had declined to accompany. "You wouldn't have given very heavy odds against his chance, would you?" said S, after a moment's pause. "No, indeed!" I answered quite sincerely. "Well, I was at work, the next morning, glazing a picture I had just finished, when the servant brought up the card of Mrs. Fortescue Titton. I chanced to be alone, so the lady was shown at once into my painting room, and lo! the incognita of Somerset-House. The plot thickens, thought I! She sat down in my 'subject' chair, and, faith! her beauty quite dazzled me! Her first smile-but you have seen her, so I'll not bore you with a description. "Mrs. Titton blushed on opening her errand to me, first enquiring if I was the painter of No. 403' in the Exhibition, and saying some very civil things about the picture. I mentioned that it was a portrait of Lord George (for his name was not in the catalogue,) and I thought she blushed still more confusedly,-but that, I think now, was fancy, or at any rate had nothing to do with feeling for his lordship. It was natural enough for me to be mistaken, for she was very particular in her enquiries as to the costume, furniture, and little belongings of the picture, and asked me among other things, whether it was a flattered likeness;-this last question very pointedly, too! "She arose to go. Was I at leisure, and could I sketch a head for her, and when? "I appointed the next day, expecting of course that the subject was the lady herself, and scarcely slept with think- 66 6 "And what of Lord George, all this time?" I asked. 46 "Oh, Lord George!-Well, Lord George of course had no difficulty in making Mrs. Titton's acquaintance, though they were not quite in the same circle, and he had been presented to her, and had seen her at a party or two, where he managed to be invited on purpose-but of this, for a while, I heard nothing. She had not yet seen him at her own house, and I had not chanced to encounter him. But let me go on with my story. 'My dear,' said she, turning to her husband, and point- "Mrs. Titton sent for me to come to her, one morning ing to the chair, Mr. S- is ready for you.' rather early. I found her in her boudoir, in a negligé morn"I begged pardon for a moment, crossed over to Verey's ing dress, and looking adorably beautiful-and as pure as and bolted a beef-steak! A cup of coffee, and a glass of beautiful, you smiling villain! She seemed to have someCuraçoa, and a little walk round Hanover-Square, and I re- || thing on her mind about which she was a little embarrassed, covered from the shock a little. It went very hard, I give but I knew her too well to lay any unction to my soul. We chatted about the weather a few moments, and she came to you my word. the point. You will see that she was a woman of some talent, mon ami! "I returned, and took a look, for the first time, at Mr. Titton. You have seen him, and have some idea of what|| his portrait might be, considered as a pleasure to the artist,what it might promise, I should rather say, for, after all, I ultimately enjoyed working at it, quite aside from the presence of Mrs. Titton. It was the ugliest face in the world, but full of good-nature; and, as I looked closer into it, I saw, among its coarse features, lines of almost feminine delicacy, and capabilities of enthusiasm of which the man himself was probably unconscious. Then a certain helpless style of dress was a wet blanket to him. Rich from his cradle, I suppose his qualities had never been needed on the surface. His wife knew them. "From time to time, as I worked, Mrs. Titton came and looked over my shoulder. With a natural desire to please her, I, here and there, softened a harsh line, and was going on to flatter the likeness,-not as successful as I could wish,|| however, for it is much easier to get a faithful likeness than to flatter without destroying it. "Mr. S- -,' said she, laying her hand on my arm as I thinned away the lumpy rim of his nostril, 'I want, first, a || literal copy of my husband's features. Do it with a bold hand and spare nothing, not even the feature you were endeavouring to embellish. Suppose, with this idea, you take a fresh canvass?' Thoroughly mystified by the whole business, I did as she requested; and, in two sittings, made a likeness of Titton which would have given you a face-ache. He shrugged his shoulders at it, and seemed very glad when the bore of sitting was over; but they seemed to understand each other very well, or, if not, he reserved his questions till there could be no restraint upon the answer. He seemed a capital fellow, and I liked him exceedingly. || "I asked if I should frame the picture and send it home? No! I was to do neither. If I would be kind enough not to show it, nor to mention it to any one, and come the next day and dine with them en famille, Mrs. Titton would feel very much obliged to me. And this dinner was followed up by breakfasts and lunches and suppers, and, for a fortnight, || I really lived with the Tittons and pleasanter people to live with, by Jove, you haven't seen in your travels, though || you are a picked man of countries!" "Have you looked at my husband's portrait since you finished it?' she asked. "No, indeed!" I replied rather hastily-but immediately apologized. "Oh, if I had not been certain you would not,' she said with a smile, 'I should have requested it, for I wished you to forget it, as far as possible. And now let me tell you what I want of you! You have got, on canvass, a likeness of Fortescue as the world sees him. Since taking it, however, you have seen him more intimately, and-and-like his face better, do you not?' "Certainly certainly I exclaimed, in all sincerity. "Thank you! If I mistake not, then, you do not, when thinking of him, call up to your mind the features in your portrait, but a face formed rather of his good qualities, as you have learned to trace them in his expression.' "True,' I said, 'very true!' "Now, then,' she continued, leaning over to me very earnestly, 'I want you to paint a new picture, and without departing from the real likeness, which you will have to guide you, breathe into it the expression you have in your ideal likeness. Add, to what the world sees, what I see, what you see, what all who love him see in his plain features. Idealize it, spiritualize it—and without lessening the resemblance. Can this be done?' "I thought it could. I promised to do my utmost. "I shall call and see you as you progress in it,' she said, and now, if you have nothing better to do, stay to lunch, and come out with me in the carriage. I want a little of your foreign taste in the selection of some pretty nothings for a gentleman's toilet.' "We passed the morning in making what I should consider very extravagant purchases for anybody but a prince royal, winding up with some delicious cabinet pictures and some gems of statuary-all suited only, I should say, to the apartments of a fastidious luxuriast. I was not yet at the bottom of her secret. "I went to work upon the new picture with the zeal always given to an artist by an appreciative and confiding employer. She called every day and made important suggestions, and at last I finished it to her satisfaction and “I should mention, by the way, that I was always placed opposite Titton at table, and that he was a good deal with||mine; and, without speaking of it as a work of art, I may me, one way and another, taking me out, as you do, for a stroll, calling and sitting with me when I was at work, etc. And as to Mrs. Titton,-if I did not mistrust your arriere pensee, I would enlarge a little on my intimacy with Mrs. || Titton!-But, believe me when I tell you, that, without a ray of flirtation, we became as cozily intimate as brother and sister." give you my opinion that Titton will scarcely be more embellished in the other world—that is, if it be true, as the divines tell us, that our mortal likeness will be so far preserved, though improved upon, that we shall be recognizable by our friends. Still I was to paint a third picture-a cabinet full length,—and for this the other two were but studies, and so intended by Mrs. Fortescue Titton. It was THE NEW MIRROR ""Queer enough!' said I, affecting great astonishment; 'pray, have you ever been into these mysterious apartments?' "No!-they say only his wife and himself and one con to be an improvement upon Lord George's portrait, (which || (and in this character they say he won that superb creature of course had given her the idea,) and was to represent her for a wife,) and the other Mr. Titton is just the slovenly husband in a very costly, and an exceedingly recherché monster that everybody sees! Isn't it odd ! morning costume-dressing-gown, slippers, waistcoat and neckcloth worn with perfect elegance, and representing a Titton with a faultless attitude, (in a fauteuil, reading,) a faultless exterior, and around him the most sumptuous appli-fidential servant ever pass the threshold. Mrs. Titton don't ances of dressing-room luxury. This picture cost me a great deal of vexation and labour, for it was emphatically a fancy picture-poor Titton never having appeared in that character, even by particular desire.' I finished it however, and again, to her satisfaction. I afterwards added some finishing touches to the other two, and sent them home, appropriately framed according to very minute instructions." "How long ago was this?" I asked. "Three years," replied S glass as if his story was concluded. like to talk about it-though one would think she could scarcely object to her husband's being thought better of. It's pride on his part-sheer pride-and I can understand the feeling very well! He's a very superior man, and he has made up his mind that the world thinks him very awkward and ugly, and he takes a pleasure in showing the world that he don't care a rush for its opinion, and has resources quite sufficient within himself. That's the reason that atrocious musing over his wine-portrait is hung up in the best room, and this good-looking one covered up with a curtain! I suppose this wouldn't be here if he could have his own way, and if his wife wasn't so much in love with him!' "Well the sequel?" said I, a little impatient. "I was thinking how I should let it break upon you, as "This, I assure you," said S, "is the impression it took effect upon her acquaintances-for, understand, Mrs. Titton is too much of a diplomatist to do anything obviously throughout their circle of acquaintances. The Tittons themdramatic in this age of ridicule. She knows very well that selves maintain a complete silence on the subject. Mr. any sudden 'flare-up' of her husband's consequence-any Fortescue Titton is considered a very accomplished man, new light on his character obviously calling for attention-with a very proud and very secret contempt for the opinions would awaken speculation and set to work the watchful of the world-dressing badly on purpose, silent and simple anatomizers of the body fashionable. Let me see! I will by design, and only caring to show himself in his real chartell you what I should have known about it, had I been acter to his beautiful wife, who is thought to be completely only an ordinary acquaintance-not in the secret, and not in love with him, and quite excusable for it! What do you think of the woman's diplomatic talents?" the painter of the pictures. "I think I should like to know her," said I, "but what says Lord George to all this?" "I had a call from Lord George not long ago," replied "and for the first time since our chat at SomersetHouse, the conversation turned upon the Tittons. "Devilish sly of you!' said his lordship, turning to me half angry, why did you pretend not to know the woman at Somerset-House? You might have saved me lots of trouble and money, for I was a month or two finding out what sort of people they were-feeing the servants and getting them called on and invited here and there-all with the idea that it "Well!' exclaimed Iwas a rich donkey with a fine toy that didn't belong to him!' "Some six months after the finishing of the last portrait, I was at a large ball at their house. Mrs. Titton's beauty, I should have told you, and the style in which they lived, and very possibly a little of Lord George's good will, had ele-Svated them from the wealthy and respectable level of society to the fashionable and exclusive. All the best people went there. As I was going in, I overtook, at the head of the stairs, a very clever little widow, an acquaintance of mine, and she honoured me by taking my arm and keeping We made our bow it for a promenade through the rooms. to Mrs. Titton and strolled across the reception room, where the most conspicuous object, dead facing us, with a flood of light upon it, was my first veracious portrait of Titton! As I was not known as the artist, I indulged myself in some commonplace exclamations of horror. "Do not look at that,' said the widow, 'you will distress poor Mrs. Titton. What a quiz that clever husband of hers must be to insist on exposing such a caricature! "How insist upon it?' I asked. "Why, have you never seen the one in her boudoir? Come with me! "We made our way through the apartments to the little retreat lined with silk, which was the morning lounge of the fair mistress of the house. There was but one picture, with a curtain drawn carefully across it-my second portrait! We sat down on the luxurious cushions, and the widow went off into a discussion of it and the original, pronouncing it a perfect likeness, not at all flattered, and very soon begging me to re-draw the curtain, lest we should be surprised by Mr. Titton himself. "And suppose we were?' said I. "Well!-not at all well! I made a great ninny of myself, with that satirical slyboots, old Titton, laughing at me all the time, when you, that had painted him in his proper character and knew what a deep devil he was, might have saved me with but half a hint!' "You have been in the lady's boudoir then!' "Yes, and in the gentleman's sanctum sanctorum! Mrs. Titton sent for me about some trumpery thing or other, and when I called, the servant showed me in there by mistake. There was a great row in the house about it, but I was there long enough to see what a monstrous nice time the fellow has of it, all to himself, and to see your picture of him in his private character. The picture you made of me was only a copy of that, you sly traitor! And I suppose Mrs. Titton did'nt like your stealing from hers, did she-for, I take it that was what ailed her at the exhibition, when you allowed me to be so humbugged!' "I had a good laugh, but it was as much at the quiet Why, he is such an oddity!' replied the widow low-success of Mrs. Titton's tactics as at Lord George's discom-, very good-naturedly, "just ring for a ering her tone. They say that in this very house he has a fiture. Of course, I could not undeceive him. And now," suite of apartments entirely to himself, furnished with a continued S taste and luxury really wonderful! There are two Mr. Tit-pen and ink, and I'll write a note to Mrs. Titton, asking tons, my dear friend!-one a perfect Sybarite, very elegant leave to bring you there this evening, for it's her night at in his dress when he chooses to be, excessively accomplished home,' and she's worth seeing, if my pictures, which you and fastidious, and brilliant and fascinating to a degree!- will see there, are not." N. P. W. RANDOLPH AND OWEN. MR. OWEN, one day, broached a new subject, which put his previous assertions in the shade. He was speaking of the great advance in knowledge during the present century, and concluded a eulogy on the mental powers of man, thus: "The fact is, I am perfectly convinced that some of the younger gentlemen present will live to see the day when mankind will discover the principle of vitality itself!” "What!" said I, "and live for ever?" "Yes," replied he, with the most provoking composure, "and why not? Is it more extraordinary than it would have appeared to any person one hundred years ago, if he were told that a large vessel could be propelled against wind and tide, and without the aid of sails, ten or twelve miles an hour?" predictions of your utter failure in America having come true, I think you ought now to have the candour to admit that you are convinced of your errours.” "My dear friend," replied he, "with his ever complacent smile, "you know I have no pride of opinion, that I despise it, and that I would most freely admit my errours if I be. lieved myself to be wrong; but, so far from this being the case, I assure you, on my honour, I am more thoroughly convinced than ever of the truth of my doctrines. However, one thing I will admit; that is due to you. When I first arrived in this country, I told you that I considered the Americans the most enlightened people in the world, and the United States the very best theatre to exhibit my plans upon. I now take all that back. I admit my mistake, and I pronounce the people to be the most bigoted to their own silly opinions of all Christendom, and the United States the very worst place in which to attempt any reformation of exist "Do you mean to assert," said I, "that the two cases ing evils. But, sir, I am going to Europe, and for what? are parallel?" "I do," replied he. 66 To save England from destruction! No man but myself understands her disease and her cure, and you will soon hear that the Duke of Wellington and Sir Robert Peel have sent to consult me; for they know, also, that I am their sole Then," said I, "either your reasoning is lamentably deficient in logic, or you pay our mental perceptions a very poor compliment. What propels the boat-is it not steam? | dependence!" What makes the steam-is it not fire and water? If you extinguish the fire, will not the boat stop? if you light it again, will it not go on? Now, let me ask you, if I cut off your head, will you not die? but if I put it on again, will you regain life? Where, therefore, is your parallel case?" "Well," said he, “ perhaps it is not a perfect comparison; but take another. Are you not aware that in Egypt, by artificial heat, the people make thousands of chickens ?” "Worse and worse,” replied I; "you must take us all for children. I presume every one of us has heard of the fact you state, but you forget to tell us who furnishes the eggs. Only show me the man who can make an egg, and I shall then agree to your parallel case." The company laughed heartily at the ridiculous position in which false logic had placed the New-Lanark philosopher, and he became a little irritated and said: "Good-by, then," said I; "I now entirely despair of your cure. You are determined to be a monomaniast to the end of the chapter." Years have since passed away, but I have not yet heard that either the Duke of Wellington or Sir Robert Peel has called in this "modern philosopher" to aid them in bringing back old England to her former prosperity. I should think, from the occasional notices which I see of my quondam friend in the newspapers, that even with the "radicals" his doctrine of "circumstances" is at a discount. From whence, then, is he to derive his immortality? Only, I fear, as a landmark, hereafter, to point out to others the rock upon which he made shipwreck of his faith. Now let us contrast for a moment the result of the labours of Elizabeth Fry and of Robert Owen, during the twenty years which have elapsed since I was introduced to them both in London. She, guided by Christian truth and impelled by Christian love, has been the means of reform "I now perceive that you are arguing for victory and not for truth; that you wish merely to enjoy a joke at my ex-ing hundreds of the most degraded of her sex, and her pense, and, therefore, I propose that we change the subject to less important topics." exertions have not been confined to her native land. She has travelled extensively on the continent of Europe, not "Mr. Owen,” replied I, "if you were not so good-na- for pleasure, but to extend Christian advice and Christian tured a man I should say you are the most presuming dog-sympathy to the inmates of prisons, and to endeavour to matist I ever met with. Here you, an atheist by your own enlist the aid of the higher classes in carrying on this good confession, give free expression to your sentiments in a com- work. pany of professing Christians, and then, forsooth, you must charge us with being the opponents of truth, whilst you are its advocate. Now, I tell you very frankly, that I am glad, even on your own account, for this exposure of the utter absurdity of your whole theory, because, if you are not entirely lost on the barren mountains of unbelief, you may yet be induced to seek for the only path which will lead you to truth." He, after having endeavoured most assiduously to con. vert others from the faith of their fathers, and teach them to decry the oracles of the living God, can point to no prac tical benefit which he has ever conferred on human kind, and in his old age he finds himself a mere cipher in that world which he had the vanity to imagine he was to fill with the glory of his name. Mr. Randolph was a very marked "Lion" during this, He received this rebuke with great complacency, merely his first visit to London. He received great attention from remarking: "Well, well, you know I never quarrel about opinions; we will, therefore, agree to differ,' and part good friends." The day on which he departed from New-York for Eng. land I walked with him to the steamboat wharf, alone, and, just before we reached it, I said: "You are now about to leave America, probably never to visit it again; and this, also, may be our last meeting. You and I have argued so often, and disputed so much about your grand doctrine of circumstances,' and all my the most distinguished nobility, who were delighted with his extraordinary conversational powers, and these civilities, thus heaped upon him, gave him very evident satisfaction. A short time before I left London, we dined together at the Marquis of L's, where we met a party of the most agreeable people. Among them were a learned professor of Cambridge University, and that venerable Irish patriot, the late Sir John Newport. I mention these two in parti. cular, as the professor was quite astounded at Mr. Randolph's intimate knowledge of everything in England, |