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With that he lifted high the steel, and smote her in the

side, And in her blood she sank to earth, and with one sob

she died.

(By permission of Messrs. Longmans, Green, and Co.)

HOW PLEASANT IT IS TO HAVE MONEY.

ARTHUR Hugh CLOUGII.

[Mr. Clough is another of those writers who are known to those who study the higher walks of literature, and to those who keep watch for "the bright particular stars” that rise, and only occasionally, in the poetical firmament. It is only a pleasing duty that we perform in introducing him to that_larger, but not less appreciative, class among whom our “ Penny Readings" so widely circulate.

Mr. Clough was a writer of vers de société, but he founded most of his poetry more on incident of travel than on the conventionalities of fashionable life-catching his subjects flying, rather than seeking for them in the salon. Very fantastical in taste, and full of caprice, there is still a classical undertone in his lightest writings, as though he never felt himself quite free from the responsibilities he owed to his alma mater.

In a more studious age than the present Clough would already have taken a higher position than the one he holds in English literature.

Arthur Hugh Clough was born at Liverpool, Jan. 1st, 1819. He was educated at Rugby, under Dr. Arnold; went to Oxford, and was elected a Fellow of Baliol, 1842. In 1848 le published what he called a long vacation pastoral, entitled "The Bothie of Toler-na-Voulich ;" and in 1849 a £econd volume called “Ambarvalia." Both volumes were dear to his friends and to a limited public, but they escaped general recognition, Still Clough worked on—too true to his mission to be a bread-winner except upon those high principles that his conscience dictated to himself. Few men,” says his recent editor and friend, Mr. Palgrave, “in this age have ever more completely worked out his own ideal—plain living and high thinking."

After filling the wardenship of University Hall, London, for twelve years, Mr. Clough went, in 1852, to try his fortunes in America. He made friends there ; but the offer of an appointment in the Privy Council Ofice decided him to return to England.

He was secretary to the report on Military Education, which carried him to France and Vienna.

Shortly after this he completed the long revision of Dryden's " Translation of Plutarch."

His career was destined to be a brief one. His wife's cousin was Florence Nightingale ; he undertook to assist her in her arduous duties, and his health gave way. He then travelled to Greece and Constantinople, thought he was sufficiently recovered, but was obliged again to go South. He visited Auvergne and the Pyrenees in company with his friends Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Tennyson, but was struck by the malaria of one of the Italian lakes, and died at Florence (he is buried there) Nov. 13th, 1861. Messrs. Macmillan and Co., Cambridge and London, have recently published his poetical works in one volume.)

SPECTATOR AB EXTRA.

I.

As I sat at the Café I said to myself,
They may talk as they please about what they call pelf,
They may sneer as they like about eating and drinking,
But help it I cannot, I cannot help thinking

How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!

How pleasant it is to have money.
I sit at my table en grand seigneur,
And when I have done, throw a crust to the poor;
Not only the pleasure itself of good living,
But also the pleasure of now and then giving :

So pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!

So pleasant it is to have money.
They may talk as they please about what they call pelf,
And how one ought never to think of one's self;
How pleasures of thought surpass eating and drinking,–
My pleasure of thought is the pleasure of thinking

How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
How pleasant it is to have money.

II. LE DINER.

Come along, 'tis the time, ten or more minutes past,
And he who came first had to wait for the last.

The oysters ere this had been in and been out;
Whilst I have been sitting and thinking about

How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!

How pleasant it is to have money.
A clear soup with eggs; voilà tout; of the fish
The filets de sole are a moderate dish
A la Orly, but you're for red mullet, you say;
By the gods of good fare, who can question to-day

How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!

How pleasant it is to have money.
After oysters, sauterne ; then sherry; champagne,
Ere one bottle goes, comes another again;
Fly up, thou bold cork, to the ceiling above,
And tell to our ears in the sound that they love,

How pleasant it is to have money, heigho!

How pleasant it is to have money.
I've the simplest of palates; absurd it may be,
But I almost could dine on a poulet-au-riz,
Fish and soup and omelette and that—but the deuce-
There were to be woodcocks, and not Charlotte Russe !

So pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
So pleasant it is to have money.

Your chablis is acid, away with the hock,
Give me the pure juice of the purple médoc:
St. Peray is exquisite; but, if you please,
Some burgundy just before tasting the cheese.

So pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!

So pleasant it is to have money.
As for that, pass the bottle, and hang the expense !
I've seen it observed by a writer of sense,
That the labouring classes could scarce live a day,
If people like us didn't eat, drink, and pay.

So useful it is to have money, heigh-ho !
So useful it is to have money.

One ought to be grateful, I quite apprehend,
Having dinner and supper, and plenty to spend,
And so suppose now, while the things go away,
By way of a grace we all stand up and say

How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
How pleasant it is to have money.

III. PARVENANT.

I cannot but ask, in the park and the streets
When I look at the number of persons one meets,
Whate'er in the world the poor devils can do
Whose fathers and mothers can't give them a sou.

So needful it is to have money, heigh-ho !
So needful it is to have money.

I ride, and I drive, and pass ev'rything by,
The people look up, and they ask who am I;
And if I should chance to run over a cad,
I can pay for the damage, if ever so bad,

So useful it is to have money, heigh-ho !

So useful it is to have money.
It was but this winter I came up to town,
And already I'm gaining a sort of renown;
Find my way to good houses without much ado,
Am beginning to see the nobility too.

So useful it is to have money, heigh-ho !

So useful it is to have money.
O dear! what a pity they ever should lose it,
Since they are the people that know how to use it;
So easy, so stately, such manners, such dinners,
And yet, after all, it is we are the winners.

So needîul it is to have money, heigh-ho!
So needful it is to have money.

It's all very well to be handsome and tall,
Which certainly makes you look well at a ball;

It's all very well to be clever and witty,
But if you are poor, why it's only a pity.

So needful it is to have money, heigh-ho!

So needful it is to have money.
There's something undoubtedly in a fine air,
To know how to smile, and be able to stare:
High breeding is something, but well-bred or not,
In the end the one question is, what have you got.

So needful it is to have money, heigh-ho!
So needful it is to have money.

And the angels in pink and the angels in blue,
In muslins and moirés so lovely and new,
What is it they want, and so wish you to guess ?
But if you have money, the answer is, yes.

So needful, they tell you, is money, heigh-ho!
So needful it is to have

money.
(By permission of Messrs. Macmillan and Co.)

MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.

HENRY GLASSFORD BELL.

PART I.

I look'd far back into other years, and lo! in bright

array, I saw, as in a dream, the forms of ages passed away.

It was a stately convent, with its old and lofty walls, And gardens, with their broad green walks, where soft

the footstep falls; And o'er the antique dial-stone the creeping shadow

pass'd, And, all around, the noon-day sun a drowsy radiance

cast.

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