f

upon the first semblance of a contradiction, she veers round forthwith, and proves herself a more accommodating antagonist, if possible, than the Neapolitans. Mr. Oakley was three hours in conversation with her; and though the burden of his song was No, No, No, he was unable to pick a quarrel. Like Sir Robert Bramble and Job,-" they couldn't disagree,--and so they parted."

The only remaining member of the family is Sir Wilfrid's niece. How delightful is your mutability, charming Leonora! You are like a chess-board which is checquered with black and white squares alternately,. ---or a melodrama, in which the tears of Tragedy are relieved by the follies of Farce,--or a day in April, which blends rain with sunshine, Summer with Winter,---or "The Etonian," in which the Serious is united with the Absurd, and Pathos is intermingled with Puns. What a wardrobe must be yours! To-day you assume the costume of the victim Mary,-to-morrow that of the executioner Elizabeth; you put off the diamonds of the Queen for the garland of the Peasant; the curls of the Coquette for the veil of the Nun. Your voice has a thousand tones; your lips have a thousand smiles; all of them distinct, yet all of them engaging! You are always the same, yet always varying; consistent only in your inconsistency! Be always so! we will build a fane in the most beautiful region of Fancy; where no two flowers shall wear the same hue, no two days be of the same length or temperature: light gales shall breathe from all points of the compass by turns, and clear streams shall vary their course every hour;--Stability shall be sacrilege and Leonora shall be the Goddess of the Temple.

J. L.

CHANGING QUARTERS:

A SKETCH.

"Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress!

And there was mounting in hot haste."-BYRON.

FAIR laughs the morn, and out they come,
At the solemn beat of the rolling drum,
Apparell'd for the march;

Many an old and honour'd name,
Young warriors, with their

eyes

of flame,

And aged veterans in the wars,
With little pay, and many scars,
And titled Lord, and tottering Beau,
Right closely wrapp'd from top to toe
In vanity and starch.

The rising Sun is gleaming bright,
And Britain's flag is waving light,
And widely, where the gales invite,
The charger's mane is flowing:
Around is many a staring face

Of envious Boor and wondering Grace,
And echo shouts through all the place,
"The Soldiers be a-going."

Beauty and Bills are buzzing now
In many a martial ear,

And, 'midst the tumult and the row,
Is seen the Tailor's anxious bow,
And Woman's anxious tear.

Alas! the thousand cares that float
To-day around a scarlet coat!

There's Sergeant Cross, in fume and fret,
With little Mopsa, the coquette,
Close clinging to his side:

Who, if fierce Mars and thundering Jove
Had had the least respect for Love,
To-day had been his bride,

And, 'midst the trumpet's wild acclaim,
She calls upon her lover's name,
In beautiful alarm;
Still looking up expectantly
To see the tear-drop in his eye,
Still hanging to his arm :
And he the while-his fallen chop
Most eloquently tells,

That much he wishes little Mop
Were waiting for-another drop,
Or hanging-somewhere else.

Poor Captain Mill! what sounds of fear
Break sudden on his startled ear!

On right and left, above, around him,

Tom, the horse-dealer, roars, "Confound him!
A pretty conscience his ;

To ruin thus iny finest bay,
And hurry off, like smoke, to-day-
If there's no law, some other way,
By Jove, he'll smart for this!"
Ah! fly, unhappy, while you can!
The Captain is a dangerous man,
A right old Jockey's son!

Ah! fly, unhappy, while you may!
The Captain first knocks up the Bay,
And then-knocks down the Dun!

Old Larry is as brave a soul
As ever drain'd an English bowl;

His head and heart alike are tried;
And when two comrades have applied
Or hand to sword, or lip to pewter,
Old Larry never yet was neuter.
But now the Hero (like a fool,
Ripe from a milksop boarding-school,
In love or fortune cross'd,)

Silent, and pale, and stupid, stands,
Scratches his head with both his hands,
And fears the hostile Host.

Oh! can it be? are hearts of stone
So small, and soft, and silky, grown,
That Larry fears a lick?

Oh! wrong not thus his closing years,
'Tis not the Host of France he fears,
But of the Candlestick.

The Brute is there!-in long array,
All clean set down, from day to day,
The dreaded figures stalk;

The Veteran, with his honest blows,
Can settle well a Score of Foes,

But not a Score of Chalk.
Alas! alas! that warrior hot
Balls from ten-pounders feareth not,
But Bills for pennies three ; *

And if he trembles, well I wot
He would not care for Gallic shot,
So here he were shot-free.

Penuies three:-the price of half-a-pint at the Candlestick Inn.

And you must know, good Sir, as how
I mean to ha' my money now,

Or know the whens and whys."

The little Captain, whom 't would kill
To be a public scoff;

Shuffles and whispers,-" Honest Will,
For forty shillings is your bill,
Take twenty-and be off."

The Butcher, much a friend to fun,
And somewhat apt to laugh or pun,
Stands grinning like his calves;
Till for his joke his debt he barters,
"Sir-Gemmen, when they change their quarters,
Shouldn't do things by halves.'

He, too, the pride of war, is there,
Victorious Major Ligonier.

A soldier, he, from boot to plume,
In tented field or crowded room,
Magnanimous in martial guise,

He eats, and sleeps, and swears, and lies;
Like no poor cit the man behaves,

And when he picks his teeth, or shaves,

He picks his teeth with warlike air,
And mows his beard en militaire.
But look-his son is by his side,
More like a young and blushing bride
Than one, in danger's hour,
All madly doom'd to run and ride,
And stem the battle's whelming tide,
And face its iron shower.