""Twas down in Cupid's garden,
For pleasure I did go,
All for to see the flowers
Which in that garden grow,
Which in that garden grow!"

"I hadn't been-I hadn't-"

"I can't do it," cried the singer, hysterically; "it seems for all the world as if dear Tom was looking at me." There was a murmur of sympathy, and a third party was called upon to subscribe to the harmony of the evening, when Mutton felt a hand pulling at his cloak.

"Why, if it isn't you!" said Pups. "Poor father! I didn't know it was to be so soon, for I hadn't been home these three days."

"And was it your father, my pretty dear?" asked Mutton.

"Yes; they said he was very fond of me; I dare say he was too, only he never had any time to show it," said the boy, and tears stood in his eyes.

And your mother-where is she?" inquired Mutton.

"I can't tell-never saw her-only grandmother. Father, they do say, courted Betsy Basket-she that you would follow to-day—poor father!"

"And didn't you love him?" asked Perditus.

"I don't know-dare say I did; only, you see, people as live in the streets, in wet and cold, and sleep on steps, hav'n't time to love one another like folks in warm houses."

"And what did your father die of?" questioned Perditus.

"He warn't drowned; no, he was born safe against that," replied Pups, who hastily continued-" but won't you come in? Stop a little, though-I'll just see grandmother-wait here;" and the boy entered the hovel, and was received with a shout of surprise, justified by his improved appearance. Pups quickly explained that he had met with "such a prime gentleman!"-he was outside-might he come in? The unanimous consent of the company was immediately given, and Perditus Mutton for the second time stood beneath the roof of Miriam Birdseye: the old woman looked at Mutton a significant acknowledgment of their acquaintance, and then turned and whispered to her next neighbour, pointing out our hero as "the gentleman who had last night purchased her dear Tom's caul!-Dear, sweet, unfortunate boy."

Poor old Miriam was the mother of Tom; and, though the world had judged and punished him as an incorrigible scapegrace-a ruthless libertine-a hardened reprobate-he was nevertheless unto her a "dear, sweet, unfortunate boy."

At any other time Perditus would have shuddered at the faces he saw around him-faces ́marked with the recklessness and the despair of crime-with brutish ignorance, the teeming parent of vice-with the haggardness of want-the cunning of imposture. And there, too, was the child-a poor creature, suffered to grow up like a young wolf, to be afterwards hunted to the death, because it was nothing better! Perditus, however, was proof to these impressions. He looked around him, and felt a terrible sympathy with his new companions. He approached the woman-the betrothed of the late Thomas-and, sitting beside her, took her hand with all the reverence of profound love.

Aug.-VOL. L. NO. CC.

20

"La, Sir!" said the girl, simpering.

"And she look'd with such a look, and she spoke with such a tone,
That he almost received her heart into his own."

What devilish necromancy had enslaved him? What art, what magic, could have changed Perditus Mutton-the sensitive, reserved, delicate Perditus-into the worshipper of a coarse wench-a very drab? The company exchanged looks that plainly enough declared their as

tonishment.

"It's all right," said Bunkum; "the gentleman is very drunk !"

A jest was let fall by one of the wags, and a loud shout followed. In the midst of the clamour, Perditus, who had been protesting eternal affection to Betsy, suddenly leapt from his seat. He stared about him as if awakened from a hideous dream.

"What's the matter, Sir?" asked Betsy, approaching him.

Perditus receded from her with an expression of intolerable disgust; rushed to the door, and made his way up the lane.

"It's all right!" said Bunkum; "I've picked his pocket;" and the robber triumphantly exhibited a packet. It was opened; but, to the disappointment of the party, it proved to be nothing but-" Dear Tom's

caul!"

Since the birth of Mercury there had never been so benevolent a theft. Perditus had been relieved of an imp that threatened to destroy him; of a fiend that had subtly endowed him with the ungracious dispositions of the first owner of the caul; a type of superstition of which when the best and wisest of us are enamoured, though before the meekest and most innocent of lambs, we are prone to become little better than "lost muttons!"

Need we add that the "Drakes" were presented with the tobaccostopper of Sir Walter, at the cost of their awakened treasurer-that Mr. Tadmor again possessed his shagreen watch?

CHAP. V.

Perditus lived until sixty. He was attended to the grave by his few surviving brother "Drakes," all of whom mourned the loss of a kind, gentle, genial man. A woman and three little girls-god-daughters of the deceased-stood at the grave: their father, the parish clerk-a man honoured for the virtuous fulfilment of the social duties-sobbed bitterly as the earth rose above Perditus. That clerk was the poor, outcast, vagabond link-boy-the cunning, thievish, little Pups. He had been snatched from ignorance and guilt by the compassion of our hero; and the happy, honest man wept tears of gratitude in the grave of his preserver.

Requiescat in pace!

Editor. АH, Couplet, my dear fellow, how d'ye do?

Couplet.

Virg. Ecl. 9th, 1

How odd-my thoughts that moment turned on you ;
Think of, you know, the--

Me? you surely jest

Why should on me your fancy deign to rest?
Editor. The fact is this-but first, pray take a chair-
Though strange it seems, I've got a page to spare-
Much at your service-nay, no nods or winks-
Come, knock some lines off, just to fill up chinks.

Couplet. Well then, if so, your subject first select.
Editor. True, but what's common I at once reject.
No pithless poesy-no jingling rhyme-
Eau sucré canzonets, or ode sublime:

Soar far above such maudlin, and fal-lal,

And quit thee, England, "an thou lov'st me, Hal.”

Couplet. What distant clime, where burns the solar ray,
Shall swell the measure of the poet's lay?
Say, shall his muse the western world explore,
Or rest her pinions on the Afric shore?
Portray the horrors of that hapless land,
The dreary desert, and its scorching sand,-
The laden'd camel, and the lengthen'd train
Of weary pilgrims o'er the boundless plain?
Seeking, though faint, with wild and panting haste,
Some bubbling fountain in the trackless waste.

Editor. No more-such arid scenes our senses rack-
We long, like Falstaff, for a cup of sack.

Couplet. Then turn we thence, more joyously to feast
On the gay splendour of the gorgeous East,
To breathe the Harem's love-inspiring air,
And kindling view each beauteous wanton there,
Sing of the murmur'd wish, and half-drawn sigh,
The heaving bosom, and the melting eye;
Or say how Echo labours to prolong
The dying cadence of the Georgian's song;
Or mark the airy dance, whose rapid maze
Some glowing charm in every turn betrays,
While the light folds are so disposed to shade,

But not conceal, the beauties of the maid.

Sing of these charms!-yes, charms like these, which gave
A sultan often captive to his slave;

For who but holy hermits could withstand

The laughing daughters of that golden land?
Where all might pass for Houries from above,
Or reign as sisters of the Queen of Love!

Editor. Enough, enough! thy Pegasus restrain;
The curb has slacken'd-tighten, pray, thy rein-

He gallops hard-no more-now turn him round—
And trot him gently over fresher ground;

Thy eastern fancies few, methinks, will brook,
Who once have read (who has not ?) "Lalla Rookh;"
So, "verbum sat," we would not give thee pain,
Now mount thy hobby, and be off again.

Couplet. Would the muse seek for themes of classic lore?
Then let her hover near the Tuscan shore-
Fair, fallen Italy-behold the fate

Of mighty nations in thy humbled state!
Alas! who sighs not as he views the dome
Of proud, imperial,—now, but papal Rome?
Whose towering eagles once their wings unfurl'd,
And proudly swept triumphant o'er the world,-
And who laments not in his heart the day
That sees a feeble monk usurp the sway
Which Caesar held, and there dominion claim
O'er realms that echoed with a Pompey's fame,-
O'er plains where Rome her valiant cohorts led,—
Where Marius conquer'd, and Horatii bled;
While a dark zealot race succeeds the sage
And brilliant meteors of th' Augustan age.
Foul fall the day, and ill betide the hour,
That gave that country to a bigot's power!
Editor. Egad, friend Couplet, this is "Ercles' vein."
Now twelve lines more, or so,-spur on again.
Of Greece can nothing rather fine be said?
Come-cross the Adriatic ;-" Go it, Ned."
Couplet. Would the Muse now her magic wings expand
To waft her gently o'er the Grecian land;
Oh! let her course be slow whene'er her eyes
Shall view the columns of great Athens rise.
Land of the brave, thrice favoured from above,
The fount of learning, and the throne of love!
Whose sons were valiant as her daughters fair,
Diana's glory, and Minerva's care!

Land of the brave, what bosom bold and free,
But hails thy pass, renown'd Thermopyla!
Whose spirit burns not as it soars around,
Immortal Marathon, thy battle-ground!

Yet of those days reflect no more with bliss,-
Think what Greece was-behold what now she is.

Editor. There, that will do,-so lay aside thy shell,
For an impromptu it is passing well.

Now some fair guerdon for thy song demand-
What wouldst thou seek-some office high and grand?
Bard to the "blues" I'll make thee,-thou shalt see it.

Couplet. You don't say so?
Editor.

I do,-upon my eyes be it.

A. A. C.

NAJRAN AND SHIREEN.

بسعی خود نتوان برد کوهر مقصود خیال تست که این کار بحواله برآید

"It is impossible to attain the jewel of thy wishes by thy own endeavours; it is a vain imagination to think that it will come to thee without assistance."

HAFIZ.

Of the Perfidy of Afrasiyab and the Fidelity of Rudaki. SAKANDAR, whose heart was as pure as the gem of Golconda, and the light of whose virtues and beneficence was reflected on the bright faces of all around him, after amassing considerable treasure, yielded up his spirit to Orosmasdes* in the encouraging hope that his actions were recorded in the golden volume of Al Syilt. To Afrasiyab, his brother, he confided the care and education of his only son, Ñajran, who was beautiful as a hyacinth. The affectionate father had spared no cost in the cultivation of his mind, and although scarcely sixteen he had already read "The Heart of Historiest," and stored his memory with the poetical beauties of the Bahäristan (Mansion of the Spring by Jami) and the Gulistan (a Bower of Roses by Sadi), and wrote elegantly as well in the Niskhi as the Shekesteh and Talik§ character.

When the bitterness of his grief was assuaged by time, and his young heart, which had been bowed like a young sapling in the storm, had recovered its elasticity, he eagerly resumed his studies; and for two years spent his hours no less agreeably than profitably in the ardent pursuit of knowledge; but now having attained an age when he deemed himself capable of managing his own affairs he humbly requested his uncle to resign the government of his possessions. Afrasiyab, however, had held the reins so long that he was startled at the prospect of losing his power, and felt loth to yield to his reasonable request. For a moment he stood like one suddenly aroused from a beautiful vision to the cold realities of life, and then shrank in confusion from the presence of the astonished Najran. Mean and narrow-minded avarice had found no difficulty in taking possession of his heart and governing his thoughts, and Ahriman, delighted, hovered continually near to catch his wavering spirit.

Scarcely had the glorious Mithras bathed his gold-streaming locks in the western wave, and obscurity was spread around, when thoughts, dark as the hour, filled the mind of Afrasiyab. With desperate intent

*The Supreme Creator.

The angel who takes an account of men's actions.

A History of Persia, by Abdallatif, a native of Cazvin.

Names of the different characters or hands in which the Persian language is written.

|| Lucifer.

A personification of the sun.