examined and inventoried ;-as is frequently the case on such occasions, an auction was made, of such articles of common use as were not likely to be valued by his mother and sisters; the produce of which was held for their behoof. At this sale, each of his messmates purchased some little memorial of their unfortunate comrade, without paying much attention to the price they gave; for they knew well, how much it would be needed, and yet how poorly the whole amount, were it ten times as great, could compensate for a loss so irreparable. Their good-will did not stop here: a collection was set on foot, to which every one contributed his mite-and the officers of the ship, desirous of testifying their regard for the deceased, added each what he could spare, for the benefit of the bereaved widow.

Many a glance was directed at the vacant seat of poor Connoly, as the young men assembled at the usual hour at their scanty meal ;-their customary mirth was clouded; and much, and most sincere regret was expressed for the loss of so true-hearted a messmate. But the next day, his seat was occupied by some other member of the mess;-allusions to their lost friend were less frequent;-other events occurred, and afforded fresh topics of conversation;-and in less than a week, the name of Connoly ceased to be mentioned: he had passed as it seemed from their memories, as he had from their presence-like a bubble on the current of human life, which dances gaily and sparkles for a while, then bursts, and is seen no more.

OBERON AND TITANIA.

BY T. K. HERVEY, ESQ.

Yet, marked I when the bolt of Cupid fell,

It fell upon a little western flower,

Before milk-white,-now parple with love's wound,
And maidens call it love in idlings:-

Fetch me that flower!

LIKE some fair bird, that, 'mid the leaves and flowers,
From sky-ward travel, folds its silver wing,—
Amid the spicy shade of woodbine bowers,
And weary with her moonlight wandering,
Slumbers the Fairy Queen!-her deep repose
Won by no mortal music;-by the sound
Of lulling water, flinging, as it flows,
A low, wild, melancholy murmur round :—
And strains that, from the distant fairy-sphere,
Unheard by earthly watchers, bring her rest,
Are lingering, yet, within her dreaming ear,
Singing-like memory's in a mortal breast!
The breeze, with airy footstep stealing by,
Plays to the sleeping queen his even-song;

Fublished by T. 16man, Roes. Orme, Brown & Creer. Nov 1829.

And the musk-roses utter sigh on sigh,

As the faint, thrilling measure floats along,—
Struck from the harp that has a thousand strings,
Wild-thyme and oxlips and the myrtle leaves,
Yet tuned as soft as when a mother sings
What scarce the ear-but more the heart-receives!

No mortal eye may gaze upon that bower!—
The moon-her playmate of a thousand years-
Looks through the larches, at her own sweet hour:-
Oh! can that fairy cheek be wet with tears?
Weep the immortals?—oh, the bright young queen!
Dreams have been with her, not of angel birth,
Pangs, her pure essence only makes more keen,
From passions that have all too much of earth :-
Too like a spirit, since she wears not wings,
Too much of mortal, for her spirit-boon,
Lovely as heaven makes its loveliest things,
But loving as they love beneath the moon!
And she is of a race that often wept !—
Though never more, in forest or in dale,
Nor in the valleys where, of old, they slept,
Or held their revels till the stars were pale,
Shall they be met by poet or by hind,

Laughing away the live-long summer night,

66

'Dancing their ringlets to the whistling wind,"
Or trooping, darkly, from the eye of light;
Yet many a waker, in the vanished years,
On the hill-side, beneath the twilight dim,