volved the philosophical manner in which it was conducted; for even the sudden surprise of the rencontre, which might naturally have been supposed to upset both parties, seemed to have no kind of effect whatever upon them, but on the contrary, appeared to be no surprise at all. Ill-employed!" said Blazenton; "look to your own conduct, ma'am." "Oh!" said the lady, "you are going to scold; we have met oddly, unexpectedly, and accidentally, do not let us make a scene for the amusement of these Odd People,' who I have no doubt have brought us together for the purpose of making fun for somebody."

"Ah!" said Blazenton, not looking at her, "I believe, ma'am, you are right, eh! what?-don't you see?-yes, right,—our meeting is odd; premeditated; we will beat them at their own game, ma'am, we will not make a scene, no; we will speak only of the amusements of the House that are going on; don't let us refer to past grievances."

"Grievances!" said Mrs. Blazenton. "No; I have no wish to recur to those : but still, as we are here, and have met so strangely, tell me plainly, what good did you ever get by frittering away your money amongst those women of fashion, when gambling was in vogue, and when Lady-"

Stop, stop," said Blazenton; "name no names."

"Did you ever get paid?" said Mrs. Blazenton.

"Not mercenarily, in money, ma'am," said Blazenton.

"Don't pique yourself on that," said the lady. "As the priest said to the culprit, who on his way to the Place de Grève, in company with a party of traitors, endeavoured to establish a reputation quite of another character, Ce n'est pas le moment pour la vanité.""

"Vanity! No," said Blazenton; " but look at yourself. What do you think of those dukes, and marquises, and earls, and viscounts, all the way down to the last and lowest of the modern pitchforks; what would they have cared for you, if it hadn't been for your agreeable cercle, your petites soupers, and all the rest of it; what do you mean by vanity? do you think that you were the object of their admiration."

"Come, come, Mr. Blazenton," said the lady, getting more and more animated; "when was you ever so happy as when a great long-legged lordling did you the honour to borrow enough money without security, to buy a troop in a hussar regiment, because you were sure of having him always at dinner whenever you chose, in order to astonish your city friends?"

"Ah!" said Blazenton, "that would never have succeeded if we had known in those days that the 'cracks' were to be sent to India; but that's nothing."

“ And then think of the way, Mr. Blazenton, in which you used to abandon my society for that of other women," said the lady, who, from at first not meaning to say a word about any thing connected with old reminiscences, felt the spirit stirring within her to recur to all her former wrongs.

"Other women?" said Blazenton.

"Yes-yes," sobbed Mrs. Blazenton, "and are still-still devoted to-" "Me?" said Blazenton. "No-no-all those follies are over now. I live calmly, quietly, and under the advice of my worthy physician, an Irish practitioner, look after my health and stick to that, eh!-don't you

see?"

April.-VOL. LV. NO. CCXX.

2 G

"And," said Mrs. Blazenton; "indeed, indeed and in truth, Mr. Blazenton; how strange it seems that we should meet in this way. Do you know that you are looking wonderfully well?"

"Do you think so?" said Blazenton; " eh-ah-well-umphupon my life-Maria, I mean-yes-Mrs. Blazenton-umph-eh-I think-eh-you are very little altered-eh ?—"

"Me!" said the lady. "My dear Mr. Blazenton, I am so changed that I am absolutely afraid to look in my glass."

'Ah, I don't see that," said Blazenton. "My course of life is all altered. People come to dine with me, but they fly away either to the House of Commons, or to the Opera, or to parties-my old friends have all died off, my new friends are of another school; suppers are out of fashion-eh, well. I don't care for clubs, I stay at home, and thenwhat?-eh; I am alone-I try to read, but I can't, and I go to sleep. What? as I say to myself-I have outlived my compeers; I have made no new friends. Now what is life worth under such circumstances, eh? It is that, I suppose, which has made me a cynic."

"Why," said Mrs. Blazenton, "life under such circumstances, certainly is a burden; and what is my life, Mr. Blazenton? There I was with a crowd of devoted cavaliers at my feet; I treated them like slaves and they obeyed; my suppers after the Opera were perfect; my excursions up the river were puffed and praised in the papers; my balls were charming, and here,—what am I now?"

"Ah," said Blazenton; "eh-what-that's all; what a couple of fools we have been. If we had lived as we ought to have lived, and not been so uncommonly squeamish-eb-what?-both of us in the wrong, we need not have been wandering about alone, and shut out-eh, don't you see? for the last twenty years."

"Ah," said Mrs. Blazenton; "and if we could have felt that, ten or fifteen years ago, how much more does it tell upon us as we

are now !"

"Yes, Mrs. Blazenton," said the husband; "it is painful to have no real home."

"And really," said Mrs. Blazenton; "having nobody who cares for one."

"I might as well be an old batchelor," said Blazenton. "And I," said the lady, "an old maid.

"We might have had a family," said Blazenton, half-crying. "Dear children, who would have engrossed our cares, and repaid our toils for their good," said Mrs. Blazenton, crying outright.

"Yes, dear little children, who would have handed us down to posterity, Mrs. Blazenton," said he; "instead of which, we have nobody; a human being interested about us. I declare to you our sufferings are great, Mrs. Blazenton."

Yes, Mr. Blazenton," said Mrs. Blazenton; "and very much alike in their character."

"Ma'am," said Mr. Blazenton; "eh, what?"

Sir," said Mrs. Blazenton.

Ought we not to try," said he, "to alleviate our sufferings by sharing them-eh? don't ye see?"

"What on earth do you mean, Mr. Blazenton ?" said the lady.

"Perhaps we are-el-older we know we are, than when we parted, -eh-what?" said Blazenton; perhaps we areeh—”

Wiser, Mr. Blazenton," said his wife. "If we are, why shouldn't we forget the past, and consider all the injuries we have inflicted on each other as mere weaknesses."

"Yes," said Blazenton, "weaknesses incidental to humanity."

"If we do that," said Mrs. Blazenton, "we must endeavour, if possible, to render ourselves worthy of each other's esteem for the future."

"With all my soul, Maria," said Blazenton, his eyes becoming somewhat suffused with tears, called up, perhaps, by recollections of other days of folly, or by the anticipation of those of atonement. "Yes, with all my soul; by affection, by tenderness, and mutual love, which we ought always to have borne each other."

"And by regarding," said Mrs. Blazenton, "all the errors and follies of our earlier life, as so many dreams from which we have been awakened to happiness."

Agreed," said he; "and laugh at them as if they had not been our own, but merely subjects for ridicule and amusement."

66

'Oh!" said Mrs. Blazenton, "how strangely, but how strongly does truth work! My dear husband, this is the moment for which, for the last ten years of the last twenty, I have been longing-my heart yearned for it-it formed the subject of my dreams by night, my thoughts by day; but my spirit was high, my heart was proud, and I could not break the

ice."

"That's it," said Blazenton; "I-felt, eh? what-don't you see?never mind-there's no use in talking now-thank Heaven, we have met -eh-this Deveril."

"We will never part!" said the agitated lady; "perhaps, my dear George, we may again rally round us, such of our old and real friends as are living."

"Yes, yes," said he, hiding his face in his hands; "and I shall again have a home-I shall again have comforts-it is woman only that can concentrate the happiness of domestic life."

"Thank Heaven this has happened," said Mrs. Blazenton, falling into her husband's arms.

"Ah!" said Blazenton, shaking his head, "this affair will make these funny people here laugh, and we shall be the town talk for a week; but never mind, never mind-eh-what-I'm above that. It is never too late to repent; I admit the faults of my younger days, and I shall be satisfied with the approval of those I esteem.'

At which part of the dialogue Mr. and Mrs. Blazenton fell out of each other's arms; and Deveril, his wife, and Captain Gossamer, rushed from the bosquet, in which they had been literally ambushed to witness the proceedings.

"There!" said the master of the house, " what we meant at first as an innocent joke, has turned out a permanent good. Nothing can be be more delightful to us-nothing, we think, can contribute more to your happiness and benefit, my dear friends. I and Mrs. Deveril, therefore, hope and trust you will think that the gaieties of Mumjumble Lodge are not without some beneficial results, ODD PEOPLE as we are.'

ATARAXIA.

BY THE HON. MRS. NORton.

COME o'er the green hills to the sunny sea!
The boundless sea that washeth many lands,
Where shells unknown to England, fair and free,
Lie brightly scatter'd on the gleaming sands.
There, 'midst the hush of slumbering ocean's roar,
We'll sit and watch the silver-tissued waves

Creep languidly along the basking shore,

And kiss thy gentle feet, like Eastern slaves.

And we will take some volume of our choice,
Full of a quiet poetry of thought;

And thou shalt read me, with thy plaintive voice,
Lines which some gifted mind hath sweetly wrought.

And I will listen, gazing on thy face,

(Pale as some cameo on the Italian shell!)

Or looking out across the far blue space,

Where glancing sails to gentle breezes swell.

Come forth! The sun hath flung on Thetis' breast
The glittering tresses of his golden hair;
All things are heavy with a noonday rest,

And floating sea-birds leave the stirless air.

Against the sky, in outlines clear and rude,

The cleft rocks stand, while sunbeams slant between ; And lulling winds are murmuring thro' the wood, Which skirts the bright bay with its fringe of green,

Come forth! All motion is so gentle now,

It seems thy step alone should walk the earth,

Thy voice alone, the "ever soft and low,"
Wake the far-haunting echoes into birth.

Too wild would be Love's passionate store of hope,
Unmect the influence of his changeful power-

Ours be Companionship, whose gentle scope
Hath charm enough for such a tranquil hour.

In that, no jealousy, no wild regret,

Lies like deep poison in a flower's bright cup,
Which thirsty lips for ever seek—and yet
For ever murmur as they drink it up!
The memory of thy beauty ne'er can rise

With haunting bitterness in days to come;

Thy name can never choke my heart with sighs,

Nor leave the vex'd tongue faltering, faint, and dumb.

Therefore come forth, oh! gentle friend, and roam
Where the high cliffs shall give us ample shade,
And see how glassy lie the waves, whose foam
Hath power to make the seaman's heart afraid.
Seek thou no veil to shroud thy soft brown hair,-
Wrap thou no mantle round thy graceful form;
The cloudless sky smiles forth as still and fair,

As though earth ne'er could know another storm.

Come! Let not listless sadness make delay,—
Beneath Heaven's light that sadness will depart;
And as we wander on our shoreward way,

A strange, sweet peace shall enter in thine heart.

We will not weep, nor talk of vanish'd years,

When, link by link, Hope's glittering chain was riven: Those who are dead shall claim from love no tears,Those who have injured us, shall be forgiven.

Few have my summers been, and fewer thine ;-
Youth ruin'd, is the weary lot of both :

To both, all lonely shows our life's decline,

Both with old friends and ties have waxed wroth.