Are not these the reflections of every thinking mind? If they are not, we must entreat the indulgence of our readers for the melancholy pleasure we take in the discussion of the subject. The words may indeed be more than ordinarily affecting to us, inasmuch as they remind us of a friend who in his life was “turned out” from every thing that life can bestow, but who in his death shall never be “turned out” from that consolatory tribute to his Manes--the recollection of a sincere friend. Poor Gilbert! The occurrences of his eventful existence would indeed furnish materials for the poet or the moralist, for a tragedy of five acts, or a homily of fifty heads. His father always prophesied he would turn out a great man; and yet the poor fellow did nothing but turn out, and never became a great man. At fourteen he turned out with a bargeman, and lost an eye; at seventeen he was turned out from Eton, and lost King’s; at three-and-twenty he was turned out of his father’s will, and lost a thousand a-year; at four-and-twenty he was turned out of a tandem, and lost the long odds; at five-and-twenty he was turned out of a place, and lost all patience; at six-and-twenty he was turned out of the affections of his mistress, and lost his last hope; at seven-and-twenty he was turned out of a gaming-house, where he lost his last farthing. Gilbert died about a year ago, after existing for some time in a miserable state of dependence upon a rich uncle. To the last he was fond of narrating to his friends the vicissitudes of his life, which he constantly concluded in the following manner:--“So, gentlemen, I have been turning out during my whole life; you now see me on the brink of the grave, and I don’t care how soon I turn in.” We had not heard from him for a considerable space of time, and were beginning to wonder at his protracted silence, when a friend who was studying the _Morning Post_ apprised us of his decease by the following exclamation:--“My God! Old Gilbert’s dead! Here’s a quaint turn out!” Alas! how often does it happen that we are not aware of the value of the blessings we enjoy until chance or destiny has taken them from us. This has been the case in our acquaintance with our lamented companion. How bitterly do we now regret that we did not, while his life was spared, make use of his inestimable experience to collect some instructions on the art of turning out, both in the active and the neuter signification of the words. For surely no two things are more difficult than the giving or receiving of a dismissal. To go through the one with civility, and the other with firmness, is indeed a rare talent, which every man of the world should study to attain.