In vain! the mourning one no glance Of love or welcome gave; She thought beneath the blue expanse Of ocean was my grave: I then sang airs that in the cell Of hoarding memory long had slept, And with a look tongue cannot tell She clasped my neck and wept. * * * * * =SONNET.—THE COMET.= =BY WM. ALEXANDER.= Upon what deed of hazardous emprise, Bold Comet, dost thou come? From vistas deep Of space, thou hurriedly dost sweep, Self-shining, with thy trail athwart the skies, To greet the golden sun. Nor comest thou Alone—a myriad more press on thy track, In wild excursion; soon to measure back The ebon distances. Come, tell us, now, Why unannounced, strange visitant! once more, So suddenly thou burstest on our sight, A terror at mid-day—a wonder of the night? Precursor of red war, then, dost thou soar, Or monitor of wo? Peculiar Fire! Thy presence can in us no confidence inspire. * * * * * =FANCIES FROM A GARRET.= =BY GEO. CANNING HILL.= BUBBLES. And why not, pray, from a Garret? And from a Country Garret, too? Though the sun doth not flood the crannies and crevices with its light—and though dangling webs from spiders’ looms swing from one huge beam to another—yet may there brood no Fancies there?—fancies, too, themselves radiant with sunshine, and fringed with a fine web of beauty? Ay—it is not in smooth-shaven meadows alone, or beneath broad-reaching trees, or beside brawling brooks, that a man’s Fancies will disport themselves:—it is not in the woods only, that his inward nature will take airy wings, and revel among speculations far more real, after all, than the very realities about him:—but it is here—there—everywhere:—it is even beneath the rafters of a dim, dusty, and lumber-laden Garret. * * * * * I have got a little apartment in the south-east corner of one of these thought-peopled Garrets; none at all too spacious, to be sure; lighted by but a single window, and walled in on all sides by the weird and strange influences that haunt the place. To this retreat I am accustomed to betake myself occasionally, when I would indulge in that refreshing and genial siesta of the senses—a Reverie.