To see one of our fellow creatures on whom nature has with an unsparing hand bestowed her best gifts, doing deeds unworthy the high standing of his parentage, and disgracing the purity of his privileges, is to the noble in spirit the source of its most feverish excitement. With the best of minds, organized artistically, Byron fell into habits so monstrously bad, that among the virtuous his name became a term used in denoting disgrace. No excuse can be offered for the man who has disgraced his name—no charity is so blind as not to see the stain. In the world’s history, as far back as the memory reaches into the past, we have seen the most brilliant minds, associated in connection with some of the worst qualities of the heart. There is occasionally some solitary instance, standing as some beautiful _relief_ on the epoch of time, of beings whose splendid endowments of mind have not been more remarkable in their era of history for talent, than the generous breathings of the holy purity of heart have been for kindness. Such cases as these are few, and happen but seldom. In “Boz” these two qualities have met. * * * * * NYDIA, THE BLIND FLOWER-GIRL OF POMPEII. BY G. G. FOSTER. Thou beautiful misfortune! image fair Of flowers all ravished, yet their sweetness giving To the rude hand that crushed them! thou dost wear Thy loveliness so meekly—thy love hiving Within thy deepest heart-cells—that the air Pauses enamored, from thy breath contriving To steal the perfume of the incensed fire Which brightly burns within, yet burns without desire. Thy life should be among the roses, where Beauty without its passion paints each leaf, And gently-falling dews upon the air The light of loveliness exhale, and brief And glorious, without toil, or pain, or care, They prideless bloom and wither without grief. Thou shouldst not feel the slow and sure decay Which frees ignoble spirits from their clay. Farewell, thou bright embodiment of truth— Too warm to worship, yet too pure to love! Thou shalt survive in thy immortal youth Thy brief existence—while thy soul above Rests in the bosom of its God. No ruth, Or anguish, or despair, or hopeless love, Again shall rend thy gentle breast—but bliss Embalm in that bright world the heart that broke in this. * * * * * THE DUELLO.[1] BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE BROTHERS,” “CROMWELL,” ETC.