shillings a week, the scene-shifter, the paltry play actor, enjoys more of the comforts and real respectability of human life than one of those miserable aspirants to the wool-sack, who spends his day in the desperate quest for a brief, and sits at night in his garret shivering over a shovel-full of coals and an old edition of Coke upon Littleton.--_Frazer's Magazine._ SONNET ON THE DEATH OF WORDSWORTH. _23d April, 1850._ Beneath the solemn shadow he doth sleep Of his own mountains! closed the poet's eyes To all earth's beauty--wood, and lake, and skies, And golden mists that up the valleys creep. Sweet Duddon's stream and Rydal's grassy steep, The "snow-white lamb," his cottage-maiden's prize, The cuckoo's note, and flowers, in which his wise And gentle mind found "thoughts for tears too deep"-- These, Wordsworth! thou hast left; but oh, on these, And the deep human sympathies that flow Link'd with their beauty, an immortal train, Thy benediction rests; and as the breeze Sweeping the cloud-capp'd hills is heard below. Descends to us a rich undying strain! H. M. R. [From the Dublin University Magazine.] MAURICE TIERNAY, THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE. [_Continued from Page 10._] CHAPTER II. THE RESTAURANT "AU SCELERAT." As I gained the street, at a considerable distance from the "Place," I was able to increase my speed; and I did so with an eagerness as if the world depended on my haste. At any other time I would have bethought me of my disobedience to the Pere's commands, and looked forward to meeting him with shame and sorrow, but now I felt a kind of importance in the charge intrusted to me. I regarded my mission as something superior to any petty consideration of self, while the very proximity in which I had stood to peril and death made me seem a hero in my own eyes. At last I reached the street where we lived, and, almost breathless with exertion, gained the door. What was my amazement, however, to find it guarded by a sentry, a large, solemn-looking fellow, with a tattered cocked hat on his head, and a pair of worn striped trowsers on his legs, who cried out, as I appeared, "_Halte la!_" in a voice that at once arrested my steps. "Where to, youngster?" said he, in a somewhat melted tone, seeing the shock his first words had caused me. "I am going home, sir," said I, submissively. "I live at the third story, in the apartment of the Pere Michel." "The Pere Michel will live there no longer, my boy; his apartment is now in the Temple," said he, slowly. "In the Temple!" said I, whose memory at once recalled my father's fate; and then, unable to control my feelings, I sat down upon the steps, and burst into tears. "There, there, child, you must not cry thus," said he; "these are not days when one should weep over misfortunes; they come too fast and too thick on all of us for that. The Pere was your tutor, I suppose?"