upon the death of a young and lovely girl, the bloom of whose fair cheek refused to wither at the blighting touch of the Destroyer: 'HER eye-lids as in sleep were closed, Her brow was white like snow; A smile still lingered on her cheek, As if 'twas loth to go! 'And it may be a smile so sweet, So quiet and serene, Was never on the healthy brow Of living maiden seen. 'Perchance the wondrous bliss which burst Upon her raptured mind, When first she woke in glory's courts, Now left its trace behind. 'Her end was peace. I thought that they Who loved her, should not grieve; For these last words they heard her say, 'My spirit, LORD, receive!' 'And when they laid her in the earth, Her cheek still held the bloom; That smile so sweet, the gentle maid Bore with her to the tomb. 'Think it not strange that brighter tints Upon the blossoms crept, Which grew above the sacred spot Where that meek maiden slept.' * * * * * WE scarcely know when we have been more amused, than in reading lately a satirical sketch, entitled '_The House of Mourning: a Farce_.' Squire HAMPER and his lady, personages rather of the rustic order, who have come up to London from the family seat in the country, in the progress of shopping in a street at the west end of the metropolis, stop at a dry-goods undertakers, with a hatchment, and '_Maison de Deuil_,' or House of Mourning, by way of a sign over the door. 'Mason de Dool!' exclaims the Squire, responding to his wife's translation; 'some foreign haberdasher's, I 'spose.' The lady, however, coaxes him to go in; for although she has lost no friends, she longs to see the 'improvements in mourning,' which she can do by 'cheapening a few articles, and buying a penny-worth of black pins.' The worthy pair enter, take an ebony chair at the counter, while a clerk in a suit of sables addresses the lady, and in sepulchral tones inquires if he 'can have the melancholy pleasure of serving her.' 'How deep would you choose to go, Ma'am? Do you wish to be very poignant? We have a very extensive assortment of family and complimentary mourning. Here is one, Ma'am, just imported; a widow's silk, watered, as you perceive, to match the sentiment. It is called the 'Inconsolable,' and is very much in vogue in Paris for matrimonial bereavements.' 'Looks rather flimsy, though,' interposes the Squire; 'not likely to last long, eh, Sir?' 'A little slight, praps,' replies the shopman; 'rather a delicate texture; but mourning ought not to last forever, Sir.' 'No,' grumbles the Squire; 'it seldom does, 'specially the violent sorts.' 'As to mourning, Ma'am,' continues the shopman, addressing the lady, 'there has been a great deal, a very great deal indeed, this season; and several new fabrics have been introduced, to meet the demand for fashionable tribulation, and all in the French style; they of France excel in the _funebre_. Here for