intercourse with the world,--without the recollection of some outrage on his independence, some dogmatism that he dared not question, some impertinence that he dared not confute. With his ears ringing with blue-stocking literature, threadbare sophistries, forms erected into important principles, mediocrity elevated into consideration, and the pre-eminence of the vain, the ignorant, and the contemptible, he will shut himself up in his solitude, and say with the Englishman at Paris _Je m'ennuis tres bien ici_. Against the recurrence of these annoyances, day after day renewed, what nerves can hold out? As life advances, time becomes precious, every moment is counted, every enjoyment is computed; and while the effort necessary for pleasing and being pleased becomes greater, the motive for making that exertion grows less. When the sources of physical gratification are dried up, and the illusions of life are dissipated, there remains nothing for enjoyment but a tranquil fireside, and the mastery of our own ideas and of our own habits in the privacy of home. But then, to enjoy these, you must not have a methodist wife, and you must have a porter who can lie with a good grace, a fellow who could say "not at home," though death himself knocked at the door. Neither should you read the newspapers, nor walk the streets. The times are long gone by since "wisdom cried out there." Folly, impertinence, sheer impertinence, has exclusive possession of the king's highway; and a dog with a tin-kettle at tail has as good a chance as the wretch who dares to tread the pavement without partaking of the ruling insanity. Oh! Mr. Brougham, Mr. Brougham! your schoolmaster has a great deal yet to do: pray heaven his rods and his fools' caps may hold out!--_New Month. Mag._ * * * * * TO "BEAUTY." The morn is up! wake, Beauty, wake! The flower is on the lea, The blackbird sings within the brake, The thrush is on the tree; Forth to the balmy fields repair, And let the breezes mild Lift from thy brow the falling hair, And fan my little child-- Yet if thy step be 'mid the dews, Beauty! be sure to change your shoes! 'Tis noon! the butterfly springs up, High from her couch of rest, And scorns the little blue-bell cup Which all night long she press'd. Away! we'll seek the walnut's shade, And pass the sunny hour, The bee within the rose is laid, And veils him in the flower; Mark not the lustre of his wing, Beauty! be careful of his sting! 'Tis eve! but the retiring ray A halo deigns to cast Round scenes on which it shone all day, And gilds them to the last: Thus, ere thine eyelids close in sleep, Let Memory deign to flee Far o'er the mountain and the deep, To cast one beam on me! Yes, Beauty! 'tis mine inmost prayer-- But don't forget to curl your hair! _Blackwood's Mag._ * * * * * GOG AND MAGOG.--(_A Fragment._)