as regularly as the day came; and with a spirit worthy of the great cause, declared that, if she had twenty daughters, she would take every one of them every day to the same place, for the same rubbing? What will become of the heavy hours of him who declared St. John's gas a qualification for the Cabinet, and that a sick minister applying to this dispenser of all virtue, would be on his legs in the House, and making a victorious speech within the twenty-four hours? What will become of the battalion of beauties who, at every puff of the gas-pipe, ran to their mirrors, and received the congratulations of the surrounding dandies, or the revived carnation of their cheeks? "Othello's occupation's o'er." But a St. John Long, of some kind or other, is so essential to the West-end world, that a successor must be rapidly erected in his room. Every age has its St. John Long, formed by the mere necessities of the opulent and idle. A new Perkins, with a packet of metallic tractors on a new scale would be extremely acceptable in any handsome street in the neighbourhood of Grosvenor-square. Animal magnetism would thrive prodigiously between this and the dust-months, when London is left to the guardsmen and the cab-drivers; and when, as Lady Jersey says, nobody who is anybody is to be seen in the streets from morning till night, that is, from three till six. But the true man of success would be Dr. Graham, of famous memory; the heir of his talents would make a fortune in any season of the year; and now that St. John Long has vacated the throne, nothing could be more favourable for his ambition, than to take advantage of the interregnum, and make himself monarch of charlatanry without loss of time.--From "Notes of the Month," by far the most piquant portion of the _Monthly Mag_. * * * * * FLOWERS IN A ROOM OF SICKNESS. "I desire, as I look on these, the ornaments and children of Earth, to know whether, indeed, such things I shall see no more!--whether they have no likeness, no archetype in the world in which my future home is to be cast? or whether they _have_ their images above, only wrought in a more wondrous and delightful mould."--_Conversations with an Ambitious Student in Ill Health_. Bear them not from grassy dells, Where wild bees have honey-cells; Not from where sweet water-sounds Thrill the green wood to its bounds; Not to waste their scented breath On the silent room of Death! Kindred to the breeze they are, And the glow-worm's emerald star, And the bird, whose song is free, And the many-whispering tree; Oh! too deep a love, and vain, They would win to Earth again! Spread them not before the eyes, Closing fast on summer skies! Woo then not the spirit back, From its lone and viewless track, With the bright things which have birth Wide o'er all the coloured Earth!