But childhood loves to stray Whene'er the sward is green, Round your mementos grey, And haunts the mouldering scene; And lovely in repose, At sunset's gorgeous close, Your holy walls seem blending With purple light descending Upon the beauteous rose. Tombs of the past unknown! Ye are fringed with violets blue, And clouds have laved your stone With sweetest tears of dew; But when, by angels given, The last dread peal of heaven Shall rend ye all asunder With its immortal thunder, Your dead shall claim their heaven. _Deal_. G.R.C. * * * * * PORTRAIT OF STERNE. (_To the Editor._) As many of the pages of your extensively-circulated little work have preserved memorials of _Laurence Sterne_, I hope you can spare room for the underwritten extract, from a letter of his to Mr. Garrick, dated Paris, March, 1762, and which may be seen in Vol I. of Mrs. Medalle's "Letters of the late L. Sterne." My object in thus troubling you is, in the hope (perhaps you will say an almost forlorn, or distant one) that _possibly_ some one of your readers, either here or abroad, maybe able to suggest where it is likely the under-mentioned _whole-length_ portrait may now be of that once very distinguished man. A CONSTANT READER. "I shandy it away fifty times more than I was ever wont, talk more nonsense than ever you heard me talk in your days--and to all sorts of people. _Qui le diable est cet homme là_ ... said Choiseul, t'other day. You'll think me as vain as a devil, was I to tell you the rest of the dialogue.... The Duke of Orleans has suffered my portrait to be added to the number of some odd men in his collection; and a gentleman who lives with him has taken it _most expressively_, at full length. I purpose to obtain an etching of it, and to send it to you." * * * * * EPITOME OF THE ANCIENT KINGDOM OF POLAND. (_For the Mirror._)