Alas for my poor friend Bob! He died of a broken heart--that is to say _mediately_. He died _im_-mediately of hard drinking. Napoleon remembered the Seine on his death-bed and asked to be buried upon its sunniest bank; Bob remembered Goluon when his great temples had the death-damp upon them. His vision had failed him; his nose had become peaked; his body, like a jaded and worn hack, had fallen under the spirit, which like a stout horseman had long kept it to its paces; but the little abiding place of memory had not been destroyed, and poor Bob muttered at times of a dead lady with fair hair--of a valley of sweet waters--of a grave with two willows above it--of pleasant Goluon--and died with an unuttered prayer upon his lips, and with a strong desire at his heart. The prayer was, that I, his friend, would bury him between the two willows--on the evening bank of Goluon--side by side with Betty Manning his old sweetheart. Poor Bob! May God take kind care of his soul! V. "I much lament that nevermore to me Can come fleet pulse, bright heart, and frolic mood; I much lament that nevermore may be My tame step light, my wan cheek berry-hued." In the lines just quoted, the poet (old Philip Allen, a Welshman) strikes the proper key. When we have ceased to derive pleasure from that which once afforded it to us, we should regard the change as _in ourselves_. The grass of the hill is as green as it ever was, but the step once "light" has become "tame." The bird sings as sweetly as ever, but the "bright heart" into which the "honey drops of his constant song" once fell, has been dimmed and darkened by human passions. The berry-clusters are still in the fringe of the thicket, but the palate has no longer any relish for them. _We have changed._ Yet we are apt to believe the change any where rather than in ourselves. Indeed we are for the most part like Launcelot in the play. _Gobbo_.--"Lord worshipped might he be! What a beard hast thou got! Thou hast more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my thill horse, has on his tail." _Launcelot_.--"It would seem then that Dobbin's tail grows backward. I am sure that he had more hair on his tail than I had on my face when I last saw him." It was the chin of Launcelot that had undergone the change, and not the tail of his father Gobbo's thill horse Dobbin. {317} _Editorial_. THE LOYALTY OF VIRGINIA. In our last number, while reviewing the Ecclesiastical History of Dr. Hawks, we had occasion to speak of those portions of Mr. George Bancroft's _United Slates_, which have reference to the loyalty of Virginia immediately before and during the Protectorate of Cromwell. Since the publication of our remarks, a personal interview with Mr. Bancroft, and an examination, especially, of one or two passages in his History, have been sufficient to convince us that injustice (of course unintentional) has been done that gentleman, not only by ourselves, but by Dr. Hawks and others.