Could aught on earth dispel my grief?
Nor smiling sun, nor minstrel bird,
Can give this aching heart relief.

Since he I love is far away,
O'er forest, river, brake, and glen,
And distant, too, perchance the day,
When I shall see him once again.


[1] "Till now some nine moons wasted."--SHAKSPEARE.



* * * * *


MERRY CHRISTMAS!

_(For the Mirror.)_

"Do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals?"

SHAKSPEARE'S _Henry the Eighth._


Since, my dear readers, even in this season of busy festivity I can
spare a few moments to write for your gratification, I venture to hope
you will spare a few to read for mine.