happier than the infant, his rest was not in danger of being disturbed.
While reflecting on the change which a single hour had sufficed to
produce, I could hardly help regarding as idle the the sorrow, the pity,
and the self-reproach for momentary forgetfulness of these, which I had
felt and breathed within that period. I almost accused the sufferers of
weakness, for showing themselves depressed as they had been, while I
felt disposed, seeing their griefs were, to all appearance, terminated
for ever, to demand with the poet,


"And what is death we so unwisely fear?"


and to answer as he replies to himself,


"An end of all our busy tumults here."


_Knight's Quarterly Magazine._

* * * * *


JEU D'ESPRIT.

(_For the Mirror._)


A sanctified hermit was heard to complain