Whoe'er his merit under-rates,
The worth which he disclaims, creates.
It chanc'd a single drop of rain
Slip'd from a cloud into the main:
Abash'd, dispirited, amaz'd,
At last her small, still voice she rais'd:
"Where, and what am I?--Woe is me!
What a mere drop in such a sea!"
An oyster, yawning where she fell,
Entrap'd the vagrant in his shell;
And there concocted in a trice,
Into an orient pearl of price.
Such is the best and brightest gem,
In Britain's royal diadem.[2]

E.B.J.

[2] See page 330.

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FINE ARTS.

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HOSPITAL OF ST. CROSS, HANTS.