_Herald_ states, in the _churchyard_, so that the poet's biographers
are not even agreed WHERE he was buried. Yet, since his death,
thousands of pounds have been expended in restoring the architecture
of the Temple church, and one hears everlastingly of the rare series
of effigies of Knights Templars: but a few pounds have not been spared
for a stone to tell where the poor poet sleeps. True it is, that a
monument has been erected to his memory in Westminster Abbey, with a
Latin inscription, by Dr. Johnson, but the locality of his actual
resting-place is untold. We may say with equal truth and justice--

Oh shame to the land of his birth!

PHILO.

* * * * *


THE SAVOYARD.

_By E.B. Impey, Esq._


[The following ballad is founded on the melancholy fact of a Savoyard
boy and his monkey having been found starved to death in St. James's
Park during the night of a severe frost.]

Weary and wan from door to door
With faint and faltering tread,
In vain for shelter I implore,
And pine for want of bread.