something heavy seemed to have seized her spirits. Let Jane recollect how
she once related to me the curious history and character of Percival
Stockdale! It happened at the house of a friend in London, whom I shall
not point out with too much particularity. Dibdin endeavoured to excite
the envy of some of us litterateurs, that we were not, like him, members
of the Roxburgh, which had dukes, and earls, and chancellors of the
exchequer, and judges, and the great Magician of the North into the
bargain!--_Metropolitan._

* * * * *

TO A CHILD IN PRAYER.

Fold thy little hands in prayer,
Bow down at thy Maker's knee;
Now thy sunny face is fair,
Shining through thy golden hair,
Thine eyes are passion-free;
And pleasant thoughts like garlands bind thee
Unto thy home, yet Grief may find thee--
Then pray, Child, pray!

Now thy young heart like a bird
Singeth in its summer nest,
No evil thought, no unkind word.
No bitter, angry voice hath stirr'd
The beauty of its rest.
But winter cometh, and decay
Wasteth thy verdant home away--
Then pray, Child, pray!