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THE OLD ELM.

THOU standest on the forest's edge, proud monarch of the wood,
Thy sturdy form the goings forth of many a storm hath stood;
Age doth not seem to weaken thee; thy greenness doth not fail;
In years to come thy hoary head shall bow before the gale.
Thou art a faithful sentinel, and Time hath fix'd thee there
To mark the flight of fleeting years as ever on they wear;
And, though the winter's sweeping blasts thy leaves have often slain,
The flowering summer hath renew'd thy emerald robes again.
Like a true friend, old favour'd Elm, thy form to me appears;
Strange visions of wild fantasy come up from other years;
And shades of dark mysterious gloom are o'er my senses cast
While musing on the varied scenes that crowd the fertile past.
How many young and happy hearts have thrill'd in wild delight,
Anticipating richer bliss in manhood's glorious might;
Trusting the world's bright promises-more bright, alas! than true,—
Beneath the deep and ample shade thy towering branches threw !
And many forms of fairest mould, and cheeks of youthful bloom,
Have pass'd to manhood, and to age, and to the dreary tomb,
While thou wert waving in thy pride,-a prince among the trees,
With all thy glowing pinions spread in beauty on the breeze.
Oft hast thou seen the flaxen locks on childhood's brow of snow,
Uplifted by the slightest breeze, in graceful ringlets flow;
Hast seen them thicken and assume a darker, sterner hue,
Until the hand of age at length the silver o'er them threw.

And thou hast mark'd the ruddy cheek, and forehead bright and fair,
Before Time's iron hand had writ on them a line of care;
The cheek before thy sight has blanch'd, the forehead furrow'd o'er,
And both were placed beneath the sod, to bloom and blanch no more.
My grandsire, when a thoughtless boy, beneath thy boughs has played;
My father's form of infancy was cradled in thy shade;
And thou hast seen life's changing flood full often o'er them sweep,
Now shelter'd from the winter's storms, and, watched by thee, they sleep.
And I the wayward youth, the man-have wandered near thy side;
Matured in strength before thee now, I stand in manhood's pride;
Beside the dead a narrow place untenanted I see;

Soon with my fathers I may rest,—that place is left for me.
Ere long the greensward at thy base will show another grave,
And over me as green as now will thy long branches wave;
And other feet shall wander here, and other hearts be gay,
When I, like my ancestral race, from earth have passed away.
And summer suns will roll on high as brilliantly as e'er,
And summer skies, as broad, as blue, as beautiful, as clear,
Will shine above the busy world when life with me is done,
And few, ah! very few indeed, will know that I am gone.
Baltimore, U.S.

J. N. Mc JILTON.

THE-DOG HOSPITAL OF PARIS.

BY TOBY ALLSPY.

My friend Leonard d'Egoville is one of the happiest rascals of my acquaintance; there is a provoking self-satisfaction in the fellow's looks, which is apt to put the rest of the world out of humour with his prosperity. D'Egoville is always triumphant, ever exulting, overpowering one with his selfish sense of enjoyment, and perpetual demands on one's admission of inferiority. Why not, for instance, allow me to eat my mutton cutlets in peace, without informing me that yesterday he dined on chevreuil? Why not let me enjoy my humble dish of larks, without boasting, with a punch in the ribs, that last night he supped on beccaficos? For my part I can contentedly swallow my paltry pint of Pouilly under the acacia-trees of the "Vendanges de Bourgogne," without insulting the porteur d'eau I see making wry faces at the nearest guinguette, over his vin de Surêne, by enlarging upon its delicate flavour; and, methinks, I have a right to expect similar forbearance on the part of the chuckling Monsieur d'Egoville, when he comes parading to me about his iced St. Péray or choice Sauterne. I am not more envious than my neighbours, yet I swear there are moments when it would be a relief to me to see my friend Leonard receive a whacking box on the ear, in retribution of his exultations.

For several years past, D'Egoville has been in the enjoyment of a capital bachelor's apartment on the Boulevard des Capucines, and a charming little villa at Montmorency, and I admit that he would be an ungrateful dog, were he not to thank Heaven morning, evening, and at odd times between, for the auspicious ordering of his des. tinies; but he has no right to tantalize a poor wretch of a scribbler like myself by bragging of the coolness of his cellars, the marrowlike softness of his sofa-cushions, the sharpness of his razors, or the smoothness of his parquets.

"This is a cheering sight," said I, on meeting him the other day at the exhibition of the arts and manufactures of France, now open in the Champs Elysées," a most gratifying thing for Louis Phillippe and the French nation, to perceive how vast a progress has been made during the last five years in the texture of their cloths, the growth of their wool, and the temper of their cutlery. The jury will find it a difficult task, I conceive, to award their medals and prizes among so many meritorious competitors."

"What the devil do I care for the jury, its medals, or prizes!" exclaimed D'Egoville, with a self-complacent laugh. "I come here, my dear fellow, solely on my own errand. Happening to look yesterday at my banker's book, and to find the balance, as usual, on the right side, I instantly drew a cheque for a few thousand francs, with the view of adding more comforts to my bachelor's hall, yonder at Montmorency. For a man who has a little money to throw away, this place is really a resource. One sees all the new inventions, all the last improvements, without the bore of driving from shop to shop, to be bored and solicited to death; and after all, perhaps, flummeried into the purchase of a service of plate or a boot-jack of

VOL. IV.

10

last year's fashion. Look at this magnificent stained crystal from Alsace-I have just ordered myself a most exquisite little cabaret for my eau sucrée, white embossed with garnet colour, for two hundred francs. I should have paid half as much again for some rococo machine or other of the same kind, had I contented myself with a puny look at the Palais Royal. Again, yonder magnificent carpet. of Sallandrouze's, with the peacock waving his gorgeous tail as a centre-piece-I have bought it for my drawing-room, for two thousand francs, instead of closing for the quizzical Aubusson for which I was bargaining with my upholsterer. I am now on my road to the next gallery, to settle about some carved ebony consoles. I can't make up my mind exactly which I like best,-those with or without the ivory inlaying."

"The difference of price between the two must be considerable," I inadvertently observed.

"Ay, ay, that is the point always uppermost in the thoughts of you pen-and-ink gentry. Luckily, a thousand or two of francs more or less in the cost signifies very little to me! All I have to consider is, which kind will harmonize best with the new Venetian hangings which Lesage is putting up in my saloon. And, by the way, what think you of those mechanical beds yonder, with their reading-desk, lampstand, and table-service, appearing and disappearing by the touch of a spring? I have some thoughts of getting one against my first fit of the gout. Even in this hot weather it is pleasant enough to be waited upon, without, being offended by the sight of one's footmen's shining faces."

"Certainly, certainly," said I, striving to get away, and follow my own devices in the examination of the curious works of art and science abounding in the gallery.

66

Why, where the deuce are you hurrying to?" cried Leonard d'Egoville; "what can you want here?" he continued, with a supercilious glance from my seedy coat to one of Ancoq's gorgeous dressing-cases of sculptured gold.

"Not much, indeed!" I replied, forcing a laugh. "But there is some consolation in examining and philosophising upon yonder anatomical model of an unsophisticated man, (with its demonstration of veins and arteries, proving all the sons of Adam to be condemned to the same organization,) in comparison with the various displays of finery, lace, embroidery, and brocade, which furnish the worldly distinction between my lord and his valet,-between the Croesus and the beggar !"

My irony was thrown away.

"Brocade ?-embroidery ?" cried D'Egoville, catching at the only sounds comprehensible to him in my harangue: "where the devil are they? I have seen only those devoted to the service of the altar, which, by the way, your millionaire Roman Catholic English Lord* has been buying up by the waggon-load for his new church. There is nothing worth speaking of in the way of embroidery that I am aware of."

"Not even the exquisite court train and cushion marked with the initials of the young Queen of England?" cried I, with indigna

tion.

"As I told you before, I am in search only of objects applicable

The Earl of Shrewsbury.

to my own use. What are court-trains to me? But, by the way," (continued Leonard, pointing to a stall we were passing covered with toupets and peruques, of every size, shape, sort, and shade, betwixt black, chinchilli, and hoary silver, betwixt the full-bottom and the astucian's tour de tête,) "even you might surely find things here adapted both to your wants and pockets. See, my poor friend!-cauls of very decent aspect for your bald crown, at ten francs a-piece! And look beyond superb rateliers of teeth for three louis a-set, or half-a-crown by the single grinder. Ears, too, in gold, silver, or caoutchouc, permanent or temporary, with acoustic tubes, affixable at pleasure. And, as I live, glass eyes! of every hue, from sparkling black to sentimental blue. But you enjoy, I fancy, the use of both your eyes, eh?-your imperfect vision being merely the result of your time of life. Well no need to despair! Here is an optician who promises that, by the use of a pair of five-franc spectacles, you shall be able to read diamond editions by candlelight."

"There are also yonder crutches for the lame, iron bandages for the deformed, and even straight-waistcoats for the insane," cried I, enraged beyond my patience by his insolent egotism. "I flatter myself that I stand in need of neither; yet I am thankful to Heaven that I am able to admire the progress of human ingenuity, without reference to my personal wants or deficiencies."

Why, by Jupiter, I do believe you are affronted!" cried D'Egoville. 66 My dear fellow, ten million of pardons! Perhaps I am a little too apt to overlook the raws and sores of other people; yet I have certainly no reason to disparage those arising from-from a deficiency in the financial department," said he, afraid of again offending me. "Only a few years ago, I used to come here myself with wistful eyes and watering mouth, like the chimney-sweepers who thaw their noses in hard weather against the panes of the pastry-cooks' shops. I did not then dare so much as lift my ambition to a cane and tassel, by way of equipage-I who, this very season, have launched a couple of carriages and a fourgon!"

I was amazed-though the bragging propensities of Leonard D'Egoville ought to have forewarned me of the parvenu—his hardness of heart had caused me to set him down in my mind as one born and nurtured in the sunshine of prosperity. So little had he learned mercy, that I could not conceive he had ever suffered persecution.

"You look surprised," cried he, detecting my amazement. "Did I never confide to you the strange origin of my fortune? Let me see— when we first made our acquaintance crossing St. Bernard, four years ago—"

"You were, as now, in the enjoyment of wealth and independence," said I. "During the illness following the accident which then befell me-me, a poor wayfarer-you were lavish in your offers of assist

ance

"Pooh, pooh!--I have heard enough of that-it was not of that we were talking," cried D'Egoville. "I was telling you, or wanting to tell you, how, from a poor devil in arrears for the rent of his fusty lodging in the Quartier Latin, I achieved my present position. The story is a long one, and would do me little honour in the ears of the idlers of the Exposition, should it chance to be overheard.

Come down, therefore, with me to Montmorency-my Pelham is at the door-come down with me, I say, to Montmorency, and dine and sleep, and you shall have the narrative of my chequered life, including a description of the memorable temple of Esculapius-l'Hôpital des chiens-which was the making of me."

"You kept a dog-hospital!" cried I, inexpressibly astonished.

"Not exactly," replied Leonard, more diverted, however, than indignant at the accusation. "Trust me, I had not wherewithal to entertain any establishment half so costly. But I see your curiosity is excited; let us be going. I dine at six precisely—ay, precisely, even to a friend."

"I am sorry I cannot accept your obliging invitation," said I, draw. ing up. "Although I lodge in a cinquième, and the meal awaiting me is only my daily soupe and bouilli, the good woman who prepares it would be apt in her anxiety to go and interrogate the police, should her methodical master commit so strange a breach of routine as to tarry from home for board and bed, without having duly apprized her."

"Stuff and nonsense! We will take the Rue Miromenil in our way out of town, instead of crossing through Les Thermes; and you may at once apprise your Megara, and snatch up a change of linen, in case you are tempted to remain with me to-morrow," cried D'Egoville. "Come, come !-we must not lose our time. A good entrée waits for no man; and our filets de canatan will be spoiled, if you stand hem-ing and ha-ing thus."

And though I did my utmost to evade the engagement, between threats, promises, and cajolements, Monsieur d'Egoville took such forcible possession of my mind and body, that we had reached St. Omers before I was half reconciled to my own inconsistency of purpose.

"How full of historical reminiscences are all the environs of Paris!" cried D'Egoville, with a sentimental air, as we drove within view of the aristocratic parks of St. Omers, "betwixt the great De Staël, Du Cayla, and Ferrand, of Merino-sheep renown-how many illustrious names connect themselves with the history of St. Omers! But I forget-I have promised to talk to you of a person less illustrious-of my obscure self."

And as he spoke, he began to caress his crossed leg with an air of complacency, implying that, in his own estimation, Charlemagne was a footboy to him.

"I have a tale to tell which, as my coachman has no more ear for Christian discourse than one of the brutes he is driving, can never be more safely adventured than here on the Citizen King's highway," he resumed. "In the first place, know that, high as I have ascended in the scale of society, your humble servant was born in the confined sphere of a porter's lodge. The cordon, my natural inheritance, was neither that of the St. Esprit nor of the Golden Fleece, but simply that cord by which my tender mother let in and out the visiters to an obscure house in the Rue Vendôme. Ay— shrug your shoulders!-gay and brilliant as you behold me, I am actually a native of that most humdrum quarter of Paris, the Marais! Superior to, or perhaps only ashamed of, her humble vocation, my mother announced herself to me, as I grew to a boy's estate, as the widow of a captain of the grande armée; in witness whereof,