SKETCHES OF YOUNG LADIES.

By "Quiz." Chapman and Hall,
Strand.

If the patronymic had not been acknowledged by Mr. Quiz, we should very quickly have discovered, by his style of writing, that he was a member of that very ancient family, who settled in England long before the Conquest. We doubt not he has been a "sad dog" in his day, and we think now he had better be on his guard when in company with the ladies, or he will stand a chance of being called to a very strict account for his proceedings against them. Let him more especially beware of the class which forms the subject of the following extract.

THE LITERARY YOUNG LADY.

we had just been writing from memory, but which,
in her simple mind, she thought to be our own
composition. She then informed us, gratuitously,
that a most scientific work has just been published
by Murray, with which we could not fail of being
highly delighted.

DEATH'S CRADLE SONG..

BY CHRISTIAN LAVINUS FREDERIC SANDER. (From Specimens of the German Lyric Poets.)

How snug is my pillow, my bedding how warm! To slumber how tempting, how shelter'd from harm!

flowers!

But," said she, " mind you read it with attention. It is so very deep. I assure you I took all yesterday morning in getting through the first half. Its all about steam-engines, stars, hieroglyphics, and that sort of thing you know. Highly interest-See Spring, happy season, new garnish the bowers, ing I assure you. But I don't exactly agree with And strew o'er my couch its first buds and its the author in what he says about steam-engines The nightingale, too, her soft lay shall repeat going by gas." This led to a long discussion on Thy slumber how sweet! the state of science all over the world, and in that town in particular; and we verily believe we should have been compelled to stay till this moment, talking about Franks, Ariosto, and Craniology, had it not been for the entrance of the literary young lady's mother, who asked her angrily how she had forgotten to order dinner; whereto the literary young lady replied with dignity, that she could not always be thinking of such trivial matters. Hereupon "Mamma" flew into a rage, and was just going to box the young lady's literary ear, when we made our escape.

If there is one young lady whom we should be more afraid of leading to the hymeneal altar than another, it is the literary young lady; by which term we do not simply understand the young lady who takes in the Scientific Magazine, but her whose whole life and thoughts are so mixed up with literature, that she cannot, for the world, The whole class of literary young ladies may be bring out a single consecutive sentence without easily distinguished by their resemblance to our touching on the state of letters here and abroad. fair friend; but we shall add the following chaWhat disgusts us most with the literary young racteristics, that there may be no mistake. In the lady, is the fact that she is invariably most particu- first place, if she does not esteem it too unintel larly ignorant of every thing, and of nothing more lectual to go to a ball, she always shews her conthan her own ignorance. The other day we called tempt for it by wearing soiled kid gloves. Then it upon a young lady of this class, and the first words is ten to one but she is radically inclined, and calls which she uttered were the following" Oh, you Mister. She scarce ever walks out except to Mr. P, have you seen the new magazine; the bookseller's, with whose young man she conwhat's it name? It's so cleverly conducted. I verses on the most easy terms imaginable, asking know it will please you." To this interrogation whether such a book has come out yet; and, if it we answered in the negative, and were proceed- has, what he thinks of it. In the circulating library ing to inquire very pathetically concerning the she is well known, but only reads the scientific present health of the literary young lady's books. If she live in a town, as she does in nine grandmother, when she interrupted us by asking cases out of ten, she is sure to know the writer of us seriously, upon our honour, how far Poltzikouski that very singular paragraph in last week's paper, had got in his grand Russian Dictionary, Oh, but won't tell, ask her ever so much that would Mr. P," said she, "what a splendid work never do! We have never yet had positive evithat will be when it's finished! I am so anxious. dence of the literary young lady writing in poet's Only think! twelve cubic feet of knowledge, corner. In general she is above poetry, preferring genuine Russian knowledge, all in a lump! Then history, philosophy, steam, and the fine arts. Then, there's the Pickwick for this month. Have you again, the literary young lady is sure to have a seen it, Mr. P? Dear, delightful Mr. Pick-collection of hand-writings, and three or four old wick, how I love him!" Hereupon the literary halfpence, which she calls her coins, and piously young lady started at a tangent, without warning, kisses one by one every time she opens the box, into another room, which she calls her study, telling you they belonged to one of the Nero's, or and within five seconds, came back with a small Of late she has taken to political economy book, which she set before us; saying it was and geology, and tells you very profoundly that she Spanish, and begging us to explain a sentence highly approves of Cuvier. which she could not make out. "Only think," said she, "I began Spanish last Tuesday week, and am now at page 180 of Don Quixotte! and it sounds so much better in Spanish too!" Upon this the literary young lady commenced reading Spanish with such a pronunciation as would have caused us to run out of the room, if we had not been on the look out for some luncheon. When she had got through a page to her no small satisfaction, she paused suddenly, and addressed us as follows: "Now, Mr. P., I've got you, and you shan't escape. Don't you remember that you promised to write down for me in this album one of your poetical effusions! Sit down, there's a good man: Here's the pen and every thing. You need not fill more than four pages, but mind you write clear." Thus were we, half ravenous with hunger, forced to sit down and write for one mortal hour with no redress, half of which time the literary young lady was looking over our shoulder to see how we got on, and the other half translating a Some years ago, one of the male convicts in BoFrench divine into her best English, and a square tany Bay, wrote a farce, which was acted with red book. When we had concluded our perform- great applause in the Theatre, Port Jackson. Barance, we thought we were released, and were pre-rington, the noted pick-pocket, furnished the prolitring to depart to the pastry-cook's, when the logue, which ended with these two lines:

literary young lady compelled us to sit down and

hear her criticisms upon Milton's verses, which

So.

Thus much for positive characteristics, two or three of which, if you find together in any young lady, set her down at once as an aspirant to old maidenism, in other words as a literary young lady. For if it be true, as I have observed in society, that some young ladies become old maids sooner and others later, certain it is that the literary young lady outstrips all others in the race, and often becomes a confirmed old maid at the age of three and twenty, when her elders are still in their youth.

Mr. Quiz is really a dangerous person to be in company with, but he has contrived to make an amusing little volume out of the oddities of society. The plates by Phiz are very good, and it

will afford half an hours amusement to those who

like to laugh at a bagatelle.

BOTANY BAY THEATRICALS.

"True patriots we, for be it understood,
We left our country for our country's good:"

How snug is my pillow, my bedding how warm!
How safe lies the sleepe: from care and alarm!
When winter, in storms and in darkness array'd,
My couch with a carpet of snow shall o'erspread,
Still thou shalt behold the rude tempest increase,
Yet slumber in peace!

On earth is fair Virtue unsought and unknown
And heart-felt Enjoyment from mortals is flown.
There Hope will deceive thee, and Love will be-
tray,

And torture thy bosom by night and by day:
While here smiles an angel;-kind Death is his

name,

And brightens thy dream!
Come, then, weary pilgrim, nor startle with dread,
My pillow is downy, and warm is my bed:
I'll bear thy hard burden, thy griefs will 1 share,
And lull thee to slumber, and still thy despair.
Ah, come! and while Death thus invites to repose
Forget all thy woes!

A DYING LOVER.

Mrs. Lowther was a respectable woman, single, and, as it appears by the text, not willing to own herself middle-aged. Another lady happened to be sitting at breakfast with her, when an awkward country lad, new in her service, brought word that "there was one as begged to speak to her." "What is his name?" "Don't know." "What sort of a person-a gentleman ?" "Can't say rightly." "Go and ask him his business." The fellow returned grining, "Why, madam, he says as how-he says he is"-" Well, what does he say, fool?" He says he is one as dies for your ladyship." "Dies for me!" exclaimed the lady, the more incensed from seeing her friend, inclined to laugh, as well as her footman; there ever such a piece of insolence! Turn him out of the house this minute: and hark ye, shut the door in his face." The clown obeyed; but, going to work more roughly than John Bull will ever admit of, produced a scuffle and disturbed the neighbours and called in the constable. At last the audacious lover, driven to explain himself, proved to be no worse than an honest tradesman-a dyer-whom her ladyship often employed to refresh her old gowns.

FARE THEE WELL.

Elizabeth fain would I tell

The thronged emotions of my breast; 'Tis thus in bidding thee fare well, Robs me of peace and rest.

If to love thee give offence,

Tell me that my doom may know,
Let a pilgrim wander hence
Wrap'd in bliss, or sunk in woe.
Virtuous maidens turn again,
Where'er thy wandering footsteps be,
And think on one who sighs in vain,
And think, Elizabeth, on me.

was

G. K. M.

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