LOVE-STRATAGEM.

A young Countess, of Dresden, had smitten the heart of a gentleman, of Savoy, who found the greatest difficulty in obtaining access to her. A window, in the house where the Countess resided, the chambermaid had quite conveniently arranged for an entrée; but certain sentinels, whose walk was in front of it, seemed to render all approach that way impracticable. At length, the gentleman ordered his valet de chambre to disguise himself, and steal, by night, to the sentinels, and divert their attention from the window. The man did as he was directed, went up to the soldiers, and, after some conversation, produced a bottle of brandy, which he divided liberally between them. He then showed them a stone of the pathway, which was in the walk of the sentinels, but remote from the window, and told them that he wanted that stone for a chemical experiment; at the same time, offering each of the grenadiers a louis d'or if they would assist him, and dig up the stone with their bayonets. They took him for a fool, accepted his money, and he accomplished his purpose. In the mean time, his master had slipped through the window unperceived.

The grenadiers quarrelling about the money, the affair of the stone came out, and made a great noise, it being supposed that the robber of the stone was

some Italian thief in disguise, who had carried off an invaluable jewel; nor was it until twenty-two years after the occurrence happened, that the secret transpired.

THE SILENT LOVER.

BY SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

Wrong not, sweet mistress of my heart!
The merit of true passion,

With thinking that he feels no smart,
Who sues for no compassion.

Since, if my plaints were not t' approve
The conquest of thy beauty,

It comes not from defect of love,
But fear t' exceed my duty.

For, knowing that I sue to serve
A saint of such perfection,
As all desire, but none deserve,
A place in her affection.

I rather choose to want relief,
Than venture the revealing;
Where glory recommends the grief,
Despair disdains the healing.

Thus, those desires that boil so high

In any martial lover,

When reason cannot make them die,
Discretion then must cover.

Yet when discretion doth bereave
The plaints that I should utter,
Then your discretion may perceive
That silence is a suitor.

Silence in love bewrays more woe
Than words, though ne'er so witty;
A beggar that is dumb, you know,
May challenge double pity.

Then wrong not, dearest of my heart,
My love for secret passion;

He smarteth most that hides his smart,
And sues for no compassion.

ON A VERY YOUNG LADY.

So brightly sweet Florinda's eyes
Their rising beams display,
That, as parched Indians, we

E'en dread the coming day;
For, if her morning rays with such

Unusual radiance stream,

How must the unhappy world be scorch'd With her meridian beam!

If now she innocently kill,

With an unaiming dart,

Who shall resist her when, with skill,
She levels at a heart.

If, with such smiles, the pretty nymph
Now captivates the sense,

What, when her glory's at the height,
Will be its influence!

HAYDN, AND MRS. BILLINGTON.

Haydn, the musician, was an enthusiastic admirer of the late Mrs. Billington, our exquisite songstress; and one day, calling on Sir Joshua Reynolds, he found her sitting for her portrait to that celebrated painter. This was the famous picture of Sir Joshua's, in which Mrs. Billington is represented in the character of Cecilia listening to celestial music. Haydn having looked for some moments attentively at the portrait, said, "It is very like-a very fine likeness; but there is a strange mistake."-"What is that?" said Sir Joshua, hastily. Haydn answered, "You have painted her listening to the angels; you ought to have represented the angels listening to her." Mrs. Billington was so much charmed by this compliment, that she sprang from her seat, threw her fair arms about Haydn's neck, and kissed him.

P

SERENADE.

As the stars are to evening,

Or sun to the day,
Or blossoms to April,

Or fragrance to May,
Or dews to the flowerets,

Or showers to the green,

Art thou to this bosom,

My fair Geraldine!

And whilst eve loves the star-light,

Or April its bloom,
Or day the bright sun-rays,

Or May its perfume,

Whilst dews greet the flow'rets,

Or showers tint the green,

I'll love, yes, I'll love thee,
My fair Geraldine!

ALL OVER THE WORLD WITH THEE, MY LOVE!

All over the world with thee, my love!

All over the world with thee!

I care not what sky may lour above,
Or how dark our path may be.

The cloud may rise, the thorn may spring,
And the desart before us lie,

I shall not look back-can the fond dove's wing
E'er fail when her mate is nigh?