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Farewell to the wife, whose fond heart was united,
To mine, by the purest, the tenderest tie;
Alas! that affection like ours should be blighted,-
That sweetness like hers should be fated to die!

But vainly 'gainst fate's stern decree I rebel-
Dear wife of my bosom for ever farewell!

Farewell to the friends whose affection would cheer me,
When trouble's dark cloud o'er my soul cast a gloom;
Alas: they are gone,-they no longer are near me,
Their place of repose is the cold silent tomb!
Deserted and friendless I turn to my cell-
Vain world and its pleasures for ever farewell!

WILLIAM L***.

THE PUMP-ROOM, BATH.

This room was originally built under the auspices of Mr. Nash, in 1704; in 1751 it was enlarged; and, in 1786, its handsome portico, stretching in a northerly direction, was added to it. The elegant western frontispiece, which is a considerable ornament to the structure, appeared in 1791. The Old Pump-Room was taken down in 1796, and the present handsome building was erected upon its site, at the expense of the corporation. It is in length 60 feet; but, including the recesses at the ends of the room, it is 85. In width 46 feet, and 34 high. The interior is set round with threequarter columns of the Corinthian order, crowned with an entablature, over which is a covering of five feet. The light is conveyed into it by two ranges of windows. A time-piece, given by the late Mr. Tompion, is placed in the recess at the east end. A marble statue of Nash, by Hoare, is also seen in the niche contiguous to the above. A gallery for the musicians is erected at the western end; and in the centre of the southern side of the room is the pump, from which the waters issue out of a marble vase; and on each side is a fire-place. The outside of the building is finished to correspond, and upon the architrave is a Greek inscription in letters of gold, which is an extract from the opening of the first, ode of Pindar, and bears the following literal translation:

"Water! of elements the best!"

By order of the Governors of the General Hospital, the following pathetic inscription is painted in letters of gold upon the pump in the room, from the pen of the late Christopher Anstey, Esq.

"THE HOSPITAL

IN THIS CITY,

Open to the Sick Poor of every part of the World,
To whose Cases these waters are applicable,
(The Poor of Bath only excepted,)

Was first established, and is still supported, by the Charitable
Contributions of the Liberal and Humane.

"Oh! pause awhile, whoe'er thou art,
That drink'st this healing stream;

If e'er compassion o'er thy heart
Diffus'd its heavenly beam;

"Think on the wretch whose distant lot

This friendly aid denies ;

Think how in some poor lonely cot

He unregarded lies!

"Hither the helpless stranger bring,
Relieve his heartfelt woe,

And let thy bounty, like this spring,
In genial currents flow;

"So may thy years from grief, and pain,
And pining want, be free:

And thou from heaven that mercy gain

The poor receive from thee."

The following lines, written by the ingenious Dr. Harrington, in imitation of Spenser, are framed and glazed, and also hung up near the pump :

" Alwhyle ye drynke, 'midst age and ache ybent,
Ah creepe not comfortless besyde our streame,

(Sweete nurse of hope ;) affliction's downwarde sente,
Wythe styll smalle voyce, to rouze from thryftless dreame :
Each wyng to prune, that shyftythe everie spraie
In wytlesse flyghte, and chyrpythe lyfe awaie.

“Alwhyle ye lave—suche solace may be founde; "When kynde the hand, why 'neath its healynge faynte? "Payne shall recure the hearte's corruptede wounde; "Farre gonne is that which feelethe not it playnte. "By kyndrede angel smothe BETHESDA gave "Newe vyrtues forthe, and felte her troubledde wave.' "Thus drynk, thus lave-nor ever more lamente, Oure sprynges but flowe pale anguishe to befriende; How fayre the meede that followeth contente! How bleste to lyve, and fynde such anguishe mende. How bleste to dye-when sufferynge faithe makes sure, At lyfe's high founte, an everlastyne cure!"

EDGAR.

An excellent band of music, during the season, plays from one till half-past three o'clock every day, in this elegant and spacious room, which is open from an early hour in the morning till four in the afternoon; and, during the time of the performance of the band, the room is well filled with company. The remuneration for drinking the water here is left entirely to the liberality of the visitor; no specific demand being made. To those persons who are fond of bustle and gaiety, this promenade in the Pump-Room will be found highly attractive. In no place in Bath does an hour pass away more agreeably.

THE REPLY.

Nay ask me not if love could dwell
In a heart so light as mine,

For this is all that I can tell,
It never will be thine.

I know thy cheek with youth is bright,
And magic hovers in thy smile;
But thou art like that phantom light,
Which dazzles only to beguile.

Though genius seems to light thine eyes,
And candor grace thy brow,

Yet both are fleeting as the sighs
Which heave thy bosom now.

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Then ask me not if love can dwell
In a heart so light as mine;
For this is all that I can tell,
It never will be thine.

F. A.

THE HARP OF CAROLAN.

BY HENRY JAMES MELLER.

Mute now is that harp on the damp noisome wall,
Nor ever again shall it waken,

The sorrows and joys it was us'd to enthral,

*

In the hearts that once throbbed in Donald Bragh's hall,

Now

lonely-deserted-forsaken.

Where the hands of the minstrel once proudly swept
While the brave sons of gay Erin bounded;

O'er those strings, to which all had laughed, danced, or wept,
The pall of the spider, entwining, has crept,
'Mid the silence of years that's surrounded.

Years have passed, since that minstrel's fond lay and song
Cheered each heart so blithe with his numbers;
The loved one of Erin's gay light bounding throng,
The friend of the poor, and the pride of the strong,
'Neath the sod so green waving slumbers.

Yet often at night, 'neath the silver-orb'd moon,
Though ne'er o'er those strings sweep the fingers,
Still through them sweet whispers the wind's gentle sigh;
It seems a sad murmur for days long gone by,
From some grieving spirit that lingers,

Years-ages may come, and away swiftly roll,

Still the fame of the minstrel shall flourish;
And the lay of bright genius, that lightened the soul,
Shall glide on the pinions time cannot control,
And age-succeeding-age them shall nourish,

*An Irish Chieftain.

THE ECCENTRIC "OLD TOER!"

A NOT EVERY DAY CHARACTER.

For twenty years before his close,
He ne'er forgot the children's toes."

POOR old Toer! thou hast disappeared from the scenes in which thou wert the chief delight! The eyes of children gaze in vain for thee.--Like a star that has set below the horizon of the sky, so thou art gone to thy long home not to be seen again.-Thy career was droll and bright-thy joy clear and pure. Thou didst not ride in the storm, nor roar in the whirlwind. Thy " ways were ways of pleasantness, and all thy paths were peace." It comforteth not the spirit that thou fillest not the sphere which none other can fill. Thou wert only one-the only original representative of thine odd self, and personal identity in thine own true character. Thy genius was thine own, and it hath departed with thee. Are there not children in the environs of Pentonville, from whose eyes thou forcedst tears in showers of gladness, by missing thee from their haunts of relaxation, that will not look and mourn, because they can only remember the laughter which is past and the recondite aliments which are antidotes to care. Like Noah, thou couldst lead the nurses and their pairs into the ark of pleasant society. Thou wert an Abraham with them. Methuselah would never have been old in thee. Not one gnarl of crabbed age deformed thy trunk. Thy aspect indicated the summer season of undisturbed good humour. Thy love for children was unequalled. Whoever reproved their freedom,-thou didst say-" Suffer them to come to me-of such my heart is made by them its pulse is controlled." Temperance shapened thee into a thin old shepherd. Thy crooked stick, with thy little laughing eyes, shining over a nose of wonderful crinkles and ruby gems, gave thee popularity. The simple suit of brown, of the best superfine, with drab kerseymere splatterdashers, and clean linen; and a hat, rounded at the top with a broad brim, looking always new, bespake thy comforts of independency, and wrought thee respect. By thy real name, thou wert known but to few. By thy cognomen of " Old Toer," thou wert known and admired by many. Why wert thou

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