HALF HOURS. 233 



Let his soul's light wax faint and dim, 



Contempt his portion be, 

 The world's worst hatred light on him 



He has no world but thee. 

 Ah ! lady, turn not from this prayer, 



These withered hopes, this blighted name, 

 For though ambition's dreams despair, 

 And scorn succeeds to man's acclaim, 

 And every hope, save one, is o'er, 

 That heart is but thine own the more. 



W. H. S. 



HALF HOURS 



No. II. 



NEVER trust yourself with the man who says he is only come to 

 spend half an hour with you, unless you have on hand a superfluity 

 of time and patience, or unless you are quite sure of your man as a 

 regular Stock Exchange goer, who sets his watch by St. Dunstan's ! 

 Few besides know what half an hour means. A mere idler may now 

 and then labour under an uncommon distress of doubting the accept- 

 ableness of his company, and if you have reason to believe he 

 really likes yours, and is only out foraging for amusement, you may 

 possibly be safe in giving him credit for singleness of purpose in his 

 adoption of the above beguiling announcement. If you are on a diet 

 of idleness and the day be not too sultry, well and good, let him come 

 in, only bear in mind, lest it should become rainy, that Ripa's personi- 

 fication of beauty a lady with her head hidden in a cloud, signify- 

 ing the diversity of opinions upon that mysterious gift is not more 

 vague than is such a person's notion of the length and breadth of half 

 an hour. 



But when a timid single knock, or a consequentially accented 

 double one, a shrewd- looking stranger, a soi-disant " relation from 

 the country," whose name you never heard before, or can with 

 difficulty recollect, any manner of man with an old-fashioned hat, or 

 with an old umbrella under suspicion of taking care of a new one, any 

 known "poor man," or any unknown person "on particular business" 

 stipulates for your half hour the more indirectly, the more to be 

 distrusted be sure you take a glance at the balance side of your 

 banker's account, and turn your eye over your memorandums of 

 patronage, before settling him in a chair, for you may rely on having 

 to grapple with a knowing and stedfast negociator for some other of 

 your possessions, more accurately computed, perhaps, than your time, 

 and which you may fancy you have under better security, but which 

 may, nevertheless, be more tangible, and, both in your eyes and his, 

 at least equally valuable. My last half hour, nay, my last three half 

 hours, have been wiled from me through a species of mendicity 

 which has of late become alarmingly common in this metropolis 

 not to mention other parts and which wins its way under disguises 

 as various and surprising as the metamorphoses of Grimaldi in a 

 pantomime, which we in London usually sit prepared for would I 



