1831.] The Newspaper Office. 179 



EDITOR. Your hesitation is natural, and as a proof that I respect its 

 motive, allow me the honour of enrolling you in the list of our reporters. 

 I will not insult the delicacy of your feelings by any exaggerated offer 

 of payment. The pride of intellect., I know, disdains the contamination 

 of filthy lucre ; you shall, therefore but enough of such matters for the 

 present. Time wears ; and as my whole morning has been wasted in 

 interruptions, and the paper is now on the eve of publication, I shall 

 dismiss all original comment with the very serviceable and saving 

 remark, " that nothing of importance has occurred in the political world 

 since we last went to press." 



[Exeunt Omnes.~\ 



THE DESOLATE. , 



BY AN IMITATOR OF 



L. E. L. 



A BITTER blighted lot was her's, 

 Though fair her fate may seem ; 



To her the golden tints of life 

 Were darker than a dream. 



Her path was as a garden, strewn 

 With blossoms wild and fair ; 



But on her breast a Rose-leaf fell, 

 And left its shadow there. 



Her very morn was as the light 



Of a pale starry eve. 

 With fame and beauty, friends and youth, 



How could she fail to grieve ! 



And still in every sunny spot 



A shade was ever near ; 

 It might be from the mountain pine 



Or a proud Cavalier. 



Her spirit's finest chord was snapt, 

 The strains of joy were mute 



What should she do but sing wild songs, 

 And touch a tuneless lute ! 



Alas ! it is a piteous sight 



To see the wine-cup fall, 

 And the bright brow of youth obscured 



By a dark cypress-pall. 



Yet thus it is, and still we live 



To smile above the dead ; 

 Oh ! why when Lilies are so pale 



Why must the Rose be red ? 



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