170 ANECDOTE. SONNET. 



stepping noiselessly froni the crowd, advanced to the bier, and 

 gazed silently on the face of the dead. It was thin and worn, the 

 traits of sorrow — of long suffering were legible on the still mild 

 and most venerable features, and the figure was attenuated as that 

 of an anchoret. At the foot of the coffin, shrouded in black, mute 

 and motionless, and in an attitude of the profoundest despair, 

 stood a being mis-shapen and dwarfish ; and on the breast of the 

 corse lay a withered rose, a lock of fair hair, and achaplet of pearls. 

 It was the corse of Van Schooreel, the painter, the poet, the orator, 

 and the musician ; wifeless and childless he had gone down into 

 the grave, and the descendant of his first and last love bent 

 unconsciously over his clay. 

 Truly his was " Faith unto Death V 



* S * 



Dejazet, the prima donna of the small theatre at the Palais Royal, is 

 as remarkable for her caustic wit as for the levity of her conduct. Some 

 time ago a lady observed, in the presence of the '* artiste," who does 

 not enjoy the fairest reputation, ** Moi, je tiens a ma reputation." Her 

 manner and tone of voice indicated sufficiently to whom the allusion was 

 directed ; but Dejazet replied with the rapidity and withering effect of 

 lightning, ** Vous vous attachez toujours a des petitesses." A young man 

 of fashion had sent her two love letters in one day, and on the next a 

 third. ** II parait que Monsieur veut a toute force, etre un sot en trois 

 lettres," she exclaimed with impatience. On another occasion an author 

 read her a new comedy, in which the following passage occurred : — ** Eh 

 comment ne I'aimerais-je pas ? Elle a de la beaute, de la grace, de I'esprit, 

 de la vertu !" " Arretez vous la,'^ said she, interrupting the reader, ** la 

 vertu c'est toujours la derniere chose dont on parle." 



SONNET, 



FROM THE ITALIAN OF GIAMBATTISTA ZAPPI. 



Love on my charmer's presence aye attends, 



Walks in her steps, speaks in her melody, 



Sleeps in her silence, whispers in her sigh, 

 His lustre to her every action lends. 



Love's in her eye, his music in her song.— 

 And is she scornful? or do pearly tears 

 Bedew her cheeks ? still sovereign Love appears 



Both in her tenderness and anger strong. 



Glideth she in the mazes of the dance, 



Still Love supports her gently twinkling* feet— 

 So his own favourite flower Zephyr fans. 

 In her sweet brow is Love's own chosen seat, 

 Love in her lips, her hair, her flashing glance 

 Is seen — but in her heart has no retreat. 



From the original sonnet the idea of Jackson of Exeter's song, " Love in thine 

 Eyes," is manifestly borrowed. 



G. G. 



* Gray. Byron, 



