the new state of things. But the Board was
sleepy. The Company's servants have not
made an outcry; there has been no pressure
from without; and so, since the whole thing was
so simple, it appeared the most natural proceeding
possible to tie a bit of red tape round the
case, and put it on a shelf. It is a matter, to
be sure, that concerns many true and faithful
men, for the settlement of which thousands
wait, sick at heart, dreaming of home. But
since the thousands are so quiet and respectful,
the official gentleman in difficulties
neglects them, as people who give
little trouble, while he spends his time on
those who are more clamorous to get their
dues.

A petition embodying the arguments we
have repeated was adopted in the Indian
service sometime back, and was received with
favour by the East India Company. Its
prayer is not yet granted, although it is a
petition unopposed, from friends to friends.
It does not speak even of an abuse; but
of a regulation fallen to the ground by the
slipping away of the world from under it.
The fault of the business is its simplicity.
It sleeps in a calm; and if the public will
but agitate it gently for a little while, it
will be doing easy service for a set of men
who have done hard service for us and for
their rulers.

A WORD FROM THE CANNON'S
MOUTH.

TREMBLE no more to hear my voice!
    For not in thunders, as of old,
When the far-echoing deadly noise,
    That over liill and hollow roll'd,
Was follow'd by the wild death-shriek,—
But harmless as a child, I speak.

Tremble no more! Not charged am I,
    As in those days, with iron shot,
And smoke that blacken'd the blue sky,
    And made the earth one reeking blot;
My mission ends its mortal lease,
And I would speak before I cease.

For I have play'd a mighty part
    In human change, and have, therefore,
A right my burthen to impart,
    Ere I become a tiling of yore:
A monster in the calendar
And annuls of red-written war.

Have I not built imperial thrones,
    And batter'd old foundations down?
Old warfare was a strife of crones
    Before I rose on field, and town,
And heaving deck,- a creature strange,-
And utter'd the great voice of Change!

A voice that I must hear in turn,
    And feel to be a tiling of doom;
A voice that, day by day, I yearn
    To hear, as now, with gradual boom,
It rises in acclaiming notes
From myriads of united throats.

The cry is "Peace!" and, at the word,
    I feel as though my time were come,—
The time when I shall not be heard;
    For I am dead when I am dumb.
The earth may claim a parting roar,
And I shall shake its fields no more.

'Tis well! I came when I was call'd;
    I go before a growing good:
Way that fair seed be not forestall'd
    By Tyranny's last struggling brood,—
A deeper curse—a fiercer ill—
Than war, or perverse human will.

I go. Ambition cannot now
    Abuse me for its purpose vile;
Nor Avarice claim the peaceful plough
    By my curst aid and light the while.
The crimes of monarchs and of states
Henceforth I leave unto the Fates.

Or do I dream?—who thus so long
    Have stood upon this bastion'd height,
Uncall'd to mediate with Wrong,
    In its perpetual strife with Right:-
Is it a dream—that I have done,
And see the setting of my sun?

THE SPENDTHRIFT'S DAUGHTER.
IN SIX CHAPTERS.
CHAPTER THE FIFTH.

"OH Ella! Ella!—what's the use of your
turning your head from me?—Why, I can see
you are colouring crimson—as if I had no
eyes! Oh! he is charming, is not he?"

"How tiresome you can be, Clementina!
I am sure I don't care. No, not .... Besides,
he's your flirt, not mine."

"Is he? I wish he were! But I know
better. He loves you, Ella; and what's more,
you love him. And if you don't know it
which perhaps you don't—I do, and he does."

"He does!—I like that!—he does! Upon
my word! I like him, and he knows it!
I do no such thing."

"Take care what you say. Walls have
ears."

"Pooh!—nonsense! And if they have, I
tell you, I don't care."

"You don't?—you are sure you don't?—
Oh, very well! If that be really so, then I
had better keep my message to myself,"

"Message!—what message?"

"You know a man does not like to be
refused; and so, if you really do not care for
him, why, I had better hold my peace. He is
young, and he is volatile enough..... And,
indeed, I have wondered, Ella, sometimes, how
you ever came to take a fancy to him;-- but
I am forgetting. It was my mistake. You
never have taken a fancy to him."

"How you do run on!" she said, taking the
last rose out of her hair; for she was standing
before the glass, undoing her braids; the
sisters, having dismissed their attendant, that
they might have a comfortable chat together,
And then the hair came all tumbling over her