really necessary for the decent outfit of any person, it strikes me that few agreeable thoughts are connected with that of a pocket-handkerchief.

Such an appendage is indispensable: and since it must needs occasionally appear, I do not at all object to its being made of the most delicate fabric, and even decorated, within reasonable bounds. The gentlemen are perfectly welcome to please their taste with whatever colours the silken texture of their pocket friends will bear; and the ladies to lavish their skill in embroidery at discretion on their snowwhite cambric: but I do think it bespeaks a deplorable want of delicacy to make the exhibition without which many ladies now consider their dress incomplete. Instead of the auld warld depository of a side pocket, or the more modern convenience of a reticule, the handkerchief now finds itself permanently fixed in the hand of its fair possessor, thence to fall downwards, in graceful negligence, displaying its profuse border of embroidery, and lace, and courting the investigation of every passerby. No doubt, a pretty hand, a sparkling ring, and a neat touch, are brought into notice by this fashion no doubt, a delicate fold of cambric, elegantly wrought in fine needle-work, is in itself a pleasing object: but in spite of all this, a handkerchief is a handkerchief; and a pocket-handkerchief ought to submit to the modest concealment of a pocket.

Female opinion on such matters is apt to be very lightly regarded, even by the stoutest sticklers for female superiority in the aggregate. I happen, however, to be somewhat in the confidence of more than one good judge of real elegance among the lordly

race; and I can assure my fair readers that the custom under consideration is generally disliked by them. What would a young lady think, if, after bestowing infinite pains in the selection or design of an unique pattern, and stealing many a glance in the mirror, to ascertain the most graceful position for the hand, and feeling assured that the appendage gave a great finish to her attractive tout-ensemble-if, after all this, she was to hear the display stigmatized by a gentleman of real taste, in a confidential remark to an older friend, as a horribly dirty habit,' or another saying, 'I wish the ladies would discover something with more agreeable associations, by way of drapery,'-or a lively young tar exclaiming,' Why don't they carry a small union-jack, instead of that unmeaning flag of truce; which is none of the nicest to hoist so openly.'

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But to take a more serious view of the subject; does it not illustrate the tendency of the human mind, to carry to unseemly excess an indulged passion for outward adorning? True, it is not a very showy article at best; and, under all circumstances, it is a necessary one: but ought the very infirmities of these frail bodies of ours to be made occasions for gratifying" the lust of the eye, and the pride of life?" me, who have seen so many cut off in the brighest bloom of youthful existence, by the deadly blight of consumption, the commencement of which was generally marked by severe cold, rendering the appendage in question more than usually needful, there is sadness mingled with the feeling of disapproval, when I behold the handkerchief thus paraded before me. My young sailor friend might playfully term it a flag of truce; in my sight it is rather an epitome of

the snow-white pall which I have seen drooping its graceful folds over the coffin of some as young, as fair, as lovely as any who may smile at the strange fancies of R. H. F. But to return to the point whence I started : the men are unquestionably our superiors here; their good taste preserves them from sacrificing delicacy to display; and though am forced to confess that I have seen some of the very choicest among them make a more liberal exhibition of their pocket friend than the state of their health required, it was from the desire of shewing that a certain tint, no longer admissible as a badge, was still cherished and lodged very near their hearts; and therefore it sometimes peeped, rather ostentatiously, from the breast-pocket; and was sometimes waved, just by accident, during the animated movements of the speaker. In short, it served the purpose of the small union-jack, recommended by the middy. Having thus guarded against a retort, levelled at the superior sex, I commend the subject to the consideration of those concerned; and beg pardon for having been so homely in my address. R. H. F.

VERONA.

JULIET'S TOMB.

"Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter."-Isaiah v. 20.

I STOOD beside the open tomb
Where living Juliet lay,

Lighting the damp vault's midnight gloom,

Like a bright and sunny ray

The spirit of my boyhood rose,
And bade the story of her woes
Resume their earlier sway;
Yet no!-for ever fled the hour,

When even Shakespeare's spell had power!

My eye was on the tomb-my soul
Far o'er the ocean fled,

And sought, beyond the world's control,
A green and lowly bed,

Where one, her friends' beloved care,

As Juliet fond, as Juliet fair,
Reclines her weary head;
No victim of an earthly love,
Her treasure in the realms above!

I never see a beauteous flower

Bow its frail head and die,
But 'fore me rears the leafy bower,
Where Ellen's ashes lie-

I never see the pallid brow
Of youth and beauty bowed low,
With bright but sunken eye,
But she appears, in shaded bloom,
The loveliest inmate of the tomb.

Tho' like a blighted rose, her form
Withered in calm decay;

And o'er her full-blown bloom the storm
Wrought its remorseless way;
She clung not to the strings of life,
Nor murmured at the ceaseless strife,
Though her Redeemer slay—

But watched, with meek and quiet eye,
The shades of death, that hovered nigh.

Long seemed the hour, as, year by year,
Returned the laughing spring;

And many a branch, erst dry and sear,
Put forth its blossoming;

And many a bird, in many a grove,
Trilled loud of liberty and love,
Fluttering on joyous wing:

Wondering what voice could check its lay,
Where shone so warm, so bright a ray.

For her spring's balmy sweets were vain;
They had no power to cheer-
The wintry storms of ceaseless pain
Wrung forth the anguished tear-