"WIND-TOSSED LEAVES."* IT is well for a man to take stock at least once in his life. Every one has somewhat of the poetic temperament within himsome more, some less-so little with some, as to consign them like Pariahs, without caste in the world of feeling. It is, apart from poets pre-eminently distinguished as such, mainly the intellectual man or woman, who finds refuge from the toil and distraction of the world, or from more laborious pursuits, in poetry, or who when liberated for a moment from the struggles of existence, pours forth his moral and sentimental being in verse. Metre is to such as great a relief as music is to the too great tension of an over-burthened mind. Here is Mr. Charles Curle-an old contributor to the NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE-a gentleman and a scholaro historian, archæologist, and scientist; a very Triton among minnows for erudite research and learned disquisition, and yet who has been engaged during a fair portion of his existence-from school days to maturity (and a little after)-penning "rhymes," sonnets, songs, and other more pretentious poems, and publishing them under various pseudonyms. like other leaves, that have served their summer purpose, had he not wisely gathered them together, and boldly put them before the public as his own progeny-it is for the said public to determine if the offspring are as fair as the Galatea of whom Virgil sings, and to whom Mr. Curle pens so charming a madrigal, or as ill-favoured and distorted as the Cabiri or imps of the Egyptians, not the dwarfs of Samothracia, although with them the originals of the gnomes of the Erzgebirg and of the Black Forest. We have no fear about the verdict ourselves, even had not many of Mr. Curle's poems set to music, as "Foot-prints in the Snow," "Love for the Old," "The Muffin Bell," "Queenie's Song," "Army, Navy, and Volunteers, been long ago accepted by the public as their own property. But the man who could indite that wondrous dream of the unknown world "The Breath of the Invisible :" 99.66 Yet might they have been lost Weird fancy peoples echoes never ended : Like shadow thoughts, when in our hearts we pray, With their mystic harmony seems blende l Faint glimmerings of remote celestial ray : As some starry beam O'er a sedgy stream Sprinkling light within its watery way; Wind-Tossed Leaves, reclaimed by Charles Curle (Barfoot Shenstone), &c., &c.).-E. W. Allen, London. that "Dream of Joy," yelept "Monti of Milan," and those soft sweet aspirations after infinite tenderness, breathed in "A Whisper, deserves more serious consideration than even the limner of those dainty pen-and-ink pictures, entitled "Maiden at the Lodge," "Mneia," "La Marchesana," " Avona," and a host of others, as full of colour as they are radiant with beauty, or the composer of a hundred popular songs. Mr. Curle is even happy in his more cynic moods, witness: "Where exclusiveness prevails It shuts out the mountain climbers with the dwellers in the vales. JANIE'S LITTLE ROMANCE. "The short but simple annals of the poor." JANIE had an invitation to a ball, and she was happy. It would not be much of an event to most of us, but it was like a tale of fairy-land to this poor, lonely girl, and she had nothing to wear. She had no mother to go to a century-old trunk, made of wonderful spiced wood, and take therefrom a marvellous fabric of India muslin, like woven mist, or a beautiful, priceless set of antique pearls; nor did she ever have a cheque given her by an indulgent father, as an ordinary heroine would have had. She had no mother or father, this poor, neglected, hard-worked nurse-girl. No one in all the wide world to take the slightest interest in her, beyond seeing that she earned her miserable five dollars monthly (and clothes), and that she patiently submitted to all the pinchings and kickings administered by her juvenile charges. There was no beauty in Janie, unless you except her eyes and hair; all else was commonplace and almost vulgar. Her eyes were large, dark, and mournful, as if she had never known a friend. Her hair was a rich brown, wavy and abundant. Her face was dull, heavy, and sallow. Her figure coarse and awkward. Her hands were red and ill-formed; nothing interesting about her, you see; and, therefore, you may wonder at her receiving this invitation, coming, too, as it did from the bright and handsome young mechanic, Charley Edwards. All day Janie went about her manifold duties in a dazed sort o manner, but with an unusual smile on her lips; and she received many an extra rebuke for her mistakes from her mistress. They rolled off, however, like dew from rose-leaves from Janie's now happy heart. At last, in the midst of a sweet reverie, wherein all was beauty, and where Janie and Charley walked side by side, her mistress spoke sharply "What are you staring and grinning at? I can't see what is the matter with you to-day. Don't you see that the baby wants to pull your hair? Let it down." Poor Janie gave her long and beautiful hair to the tender mercies of the baby. After he had gone to sleep Janie fell thinking what she should wear to this ball. She had no idea of what would be proper: she did not like to ask her mistress, for she knew she would be ridiculed unmercifully by that proud and selfish woman. She thought of all her dresses-they were pitifully few-and decided, with a sigh, that none of them would answer. Finally, she determined to go to some strange store, and there she could ask the clerk what would be the most suitable. She asked leave of absence of her mistress for the first time in her five years of servitude (for where had she to go in the whole world?), and with a cold stare of surprise it was accorded. Going to her miserable little room, she took her slender purse and counted the contents. Five dollars and a half were all that it contained. Janie wondered eagerly if that would buy a dress. However, with a little sigh of relief she put on her bonnet and shawl and went to the store to make her purchase. The clerk, pitying her hesitation and embarrassment as she explained her wants, understood at once (Heaven bless him for it!) and pleasantly showed her some tarletan, pink, white, and blue. Poor Janie had an unsuspected, unformed vein of poetry in her stunted nature, and she mentally compared the fleecy white to the drifting clouds, the blue to the azure sky, while the pink was like the morning light. She would have chosen the white, but she accidentally laid her rough, red hand on it, and seeing the contrast, she put it by and chose the blue; not knowing, poor soul! that it would make her sallow skin look positively yellow. That paid for, she had just fifty cents left to buy gloves, shoes, ribbons and all those other etceteras, which ren ler femininity so charming. She thought regretfully of those articles; but she was two happy on her main idea to fret over them. She had no money to pay a dressmaker; so on evenings, after her multifarious duties were done, she would sit and sew, her face almost handsome with the sweet, tender smile that now played over her lips. "Why should she not be happy? Charley was so good, she had known him so long, and now he had asked her to go to this ball with him.” Charley had just finished building a darling little cottage for himself, and Janie thought, with a sweet thrill of delight, that perhaps he might ask her to live in that little cottage as his wife. Could mortal felicity ever reach higher? The night before the ball Janie asked her mistress for permission to go. She had expected a scolding, but was not prepared for what she did hear, and it cut deep. Why will women, be so hard on women because they are servants, when a few words of kindness cost so little? Her mistress had laughed to scoru the idea of her going to such a place, shamed her, ridiculed her, until poor Janie's heart was like to burst. Finally she said - "You can go, if you want to; but, remember, I will have no |