hole, where they used to do the post-office order business, has swollen into a great banking department, and there's Bardsley himself, with a clerk to help him, at it all day long, with piles of bank-notes and bowls full of sovereigns beside them-just like Twining's or the Bank of England itself. Bardsley's proud of it, too; I know he is. He's never behind the counter now, serving tea and sugar: he leaves that to his young men; he's a banker, bless you.

I don't believe I should ever have saved anything if these Post-office Savings Banks hadn't come up; and I'm sure if it was generally known how handy and convenient they are, thousands like myself would take advantage of them, and soon learn to be careful and provident. If there's a philanthropist that's hard up for an object, I don't know what he could do better than go about distributing tracts setting forth the rules and regulations and advantages of the Post Office Savings Banks. (By permission of the Author.)

THE LEGEND OF THE FORGET-ME NOT.
ANONYMOUS.

FAREWELL! my true and loyal knight! on yonder battle field

Many a pearl and gem of price will gleam on helm and shield:

But bear thou on thy silver crest this pure and simple

wreath,

A token of thy ladye's love

death.

unchanging to the

They seem, I know, these fragrant flowers, those fairy stars of blue,

As maidens' eyes had smiled on them, and given them that bright hue;

As only fitting but to bind a lady's hair or lute,

And not with war, or warrior's crest in armed field to suit.

But there's a charm in every leaf, a deep and mystic

spell;

Then take the wreath, my loyal knight, our Lady shield thee well;

And, though still prouder favours deck the gallant knights of France,

Oh, be the first in every field, LA FLEUR DE SOUVENANCE!

How bland, how still this summer eve, sure never gentler hour

For lay of love, or sigh of lute, to breathe in lady's bower;

Then listen with a lover's faith, as spell-bound to the

spot,

To the legend of my token flower, the charmed FORGET

ME-NOT.

Young Albert led his Ida forth, when the departing

sun

Still linger'd in the golden west, and shone like trea

sures won

From some far land of old romance; some genie's diamond throne,

A wreck of bright enchanted gems, in triumph overthrown.

Love, look towards those radiant clouds, so like to fairy bowers:

How proudly o'er a sea of gold are raised their ruby towers;

And now, as if by magic spell, a bright pavilion

seems,

With its folds of sapphire light, where the panting sun-ray gleams.

To that bright heaven with smiles she looked; one gleam of her blue eyes,

And Albert's heart forgot the clouds, and all their radiant dyes,

All, all, but that young smiling one, whose beauty well might seem

A fairy form of loveliness imagined in a dream.

She took a chaplet from her brow, which, gleaming soft and fair,

Like orient veil of amber light streamed down her silken hair,

Shedding fragrance and emitting brightness from its glittering rings,

As if halo'd by Love's breath, and the glancing of his wings.

"These maiden roses, love, appear like pearls kissed by the sun

With last rich gleam of crimson ere his western throne be won;

But should there not be some bright flower to deck our bridal wreath,

Whose hue might speak of constancy, unchanging to the death?"

"My Ida! from a thousand wreaths, thy own sweet fancy chose,

For pure unfading loveliness, this garland of the

Rose:

And what can speak of truer faith, my own beloved

one,

Than the flower whose fragrance lasts even when its life is gone?"

"Look to yon lone enchanted isle, which 'mid the silvery foam

Of the blue water seems to float, the wild swan's elfin

home;

A very cloud of azure flowers in rich profusion bloom Winds of the lake! your passing sighs breathe of their rich perfume.

"In nameless beauty all unmasked, in solitude they

smile,

As if they bloomed but for the stars, or birds of that lone isle :

For never yet hath mortal foot touched that enchanted shore,

Long hallowed by the wildly imagined tales of yore.

"Full well I love those distant flowers, whose pure and

tender blue

Seems fitting emblem of a faith, unchanging as their hue;

And wouldst thou venture for my love as thou wouldst for renown,

To win for me those azure flowers, to deck my bridal crown?"

One parting kiss of his fair bride, and swiftly far

away,

Like the wild swan whose home he sought, young Albert met the spray

Of rising waves, which foamed in wrath, as if some spirit's hand

Awoke the genii of the lake to guard their mystic land.

The flowers were won, but devious his course lay back again;

To stem the waters in their tow'ring rage he strove in vain :

Fondly he glanced to the yet distant shore, where in despair

His Ida stood with outstretched arms, 'mid shrieks and tears and pray'r.

Darker and fiercer gathered on the tempest in its wrath,

The eddying waves with vengeful ire beset the fatal path:

With the wild energy of death he well-nigh reached the spot,

The azure flowers fell at her feet-"IDA, FORGET-MENOT!"

The words yet borne upon his lips, the prize seem'd almost won,

When 'mid the rush of angry waves he sank-for ever gone!

Within a proud cathedral aisle was raised a costly tomb, Whose pure

gloom

white marble like ethereal light amid the

Shone and no other trace it bore of lineage or of lot

But IDA's name, with star-like flowers ensculp'd ForgetME-NOT!

There Ida slept, the desolate, the last of all her name, Parted from him who perished for her love 'mid dawn of fame;

But when shall their fond legend die? or when shall be forgot

The flower that won its name in death, Love's theme— FORGET-ME-NOT?

THE THREE BLACK CROWS.

JOHN BYROM.

[John Byrom was a contributor to the Spectator, and the author of several poems, of which the best are those on "Enthusiasm," and the "Immortality of the Soul." He was, however, rather a prolific versifier than a poet. He was the son of a linendraper at Kersall, near Manchester, where he was born in 1691. He was educated at the Merchant Tailors' School, London, and Trinity College, Cambridge, where he took his degree of M.A., 1741. Though usually called Dr. Byrom, he practised as a physician without taking any degree in medicine. Having married a cousin in opposition to the will of her parents, his family abandoned them, and he was for some time in straitened circum