We select the following exquisite little gem from the "New York Spirit of the Times." The "Times," by the way, is a weekly paper devoted to the Literary, Fashionable and Sporting world, and is one of the most lively, spirited and interesting papers of the kind in the whole country. It is edited by William T. Porter.
The annexed little poem was written many years ago, and has travelled all over the world. It has been translated in the French, Spanish, Italian, and German languages, and several times set to music in Europe. It has been the rounds of the American press a number of times credited to the English journals. Its great popularity was the cause of its being claimed by our worthy contemporary of the Mirror, who published it originally without his signature in that superb repository of American belles-lettres. Like most of the productions of that gentleman, it contains point, piquancy, and quiet humor. We found it again the other day snugly ensconced in the poet's corner of the Evening Star,—let the Major alone for finding out a good thing, wherewith to delight his readers.
THE MINIATURE.
BY GEO. P. MORRIS.
| William was holding in his hand The likeness of his wife— Fresh, as if touched by fairy wand, With beauty, grace, and life. He almost thought it spoke: He gazed upon the treasure still, Absorbed, delighted, and amazed, To view the artist's skill. "This picture is yourself, dear Jane, 'Tis drawn to nature true: I've kissed it o'er and o'er again, It is so much like you." "And has it kissed you back, my dear?" "Why—no—my love," said he. "Then, William, it is very clear, It is not all like me!" |