The lilies in her hand.

Oh--wake her not! the forest streams
With balmy lips are breathing rest;
Nor stir the garland of sweet dreams
Which Sleep hath bound upon her breast.

_New Monthly Magazine_.

* * * * *

THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF _NEW WORKS_.

* * * * *

ADVENTURES OF A YOUNGER SON.

These are three volumes of spirit-stirring scenes, understood to
be written by Captain Trelawney, the friend of Lord Byron. They are
said to embody many incidents of the early life of the writer, though
portions are too strongly tinged with romance to belong to sober
reality. The Younger Son is driven from his native hearth by a cruel
father. His proud spirit revolts at such oppression. He sings with Byron

And now I'm in the world alone,
Upon the wide wide sea;
But why should I for others groan,
When none will sigh for me.

His father intends him for the church, but instead of being sent to
Oxford, he is taken to Portsmouth, and shipped on board a line of battle
ship, the Superb, as passenger to join one of Nelson's squadron; but
through delay he falls in with the Nelson fleet of Trafalgar, two days
after the deathless victory. He returns to England, and is sent to Dr.
Burney's navigation school. He next sails for the East Indies, and at
Bombay he falls in with an adventurous stranger, whom he is minute in
describing, "to account in part for the extraordinary influence he
gained, on so short an acquaintance," over his mind and imagination.
He became his model. The height of his ambition was to imitate him,
even in his defects. Thenceforth his life of adventure begins. In its
progress, he describes many beautiful scenes in the East with touching
enthusiasm, and some of his pictures of luxuriant nature are admirably
painted.

We pass over these to the heroine, at Port St. Louis:

_An Arabian Beauty_.

"Zela had the blood of a fearless race. She had been bred and
schooled amidst peril always at hand. Not having learnt to affect
what she did not feel, she crossed ravines, wound along precipices,
and waded through streams and rivers, not only without impeding us
by enacting a pantomimic representation of fears, tears, entreaties,
prayers, screaming, and fainting, but she was such a simpleton as not
even to notice them, unless, in the usual sweet, low tone of her voice,
to remark that they were delightful pl