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worship, and all-sacrificing love of Christ, gives us morning, and again at evening, when Uncle Joseph no fancied representation, but the true, divine linea- said, with bis good, persuasive voice : “Let us all ments of his soul, the very spirit which beamed in unite in prayer.” Then every face was thoughtful his face, which spoke in his voice, which attested his and subdued in a moment; every little knee was glory as the Son of God.'” Then she would have bent, every childish voice said Amen, and in such seen the large eyes fill, and the large tears go drop, { loving tones that it always sent a thrill through drop upon the page.

{ Susan's heart. Those parents with hands as hard As it was, as no Ghost of Christmas Present came, as a shell, and with the sweat of labor for ever on Carolino saw and heard none of these things; but their brows, those little children even, kept God she knew that others were happy for what she had always near them, saw Him in all their bountiful done; that she was happy; and she lay down in supplies of fruit, flowers, and grain, trusted in Him, peace.

and felt no fear. It was He that blessed them in } all things; hence there was no pride, no vain-glory } in their successes. Susan felt it more and more

every day, that, in coming near them, He also came CHAPTER III.

near her, waited for her, held out a father's hand to

her, and said, ever plainer and plainer, “Daughter, SUMMER came, and the poor thought the city a give me thine heart.” If she went abroad and it paradise, because there were no cold days and nights; was all the same if she sat within-through the open no long, dark evenings: because work was more windows and doors, she heard all the birds, and plenty and wants were less pressing ; but the rich every living thing praise Him. The river went by could never endure such heat and such prostration. bright and glorious, telling of the mighty hand that Hence, they betook themselves one way and an gathered its waters. She only, with all her gifts, other to watering-places, or to friends in the country. and her conscience upbraiding her for her frivolousCaroline and Susan had tried Saratoga, Rockaway, ness, bent no knee, gave no thanks, asked no blessand Newport, at different seasons This year they } ing, wasted the days and the years. She wept would go up the Hudson to Uncle Joseph's. They herself asleep thinking of this; and the next mornwere there--the uncle, aunt, and cousins-in the ing, when Uncle Joseph said “Let us pray," she quaintest of all houses, on a large farm that their knelt with them and again wept. Soon she was a united industry had made to “bloggom like the new creature. She saw a new and glorious beauty rose.” They were kind and intelligent. They lov. in nature, a new and glorious interest in life. There ed to see the nieces there, going through the rooms was no more ill-natured mimicry, or fault-finding. filling the vases, arranging the books, playing with If one was vain, another foolish, and yet another the children, instructing them-not by regular les frivolous, so was she all of these until the Lord sons, but incidentally as they frolicked and talked helped her to be wise. -sitting down quietly and sewing, now making the new garment, and anon tucking bits of braid, or fringe and buttons on the old, taking the children -all but the baby, and they begged altogether to

CHAPTER IV. take her too, she was such a darling—to a sail, walk, or carriage-drive. It made Aunt May's bead “ANGEL," her young friends called Susan when whirl as she stood with baby in her arms, seeing the they returned to the city, such a beautiful light was girls and their oldest boy, Henry, go galloping and in her eye, such a benutiful harmony and pleasant“cutting the air” on those wild young creatures. ness pervaded her whole being. Some, however, “No more fit for a woman to ride !" she always said. would curl their lip; but the distortion did not come But Uncle Joseph was lifted in the air by the daring, legitimately; it was, in reality, no disgust they felt the sublimity of the thing; and the boys swung that Susan was so mild, so full of light, such an their hats and cheered.

{ "angel." She did them good, all of them. It was Uạcle Joseph's folks bad a room full of children, more here, and less there; but all were better, if from Henry, who was sixteen years old, down to only in a trifling degree, for coming near her. It the little Mary, who was less than two; but there did them good when, in a few months, they stood were never too many of them. Look at any one of 80 many of them in her death-chamber, and saw them, and you would be sure that that one could { that certainly she was not too much an angel, none not be spared; the house would be sad enough, if {too pure and godlike for the presence she was soon it were not for that one, with his or her peculiar { to enter. She blessed them all, begged them to ways, measures, and amiabilities. As it was, there give themselves to God then. They ought to love were berries, trout, birds of game, frolics, surprises, Him, she told them with a choking voice, He was outeries, outlaughs, torn frocks and pants enough to so good to them; and they never would be truly keep mouths, fingers, and brain ever interested, happy until they did, never. It was the old story. ever busy. They were never still, except in the ? They had all heard it from the pulpit, from aged

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lips; they had seen it in books; yet it was a new Russia, where he had made a fortune. He was "rich thing coming from that young friend, the dear, the as a Jew," and it was for this consummation ho had beloved one; and it melted them as nothing had ever been toiling all those long years. But he was not melted them before. She died with a heavenly in the least happy, since no pleasant lips ever turned peace in her uplifted eyes and on her tongue; and to him and said-husband, father, brother, or uncle. her young friends went onward in life, He only, “who He came home; and, after a long search, found his searcheth the heart, seeing it exemplified in them sister and niece in the home of Caroline, whonco the blessedness of Susan's regenerated life, and of good Aunt Odlin had departed her triumphant death."

It was pleasant that Caroline took the widow ind orphan under her hand. There had been mutual comfort in the thing all along; and then in the end

Caroline married the old bachelor from Russia. CHAPTER

This would have been no lucky dénouement, as mar

rying a rich bachelor merely; but nowhere else in MANY years have passed since then. Then it

the world could she have found a companion so perwas '34, now it is '48; fourteen years have passed; fectly suited to her, with such a noble face and and if you go now to the old home of Susan, the

figure, so highly intellectual, and above all so loving parents are not there. Go up to Uncle Josoph's;

and kind; fond of travel like herself, and liko and there you will find them across the way, in the

herself no less fond of sitting quietly in their own loveliest spot of all that lovely region; close by the

room, reading, and talking of what they read, what river in the midst of all those voices that once were

they had seen in their travels, and laying plans with in their beloved daughter's ear. They love to think

her for the relief of the poor of the city. Mrs. of this; they would never be willing to live any.

Mansen was their almoner; and she went chiefly where else; in no other spot on the earth could they

a could they among the sewing women. She knew what they have made the grave of Susan. The grave-you

suffered ; and she had determined that the rest of can see the white monument there among the wil.

her life should be given to them. lows, close by the river. Uncle Joseph's youngest,

Caroline has two babies, beauties! and such lovely named for their Susan, is almost always with them.

things! You would not think it of such a tidy, They spoil her, the neighbors say; but they do not.

magnificent man as her husband-that is, if you They are no longer blind in their movements. They

have no good brother, brother-in-law, or husband know that it is an immortal one they lead about by

who does the same-but he does lie on the carpets the band, take to their arms, their table, and the

often, and let the children crawl over him. Mothers little cot close beside their own bed. No, the pa

know how much this is worth to Caroline. Their rents could not live anywhere else, now Susan is

gambols afford her a pleasant diversion; sho has away.

many a hearty laugh over them. Besides, she is Go back to the city; and there in the former

able, while they go on, to fold her hands and rest; home of the Vanes you will find the widow Mansen,

feeling thankful that it is not of necessity that all her daughter, and her daughters—but no matter; }

amusements beyond those furnished by the hired 'tis a long story about the daughter; and there is

nurse must come from her, whether she is strong or here no room for it. Mrs. Mansen is no better, and

weak, disposed to laugh, or only to read quietly, or it may be not vastly happier, in the main, than

look in the grate with her thoughts back in the when it was

olden time, when there were parents and childhood's “Work-work-work,

home for her, when the dear Susan lived, and ospoTill the brain began to swim:

cially when she died.
Work-work-work,

Till the eyes were heavy and dim!”
We would not have thought the change in her

SONNET.-WATER. condition worth naming, only it minds us afresh

BY WM. ALEXANDIR. that, in this new republic, we are all, as it were, on MYSTERIOUS Fluid I claim'st thou highest praise Ixion's wheel; so that, if we find ourselves looking

By power penetrative thou art everywhere!

Where matter is, there thou-in earth, in air down on people at present, wo may as well be

Perchance, too, where gleam Fire's red flashing rays humble, not only for humility's sweet sake, but be

Thy viscous nature makes our houses stand. cause by and by we may be coming down, down;

Deprived of thee, wood into ashes turno, and those who erst were below us may be going up, Stones crumble into dust. The sparkling urns, up far enough over our heads. The bankruptcy of Where thou, in love, invitingly dost stand, he Vanes would have been infinitely easier to bear

Are richest treasure to both poor and proud; if there had been no arrogance, do foolish pride in

And sandy deserts can thy value tell,

Where nations strive to gain some cold deep well; the day of their strength.

Whence gushest thou with silvery voice and loudThe reverse in Mrs. Mansen's fortune came of

In rills and rivers through the woods thou goest; her only brother, who, ten years ago, returned from ? Carrying life and joy and health where'er thou flowert

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Rich velvets of imperial hue

Fall round his couch in many a fold, And kingly splendor all is there,

In brilliant tints and burnished gold.

But what avail the gorgeous rooms,

Or fringing gold that decks his bed, When he who owns them all must soon

Commingle with the mould'ring dead ?

In my sleep, I pondered

On thy love for me;
In my dreams, I wandered

Over land and seaWandered in my dreams, love,

Hand in hand with thee Wandered where the posies

Shed an odor rare, Where myrtle-bloom and roses

Scented sweet the air, And fairy notes were pealing

From the songsters there. Soon thy form grew lighter,

Wings thy shoulders bore; Then thy eyes grew brighter,

Lighter than before, And a smile seraphic

All the features wore; Thy voice grew softer, sweeter,

And its music broke, In rhapsody of metre,

In accents that bespoke All thy heart's affection

All my love awoke.

Or what avails, though thousands weep,

The hour that calls him from his throne? They cannot hold him from the grasp

Of Death, now calling for his own.

But to the humble, lowly priest,

Ah! list the words he uttered then: “God must be merciful to kings

They need it more than other men."

Yes, here is truth! the poorest one

Who toils amid the laboring band Dreams not the temptings that assail

The monarch with a sceptred hand. The sleepless nights, the weary days,

The thousand fears a sceptre brings, Ohl well the Emperor might say,

* God must be merciful to kings!"

Then this lesson learned I

(Thou didst it impart) “Man's bliss is only earned by

Woman's gentler heart, And incomplete his destiny

When she shapes no part. She has power given,

Power over strife, Power sent from Heaven

To harmonize this life : God's best gifts to man are

Mother, sister, wife!

DISTRUST.-A SONNET.

BY MARY G. WELLS.
WHY wilt thou wrong, with jealous doubts and fears,

The heart that is so truly all thine own?
Why cause me shed those wild and burning tears

That ever flow at thy reproachful tone ?
An orphan lone, thou 'rt all my soul holds dear:

Hast Tiou a pang that is not felt by NE?
Have I a pleasure when Thou art not near?

I know no joy that is not shared with thee. Dost judge me by thyself? Art thou grown cold,

And thus would grieve my trustful love away? If so-ah! let the tale be quickly told;

My haughty spirit will not brook delay. My passion is too deep for words to prove: Then cuase to doubt me, or I cease to love!

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BALLAD.

BY J. E. CARNES. DARELY fatal, O Havana!

Was thy green and fertile shore; Sadly shall thy name's sweet music

Soem unto us evermore.

Oh! wherefore doth she revel thus 'mid glowing scenes of

yore? In one short moment she will wake to weep-and dream

no more! The present brings no blissful bours--around it all is dimWhile echo syllables the notes of sorrow's mournful hymn.

Gallant forms were grouped upon thee,

Victims of deceptive wile,
Doomed to death, yet on each visage

Shone the hero's scornful smile.

Earth was gorgeous to their vision,

Rich her summer robe was wrought And from all thy groves of orange

Bland perfumes thy breezes brought.

Peace, peace to thee, fair slumberer! From fickle love

and grief, Within sleep's pure and blest embrace thou fain wouldst

find relief; Her dewy breath with lulling power is wafted o'er thee now, And with her lips she presseth still thy pale and anxious

brow. Alas! not all her winning charms can ease thy yearning

heart; For see! beneath those folded lids the quiv'ring teardrops

start; Life's masquerade bath wearied thee-thy bosom heaveth

high, And from the source of thrilling thought ascends a trou

bled sigh. Thou’rt parting with the spirit-strains which gave thy

visions birth, And once again thy soaring mind must captive bend to

earth.

Castle, tower, and fragrant garden

Lay in summer's brightest hue, And the bending heaven above them

Seemed to wear its calmest blue.

Spread before them smiled the ocean,

Chainless in his giant pride, And the hearts within their bosoms

Were as chainless as his tide.

Sadly gazed their thought beyond it,

And each lid repressed a tear
O'er the sudden fate that blasted

Hopes of many a blissful year.

One last look at earth's green vesture,

And at ocean's boundless flood, Ere thy altars, dark Deception,

Are besprinkled with their blood.

Ah! child of clay, this world for thee will yield no tranquil

joy; Its treasures rare, its wealth of bliss, are mixed with base

alloy! And Mer’ry, with deep anguish fraught, will darken every

hour, While Passion's féll and withering blight will fade Hope's

budding flower. I would that I might win for thee unbroken, calm repose, Or, by some magic, deck thy path with colors of the rose! Though vain the wish–I yet may breathe affection's fer

vent prayer, That in the healing balm of Heaven thy soul may largely

share. And, when thou leav'st this earthly bourn, there seek thy

rest, poor dove, And fold thy weary pinions in a home of peace and love:

One last dream of friends and kindred,

And of graves beyond the sea, Beneath the flag whose starry splendor

Lights the pathway of the free. Stood they there in moreless courage,

Heroes of Spartanic mould; Rang the death-shots, and the victims

In the dust together rolled! Darkly fatal, o Havana!

Was thy green and fertile shore; Sadly shall thy name's sweet music

Seem unto us evermore!

EROS.

BF R. T. CONRAD. Young holy Love! It riseth o'er the heart,

Like morn's flushed glory o'er & vernal sky; And from its light all things profane depart,

Leaving thoughts pure and aspirations highThe ballowing effluence of Divinity!

Its heart-founts, clear as rills in Eden bowers, Ruffled alone by joy's low, quivering sigh,

Wake, as they leave their paradise of flowers, Wierd melodies, else mute, in this wild world of ours.

THE SLEEPER WHO IS DREAMING.

Inscribed to Oliver Oakwood.

BY MRS. A. F. LAW. BEND softly o'er the sleeper, for she dreameth of the past, And, 'neath its spells of cloudless joy, her fevered pulse

bounds fast! Bend softly! From her parted lips unconscious murmurs

steal, And these low whispers, gently breathed, time's scorets now

reveal. With tuneful voice she blends their names--the faithless

and the true Uniting close the severed wreath which love once round them threw.

VOL. XLV.-49

Each other's, and all God's! The sacred vow

Blends souls, like meeting streams or mingling raya; And lapsing life glides by with music's flow,

Till age, like moonlight, silvers o'er their days. God on their holy home His blessing lays:

And when the bow that o'er their youth was bent, The mingled glory of their souls, decays,

Its hues are with immortal radiance blent; They melt-but'tis in light: Heaven claims the love

it lent!

Though scenes more fair, though friends more dear

Hereafter bless your earthly lot, One boon I ask without one fear

I ask thee to forget me not.

TO HER WHO UNDERSTANDS IT.

BY ADALIZA CUTTER. BELOVED One, at this quiet eve,

Ere sinks yon trembling star to rest, One little song for thee I'll weave,

Of love-thoughts glowing in my breast. I'll open all this full, warm heart,

That thou its inmost shrine can see, With all its folded leaves apart,

Where nestie such sweet thoughts of thee.

Oh, let me meet thy bark once more

If not upon life's changeful sea, At least upon that blissful shore,

From storm and tempest ever frec. Yes, if I ever reach that land,

(Oh, heed my best, my holiest prayer,) Attended by some angel band,

Oh mcet me there-oh, moct me there!

I sit alone, and yet I seem

To see thee linger by my side, As in some pleasant, quiet dream

Spirits of loved ones round me glide. My hand is gently clasped in thine,

I listen to your loving tone; I feel your warm lips pressed to mine,

And fed that I am not alone.

At first I strove to keep my heart

From loving thee-I knew too well That we had only met to part,

And that we soon must breathe farewell: I knew that on life's solemn main

Fate soon our little barks must sever, And that we might not meet again

For years—perchance no more forever.

A FAREWELL TO SUMMER.

BY ELSIE GREY. FAREWELL, bright Summer! Ay, I call thee bright, Though to my dull dark soul the word is strange; Let Hope soft breathe it, but not cold Despair. Farewell, I say; yet would I find some word Of deeper woe to speak my parting now With thee, 0 Summer, passing here away. Summer, thy last mild moon bath risen, and wased, And waned since that dread hour whon in my soul Hope's last faint taper, dying long, expired. Summer, farewelll yet not for aye, for thou Wilt come again, and thy warm breath will pass O'er frozen trees and flowers, and they shall live. But to my dark, dead, icy heart thou canst Not come, nor thy soft breath shall kindle more That light of Hope forever now gone out.

I strove in vain. Go bid the bird

Beside its nest forbear to sing;
Go bid the flowers, by soft winds stirrod,

Forget to blossom in the spring;
Go bid the bright stars cease to shine,

Like diamonds in the blue above-
As well as bid this heart of mine

Give up its blissful dream of love.

Oh, were it wise to shun the flowers

Because their beauty fades so soonTo wish there were no summer hours

Because it is not always June To turn away from the blue sky,

That shines Bo gloriously fair, Bocause, to dim the sun's bright eye,

Dark threatening clouds are sometimes there? No-ratber cull the flowers that bloom,

And wear them, though for one brief day; Their fragrance may dispel our gloom,

E'en when their beauty fades away. Thoughts of the calm blue summer skies,

The rich green leaf, the sweet wild-flower, Will come to us when storms arise,

And cheer full many a wintry hour.

SONNET.-THE APPROACH OF WINTER.

BY JOHN 8. MOORE. FAREWELL now to the glories of the year!

The cloudiness of Winter cometh o'er us,

And nothing save the spring-tide will restoro us An ardent sunbeam. All the leaves, grown sear, Drop deadly to the ground 'neath the cold glow

of a far-gleaming moon. The quiet stars,

Like peris gazing through a prison's bars,
Seem shivering as they cast regards below.
The music from the leaves, and from the grass,

Which filled the years upon a summery night,
Is now but all too mute. Ere long will pass

The vehement north-wind, conscious of his might, Over the dead-cold land, and on my glass

The fingers of the fresh brown Autumn's fate will write

E'en thus will thought of thee, sweet friend,

Remain when thou art far away;
And when the shades of eve descend,

When cooling zephyrs gently play,
I'll sit beneath yon star's pale beams,

Or 'neath the soft light of the moon,
And yield myself to dreams, sweet dreams,

Of days that passed too soon—too soon. And when beneath a southern sky,

'Mid birds and flowers your footsteps roam, Sometimes will not your spirit's eye

Turn to my cherished mountain home?

SONNET.-IN MEMORY OP “AMELIA.

BY G. WALLINGFORD CLARKE.
Ye heavenly spirits who preside o'er song,
Ne'er will ye cease to grieve--for in your bowers

No more that voice shall ring, whose tuneful powers
Thrilled with such ecstasy the list'ning throng.
Yet, mourned enchantress of the lyre, as long

As thy loved stars illume, and dewy flowers

With fragrance fill the vales, soft falling showers Refresh the earth, and snow-clad mountains strong

Lift their pale pinnacles to pierce the skies, Thy lays shall live in all their native bloom, And as a household word thy name be known.

Oh! songstress of the soul, with tearful eyes, Whilst sounds in fancy's ear thy harp's deep moan, I place this cypress wreath-this tribute on thy tomb!

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