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If any joys be mine through life,

Oh, let them strow thy way I
Thou art my sun—when thou art bright,

I lire but in thy ray;
But if a shadow o'er thee fall,

Life's sunbeams fade and part;
Oh! pity my light is gone—

TIS midnight in my heart,

My sister lore

My very soul is wrapt in thine,
Tn many a bright fold laid;

Our hopes together bud and bloom—
Part them, and mine will fade.

Still near thee let me struggle on,
Still near thee smile and weep;

And e'er thy lamp of life be quenehed,
Still near thee let me sleep,

Sweet sister mine1


Drear, dense, and gray, Those massive elouds whieh now o'erspread the sky; Bleak are the winds that rush so rudely by—

Sad is their lay!

Hushed is the song
Of blrds; the gentle murm'rings of the rill.
And lulling sound of fountains, too, are still,

The woods among.

Withered, dead,
Are buds of spring, and summer's gayer flowers;
They perished with the bright and sunny hours

So soon that fled 1

Hopes high and glad Have faded, too, with all that *s fair and bright; And hearts that summer hours found gay and light

Are drear and sad.

Spring will restore
Beauty and verdure to the earth again;
Eaeh wild wood warbler will pour forth a strain

Of joy onee more.

But to the heart That's blighted in its youth, oh 1 what ean bring Its freshness haek? This desolated thing

Can never part

With all Its woe;
The perfume of a flower—the zephyr's sigh—
A plaintive tone of musie breathing nigh—

The sunset's glow—

The starry skies—
The gleam of waters in the silver light
That Luna sheds upon the brow of night

When daylight diee—

Eaeh glorious thing That onee was loved in days forever past, Will eause but vain regrets—fresh anguish oast— Now sorrows bring

No radiant beam Of summer sun ean e'er reeall the glow Whieh the seared heart hath lost; dark is the flow

Of its ehilled stream.

No joyous, gay,
Wild song of glee; no words of minstrelsy,
Nor strains of rare and riehest melody,

Can ehase away

The low, sad tone Whieh lingers o'er the heart-strings like the sound That with the sea-shell or the wind-harp's found—

A plaintive moan 1

But yet the heart,
Still proud in its despair, will never show
To other eyes its deep, eonsuming woo;

With eunning art,

Will teaeh the eye,
And lip. and brow, a seeming light to wear,
To hide beneath a smile eaeh sign of eare

And sorrow high I

And thus—though light,
And love, and beauty from the heart be gone—
It still endures, and u brokenly lives on"—

A wreek, a blight!
Washington, D. C, lib. 1852. P. A. J.



In a low and eeaseless murmur,

Gently flows the forest stream— Day and night to nature ehanting

Musie sweet as song and dream— In the mirrored sky revealing All the beauty of its gleam.

With a song of joy and gladness, . Merrily the minstrel pings. And eaeh passing breeze and zephyr

Wafts its earol on its wings, Till the air sround, above it,

Swells with magie murmurings.

Bubbling upward like a fountain,
Born of melody and song;

Like a transient gleam of beauty,
Flows the silver stream along,

Hymning anthems unto nature,
She to whom its hymns belong.

Hastening onward, onward ever,
Like the life that flows in me—

As a wave upon the river

Hastening to the distant sea—

As a hope the hidden future
Searehing for the things to be.

Summer storms may o'er it gather;

Winds of autumn round it wail; Winter, too, its bosom ruffle

With his iey sleet and hail; But with summer, autumn, winter,

Doth its steady flow prevail.

Thus life's fountain to the rivei
In a winding eurrent flows—

And the river to the oeean
In a ehannel deeper grows,

Till the fountain, river, oeean,
In eternity repose.



We have seen them by the forest shade,

And by the sunlit streams; In ehildhood's walks, in manhood's years,

They are mingled in our dreams:
And oft they win our memory haek

To some forgotten thing,
To seek the joy our ehildhood found

Among tho flowers of spring.

But ah I they win us haek in vain;

No after spring renows
That gift of vanquished sunshine whieh

Our souls so early lose:
The sunlit stream may murmur on,

The blrds may gayly sing,
But friends we loved have passed away

Among the flowers of spring.

Yet fair and fragrant to the day

Eaeh bright-eyed flow'ret opes;
They are not withered like our hearts,

Nor blighted like our hopes;
And then eaeh golden dream of youth

Its long-lost light will bring—
And all is bright, and ail is hope,

Among the flowers of spring. Huntingdon, Mareh, 1S52.



Whe* pleasure's eup is sparkling high,

When friends around thee throng; When hearts are light with playful mirth,

And lighter wakes the song;
When, eounting o'er thy many joys,

Reealled by memory,
If 'twill not dim thy pleasure then,

Oh! give one thought to me.

At dnwn, when first Aurora's light
Refleets o'er hill and dale,

And gilds tho dow-washed lily's head
That slept within the rale;

When first tho lark shall plume his wing,
And soar from bondage free,

To warble forth his merry notes—
Then give one thought to mo.

An* when the shades of evening are

Fast fading into night—
An hour that well seems made for thought,

And quiet is delight;
At midnight's deep and solemn hour,

When on thy bended kneo,
Thy hands upraised to Heaven in prayer,

Oh then, tlum think of me!

If I eould elaim the riehest gem

That now lies in the sea,
I'd rather far, than have that pearl,

Have one kind thought from thee:
If all the joys of this bright world

Wwe now spread out to me,
And I were told to make a ehoioo—

T'd ask <>n<t thought from thee.


I TmxK on thee when early mom is breaking,
For thou art as the day-star to mine eye;

Thou art my first sweet thought upon awaking
From dreams wherein thine image passeth by.

I think on thee whene'er the bright sun bringeth
Day's busy hours and toil's uneeasing strife;

Then, liko a hird, to thee my spirit wingeth—
For thou art as the sunshine to my life.

I think on thee when twilight dows are stealing,
When the dim stars searee light the softened air;

Then, then my shadowy thoughts thy form revealing—
Like those dim stars, thou hadst been hidden there.

I think on theo when silent midnight seemeth
As if it moved not on time's noiseless way;

Till, worn with thought, my busy faney dreameth
That thou art smiling at my uneouth lay.

I think on thee, for ever, ever praying
That but one glanee of thine may beam on me;

My truant thoughts are over to theo straying—
Dost thou not feel that I but live in thtt t


I've won theo, won thee, gentle bride;

I 'vo loved thee long, hope of my And now I plaee thee at my sido,

My dearer self, my darling wife. Most beautiful to me thou art,

And to all others passing fair; Then press thee elosely to my heart,

Dearest of all things treasured there.

Romomber, love, whore first we met;

The ehurehyard with bright flowers o'erspread; The ehureh itself in emerald set,

A wateher o'er its buried dead. The firs around, the grass beneath,

Shed faint perfume, a heavenly halm; I almost feared to draw my breath

Lest I should break the soul-felt ealm.

And thou I oh thou, so lovely beamed,

A very pearl in purity,
The spirit of the plaee I deemed

And eould almost have worshipped theo I
That gray old ehureh of bygone times

We gazed upon together then— In silenee gazed; no holy ehimes

Called us to meet our fellow-men.

We entered—and thy sweet young faee

All glorious looked in ehastened joy; We knelt in thine aeeustomed plaee—

Thou didst alone my thoughts employ. Thou wert beside me, and I beard

Thy soft voiee murmuring elear and low, Responsive to the Holy Word,

Or in the ehant melodious flow.

And ever from that tranquil hour
When life's blest fulness first was mine,

Thine image, love, alone had power
To eharm me in my manhood's prime.

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We parted then—a fresh bud thou
Expanding in thine early spring;

And I a youth, with purposed Row,
Time to my home should Era bring.

I won thee there—and when at last

We, reaeh our lives' appointed bourn, And have Death's silent eonfines past,

Our dust shall there to dust return. And should I first the dark rale tread,

Thy faithful lore shall me enfold; Or I will pillow thy dear head

Where first we met—that ehurehyard old, Eva. beloved 1 why weepest thou 1

Yes, preeious one, 'twere hard to part; Rest on my bosom thy fair brow,

And press thee elosely to my heart.



'i At hattle is waging! Why, warrior, away!
Dost thou listlessly stand from the din of the fray,
With thy head drooping low, and thy hand on thy brow,
As though Life and its eonfliet were naught to thee now?

Why motionless thou, whilst the gathering throng,
In double-mailed armor, are rushing along,
And the elangor of hattle around thee is heard,
And the trumpet's loud tone every spirit has stirred?

But lately, thy heart was absorbed in the fight,
But lately, its trophies were viowed with delight,'
And the might of thy arm, and thy eourage, eould vie
With the strongest and bravest who now pass thee by.

Their serried ranks move; but the noise of their tread
Meets thy ear as it falls on the ear of the dead:
Tis strange that a summons, onee needless, should now
Wake no fire in thy eye, and no light on thy brow I

Can it be that, before half life's hattle is done,

Ere the eontest is past and tho vietory won,

Thy spirit has shrunk from the strife raging there,

And been blighted, eonsumed by the toueh of Despair?

Can it be that the ardor whieh onee led thee on,
In the van of great hosts, towards the prize to be won,
IT as ehilled and grown weak at the threats of the foe?
Has thy arm beeome nerveless ere striking a blow?

Awake from thy stupor I Arouse thee again!
Take thy part in the strife—be a man amongst men!
Let thy soul shame the impulse that prompted thy fear,
In the hour of trial, when danger was near.

Wouldst thon list to the foomsn exultingly ery,
That his threats blanehed thy eheek, his words foreed thee

Wouldst thou see thy friends mourning, in sorrow and shame,

O'er the wreek of thy glory, the brand on thy name?

Thou eanst not—thou dar'st not! Then up to the field!
Keep thy post in the ranks till the foeman shall yield!
Let no timid doubts shake thee, no terrors dismay—
Stand firm for the truth, and thy valor display 1

Be strong in the right 1 *Tis a panoply sure,
An rgis to guard thee and keep thee seeure:
Wear it ever; and then, 'mid the thiekest of strife.
Do thy part, as thou shouldst, in the Battle of Life I



Beaetteel visions, that before me swim,
In softest light, whene'er mine eyes I elose,

Te are too fair to be the phantoms dim
That haunt the eoueh of opinm-bought repose

The angel Morphia hath a shadowy train,

But no sueh forms as yours adorn her pale domain.

Are ye some mirage from th' Eternal shore?

A soft refleetion on the dreamlike mist
That o'er the sea of Death floats evermore?

A she whose willowy marge my foot hath kissed:
As in the Moslem's faith the houri waits,
And beekons, with white hands, to the Celestial gates?

Ah no! your beauty is of earth; it takes

Sueh forms as float before the artist's eye,
WTien, 'neath his toueh, the glowing eanvas wakes

To that strange life that ne'er again shall die;
Or as the ehiselled marble bears, when wrought
To image to mankind the seulptor's lofty thought .

Oh, how mueh fairer than the shapes we see,
Are those with whieh a glowing faney teems 1

Too perfeet to be time I And sueh were ye;
For ye were beautiful, and ye are dreams 1

And thus our nature still transeends our fate,

Like high-born foundlings left at some poor peasant's gate.

And ye have passed away, and left no traee,
Ar roses leave the velvet eheeks of youth;

And yet I faney that eaeh form of graee
But shadows forth some uureeorded worth;

And on the heart's red leaves, in traees dim,

Shall Poesy for you inseribe one grateful hymn.



There '8 musie in the sunbeam,

There's musie in the shower,
There's musie in eaeh rippling stream,

Eaeh leaf, and tree, and flower.

There's musie in the moonlit sea,
Where the proud hark eleaves the blllow;

And o'er thy grave, sweet Ella Lee,
Tis sighing through the willow.

There's musie in the mountain height,
And 'neath the dark pine shade,

Where silver streams are flashing bright,
And wild flowers paint the glade.

There's musie in the joyous spring,
Where young flow'rs gem the sod;

And through eaeh bright and lovely thing
It whispers, " There's a God 1"

There was musie onee whose gentlest thrill

Was dearer far to me
Than leaf, or flower, or flashing rill,

Or starlight on the sea.

Its lute-like tones how oft they eome

With gentle thoughts of thee! But ah 1 they 're hushed within the tomb, Where sleeps my Ella Lee. Uhtontown, in.



The materials are blue satin and embroidery silk. Tho pattern should be drawn with a white erayon. Then proeeed to do the outline of the design, the stoma and the tendrils in ehain stiteh. The leaves and the flowers in the usual embroidery stiteh. It is made up in the ordinary way, tho front fastened by a row of gold buttons set with turquoise. The same pattern may be worked either on laee or muslin. If laee, work in tambour and ehain stiteh; give the eollar and front a narrow thread edge, and line it with silk of some delieato hue. Studs may be substituted for buttons. Vests of eambrie muslin, to be worn with lawns or light summer silks, will be very mueh tho style the present and ensuing month. For deseription of embroidered muslin manilla, soo " Chitehat."

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Tms pattern forma an elegant border for a merino or eloth eloak, by working the eurved line with eord and the rose-buds with silk.


Cast on thirty-four astitehe3 with white knitting eotton, No. 10.

Knit one plain row.

Seeond rout.—Purled, till within two from the end, turn haek.

Third row.—Knit plain till within two from the end, turn haek.

Fourth roie.—Purled, till within four from the end, turn haek.

Fifth row.—Knit plain till within four from the end, turn haek.

Sixth row.—Purled, till within six from the end, turn haek.

Seventh row.—Knit plain till within six from the end, turn haek.

Eighth row.—Purled, till within eight from the end, turn haek.

Ninth row.—Knit plain till within eight from the end, turn haek.

Tmth row.—Purled to the end.

Eleventh row.—Unit plain to the end, and begin again as at seeond row; but the tenth row is to bo purled till within ten from the end: eleventh row knitted till within ten from the end; twelfth row purled to the end; thirteenth row knitted plain to the end. Then begin again as at seeond row. After fourteen stripes, ending alternately one at the eleventh, the other at the thirteenth row. Cast off all the stitehes; sew the two edges together; gather the stitehes of the smaller aperture, fasten them tight round the stalk of a eommon elove, and fill up with bran, as full as possible, this white shape of an apple; when it is nearly full, fold a hit of wire in ten or twelve; oover it with brownish floss or half twist silk to make the stalk of the apple; gather the stitehes of the seeond aperture, fill up with bran, as mueh as you ean, and fasten off tight to the stalk. Then knit another apple in wool or silk of the eolor of the apple whieh you have ehesen for model, and exaetly in the same manner as the white one, but beginning with thirty-eight or forty stitehes, and making one stripe more, or two plain rows between eaeh stripe. Cover neatly with this the white shape, allowing the olove to show its head only. Make a little depression round the stalk of the apple by passing through the fruit three or four times, with a long darningneedle, the silk with whieh you have fastened the last aperture, and draw it tight . A leaf may be added, but is not neeessary.

The orange is worked in the same manner, exeept that there are no purled rows, no elove put in, and no stalk.

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