severity of the mother's aspect, soon found an opportunity of removing Emily's reserve in a private interview. He disclosed the awful circumstances which occurred at the time of the intended elopement; and she frankly confessed her painful suspicious that he had broken his oath of fidelity. The lovers at length agreed on the propriety of imparting their secret to the mother.

The good dame was much surprised at learning the state of Emily's heart, and equally astounded at the fearful story of the elopement. She thought it just that Love should reward the hard trials of his votaries, and her only objection was the gentleman's want of name. But as the maiden maintained, that it was more reasonable to marry a man without a name, than a name without a man, she had nothing more to say on this score. As no earl appeared in prospect, and matters had already gone so far, she thought fit to give her consent to their union. Frederick embraced his lovely bride, and the marriage rites were performed, without any interruption from the spectral nun.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

IS THIS A TIME TO BE CLOUDY AND SAD.

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,

When our mother nature laughs around;

When even the deep blue heavens look glad,

And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground?

There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren,
And the gossip of swallows through all the sky,
The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den,
And the wilding bee hums merrily by.

The clouds are at play in the azure space,

And their shadows at play on the bright green vale,

And here they stretch to the frolic chase,
And there they roll on the easy gale.

There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower,

There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower, And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.

And look at the broad-faced sun how he smiles
On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray,
On the leaping waters and gay young isles,
Ay look, and he 'll smile thy gloom away.

B

PASSAGE OF THE RED SEA.

ALL day the wearied Israelites

Across the desert fled;

The lingering hope, that still excites
Though all be lost, was dead.

The sunset rays gleamed bright before

Upon the dark red wave,

And far behind, flashed wildly o'er

Bright spears and banners brave.

Pale, trembling, and dismayed, they stood
Upon the sea-worn coast,

While each gazed back, in fearful mood,

On Pharaoh's armed host;

But each in silent prayer besought

The Being he adored,

Who by their side full oft had fought,

And edged their conquering sword.

Yet nearer waved the spears, and shouts
Fiercely, in that stern hour,

Borne on the rushing breeze, waked doubts
Of Heaven's protecting power

In every breast, save his, who there

Stood calm upon the strand,

Inspired of Heaven, his right arm bare,

And spake that proud command.

The dancing surges, at the call,
Moved by a secret might,

Rose from their depths,-a ruby wall
Of waters to the sight;

There lay the coral reefs, that slept

Veiled since creation's dawn; The Hebrews o'er them swiftly stepped,The heathen host rushed on.

In sounding arms those gorgeous bands
With car and steed drew near,
The jewelled sword in their mailed hands,
And clashing shield and spear.
They came! revenge in each proud eye,
Those angry men passed on;

The waters trembled from on high,—
The Power that stayed was gone.

A moment yet that upright wall
Curled o'er the host beneath,
Then bowed and closed upon them all
Struggling and strong in death;
The whirlpool and the storm of waves
Gleamed in the sun's last ray,
And darkness, o'er the warriors' graves,
Mingled with foam and spray.

The morning shed its peaceful sheen

Upon the dark red sea,

Where not a trace of life was seen

Save wild waves tossing free.
But far beyond, on the green plain,

The sons of Jacob bowed,

And raised, with many a white lamb slain,

Their hymns of praise to God.

SONNETS.

TO A WESTERN MOUND.

Tомв, cenotaph, sarcophagus, or urn!
And wert thou then of sacred use, or made
For tower of martial trust against the stern,
When Havoc slipt his war-dogs on this glade,
Ere the race fell, or fled, which none shall learn,
Themselves in dust, their temples undecayed?
Were thy foundations for an altar laid
Magnificent and vast, a realm's concern?

What are thy years? Prove they the Bramin's creed Of ages piled on ages? Wert thou when

God loosed the fountains of the mighty deep,

And choked the wave with shoals of sinful men?

Or is thine era later, and the sleep

Of the whole land, man's own infuriate deed?

J.

ON THE SAME.

I THINK I see the men of ancient days,
The worshippers beneath the greenwood tree,
Commemorating some proud jubilee,

And thereupon the joyful myriads raise

These barrows. Hush! I hear the minstrel's lays!
They are not of the South, they want the glee
Of Southern verse; more like the songs of praise
The Scalds of Norway sang, when revelry
Was in the halls of Odin. These high mounts
Avouch deliverance from a Haco's yoke;
Where the invader had his weapons broke,
The conquerors spring the never-dying founts
Of valor, in memorials to their race
Of their own glory, and their foes' disgrace.

J.

SPRING BREEZES.

YE joyous breezes, I trace your way

O'er the meadows decked in their bright array;

The flowerets are bending your steps to greet,
New blossoms are springing beneath your feet,
While the rosebud her freshest fragrance flings,
And woos ye to rest your wearied wings.

---

But on ye pass, for no charm ye stay,—
Still onward ye hold your gladdening way;
Your breath has rippled the mountain stream,
And a thousand suns from its surface gleam;
Your voice has wakened the wild bird's note,
And fragrance and melody round ye float.

Ye joyous breezes, still on ye go,
Your breath is passing o'er beauty's brow,
Your wings are stirring her radiant hair,
Your kiss is brightening her cheek so fair,
And the innocent thoughts of her heart rejoice
With the mirthful tones of your wild, sweet voice.

"Is our path then marked by so much of mirth?
Alas for the folly, the blindness of earth!

Is there not mingled a voice of wail

With the sweetest tones of the young spring gale? If like infancy's joyous laugh we rise,

Pass we not onward like manhood's sighs?

"Though flowers may gladden our path to-day,

When to-morrow we come they have passed away;

And the cheerful smile and the rosy hue
From the cheek of beauty have faded too,
And our gentle whispers no more impart
A feeling of joy to her youthful heart.

"We but do the will of our Master here,
Our joy is found in a holier sphere;

We are born in Heaven,-can our purer breath
Pass mirthfully over the fields of Death?

For what is earth, with its transient bloom

And fleeting charms, but a flower-wreathed tomb?"

IANTHE.