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in all that time-nor had the voice of friend or kinsman breathed through his lattice. His children

But here my heart began to bleed-and I was forced to go on with another part of the portrait.

He was sitting upon the ground upon a little straw, in the farthest corner of his dungeon, which was alternately his chair and bed; a little calendar of small sticks were laid at the head, notched all over with the dismal days and nights he had passed there. He had one of these little sticks in his hand, and with a rusty nail was etching another day of misery to add to the heap. As I darkened the little light he had, he lifted up a hopeless eye towards the door, then cast it downshook his head, and went on with his work of affliction. I heard his chains upon his legs, as he turned his body to lay his little stick upon the bundle. He gave a deep sigh-I saw the iron enter into his soul-I burst into tears--I could not sustain the picture of confinement which my fancy had drawn.

STERNE.

THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND.

"Look now abroad! Another race has filled

Those populous borders-wide the wood recedes,
And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are till'd;
The land is full of harvests and green meads."

THE breaking waves dash'd high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches toss'd;

BRYANT.

And the heavy night hung dark

The hills and waters o'er,

When a band of exiles moor'd their bark

On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted, came;
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;

Not as the flying come,

In silence and in fear;

They shook the depths of the desert gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,

And the stars heard and the sea;

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang

To the anthem of the free!

The ocean eagle soar'd

From his nest by the wide wave's foam; And the rocking pines of the forest roar'dThis was their welcome home!

There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band;-
Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood's land?

There was a woman's fearless eye,

Lit by her deep love's truth;

There was manhood's brow serenely high,

And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?-
Bright jewels of the mine?

The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?-
They sought a faith's pure shrine!

Ay-call it holy ground,

The soil where first they trod;

They've left unstain'd what there they found

Freedom to worship God.

MRS. HEMANS.

NEVER HOLD MALICE.

OH! never "hold malice;" it poisons our life,
With the gall-drop of hate and the nightshade of strife;
Let us scorn where we must, and despise where we may,
But let anger, like sunlight, go down with the day.
Our spirits in clashing may bear the hot spark,
But no smouldering flame to break out in the dark;
"Tis the narrowest heart that creation can make,
Where our passion folds up like the coils of a snake.

Oh! never "hold malice;" it cannot be good,
For 'tis nobler to strike in the rush of hot blood
Than to bitterly cherish the name of the foe,

Wait to sharpen a weapon and measure the blow.
The wild dog in hunger-the wolf in its spring—
The shark of the waters—the asp with its sting-
Are less to be fear'd than the vengeance of man,
When it lieth in secret to wound when it can.

Oh! never "hold malice;" dislike if you will,
Yet remember Humanity linketh us still;
We are all of us human, and all of us erring,
And Mercy within us should ever be stirring.
Shall we dare to look up to the Father above,
With petitions for pardon, or pleading for love;
Shall we dare, while we pant for revenge on another,
To ask from a GOD, yet deny to a brother?

ELIZA COOK.

"WE ARE SEVEN."

A SIMPLE child, dear brother Jem,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,

What can it know of death?

I met a little cottage girl,

Of eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl,
That clustered round her head:

She had a rustic woodland air,

And she was wildly clad;

Her eyes were blue, and she was fair :
Her beauty made me glad :

"Sisters and brothers, little maid,
How many may you be?"
"How many? seven in all," she said,

And wondering look'd at me.

"And where are they? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we :

Two of us at Conway dwell,

And two are gone to sea;

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And in the churchyard cottage I

Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea;

Yet you are seven-I pray you, tell,
Sweet maid, how this can be."

Then did the little maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we,
Two of us in the churchyard lie,
Beneath the churchyard tree."

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