The tailor's stern remark when I a modest order made:

"Cash is the basis, sir, on which we tailors do our trade!"

Her winter cloak was in his shop by noon that very day;

She wrought on hickory shirt at night that tailor's skill to pay;

I got a coat, and wore it; but alas, poor Hannah Jane!

Ne'er went to church or lecture till warm weather came again.

Our second season she refused a cloak of any sort,

That I might have a decent suit in which t' appear in court;

She made her last year's bonnet do, that I might have a hat;

Talk of the old-time flame-enveloped martys after that!

No negro ever worked so hard, a servant's pay to save,

She made herself most willingly a household drudge and slave.

What wonder that she never read a magazine or book,

Combining as she did in one, nurse, housemaid, seamstress, cook!

What wonder that the beauty fled that I once so adored!

Her beautiful complexion my fierce kitchen fire devoured;

Her plump, fair, soft, rounded arm was once too fair to be concealed;

Hard work for me that softness into sinewy strength congealed.

I was her altar and her love the sacrificial flame: Oh! with what pure devotion she to that altar

came,

And tearful, flung thereon-alas! I did not know it then

All that she was, and more than that, all that she might have been.

A: last I won success. Ah! then our lives were wide parted;

I was far up the rising road; she, poor girl! where we started.

I had tried my speed and mettle, and gained strength in every race;

I was far up the heights of life-she drudging at the base.

She made me take each fall the stump; she said 'twas my career;

The wild applause of list'ning crowds was music to my ear.

What stimulus had she to cheer her dreary solitude?

For me she lived, and gladly, in unnatural widowhood.

She couldn't read my speech, but when the papers all agreed

Twas the best one of the session, those com nents she could read;

And with a gush of pride thereat, which I had never felt,

She sent them to me in a note with half the words misspelt.

I to the legislature went, and said that she should go

To see the world with me, and what the world was doing, know.

With tearful smile she answered "No! four dollars is the pay;

The Bates House rates for board for one is just that sum per day."

At twenty-eight the State House, on the bench at thirty-three;

At forty every gate in life was opened wide to me. I nursed my powers, and grew, and made my point in life; but she

Bearing such pack-horse weary loads, what could a woman be?

What could she be? O shame! I blush to think

what she has been

The most unselfish of all wives to the selfishest of men.

Yes, plain and homely now she is; she's ignorant, 'tis true;

For me she rubbed herself quite out; I represent

the two.

Well, I suppose that I might do as other men have done

First break her heart with cold neglect, then shove her out alone.

The world would say 'twas well, and more, would give great praise to me

For having borne with "such a wife" so uncomplainingly.

And shall I? No! The contract 'twixt Hannah, God, and me,

ot for one or twenty years, but for eternity. atter what the world may think; I know down in my heart,

if either, I'm delinquent. She has bravely done her part.

's another world beyond this, and on the final day,

tellect and learning 'gainst such devotion weigh?

the great one made of us two, is torn apart again,

re the worst, for God is just, and He knows Hannah Jane.

HE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY.

E. C. STEDMAN.

Could we but know

and that ends our dark, uncertain travel, ere lie those happier hills and meadows low,—

beyond the spirit's utmost cavil,

ht of that country could we surely know, Who would not go?

Might we but hear

overing angels' high imagined chorus, atch, betimes, with wakeful eyes and clear, diant vista of the realm before us,■ one rapt moment given to see and hear, Ah, who would fear?

Were we quite sure

I the peerless friend who left us lonely, ere, by some celestial stream as pure, e in eyes that were love-lit only,— weary mortal coil, were we quite sure, Who would endure?

Maxims like these are very cheaply said;

But, ere you make yourself a fool or fowl, Pray just inquire about his rise and fall, And whether larks have any beds at all! "The time for honest folks to be abed" Is in the morning, if I reason right; And he who cannot keep his precious head Upon his pillow till it's fairly light, And so enjoy his forty morning winks, Is up to knavery, or else he drinks! Thomson, who sung about the "Seasons," said It was a glorious thing to rise in season; But then he said it-lying-in his bed,

39

At ten o'clock A. M.,-the very reason He wrote so charmingly. The simple fact is, His preaching wasn't sanctioned by his practice. 'Tis doubtless well to be sometimes awake,Awake to duty, and awake to truth,But when, alas! a nice review we take

Of our best deeds and days, we find, in sooth,
The hours that leave the slightest cause to weep
Are those we passed in childhood or asleep!
'Tis beautiful to leave the world awhile

For the soft visions of the gentle night;
And free, at last, from mortal care or guile,
To live as only in the angels' sight,
In sleep's sweet realm so cosily shut in,
Where at the worst, we only dream of sin!
So let us sleep and give the Maker praise.

I like the lad who, when his father thought
To clip his morning nap by hackneyed phrase-
Of vagrant worm by early songster caught,
Cried, "Served him right!—it's not at all surpris-
ing;

The worm was punished, sir, for early rising!"

EARLY RISING.

J. G. SAXE.

less the man who first invented sleep!" ncho Panza said, and so say I; ess him, also, that he didn't keep reat discovery to himself, nor try ke it, as the lucky fellow mightmonopoly by patent right!

ess the man who first invented sleep, lly can't avoid the iteration;)

st the man with curses loud and deep, 'er the rascal's name or age or station, st invented, and went round advising, tificial cut-off,-early rising!

ith the lark, and with the lark to bed," ves some solemn, sentimental owl;

LONGING.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

Of all the myriad moods of mind

That through the soul come thronging, What one was e'er so dear, so kind, So beautiful, as longing? The thing we long for, that we are For one transcendent moment, Before the present, poor and bare,

Can make its sneering comment.
Still through our paltry stir and strife
Glows down the wished ideal,
And longing moulds in clay what Life
Carves in the marble real.

To let the new life in, we know,
Desire must ope the portal;
Perhaps the longing to be so

Helps make the soul immortal.

Gifts of doubtless mind,
By the Hand Eternal given;
They had mounted to the skies,
Meet and reverent sacrifice,
To the Majesty of Heaven.
But that spirit-lyre, erst strung
To sweet harmonies unspoken,
Shivered, and its deep chords broken,
Murmureth but of songs unsung.
Of rich melodies flung wildly
On fame's gorgeous altar fire,
One brief moment in its brightness,
Flashing quickly to expire:

Of high purposes all blasted,
Talents hidden, treasures wasted,
Consecrate at Mammon's shrine,
Owning not the land divine.

Wasted!

Founts of deepest Love,

Gifts of mercy from above,
Lavished on a human breast,
Striving for an earthly rest;
On a human idol pouring

Treasures from affections deep:
At a human shrine adoring

Waking but to writhe and weep;
Starting from a dream of rapture
At the touch of mortal care,
On its shivered idols gazing

In the frenzy of despair.
Heart sore-stricken! Love eternal

Woo thee from a heavenly throne; He, the world's Redeemer, asks thee

Now to trust the unchanging One. Wasted-youth's rich, golden hours, Wasted-loftiest, mightiest powers; Wasted-manhood's glorious prime, Hopes and aims and thoughts sublime. Weep'st thou? Ere life's setting sun, Ere time's fleeting sands be run,

Rouse thee from ignoble rest, Toil to win the land more blest. Swiftly are the moments flying, Up! ere hope be drooping, dying; Ere high purposes all blasted Speak thy life forever wasted.

SUMMER IN THE HEART.

EPES SARGENT.

The cold blast at the casement beats:

The window panes are white;

The snow whirls through the empty streets:
It is a dreary night!

Sit down, old friend; the wine-cups wait;
Fill, to o'erflowing fill!

Though winter howleth at the gate,

In our hearts 'tis summer still!

For we full many summer joys

And greenwood sports have shared, When, free and ever-roving boys,

The rocks, the streams, we dared! And, as I look upon thy face,

Back, back o'er years of ill,
My heart flies to that happy place,
Where it is summer still!

Yes, though like sere leaves on the ground Our eary hopes are strown,

And cherished flowers lie dead around,

And singing birds are flown, The verdure is not faded quite, Not mute all tones that thrill; And seeing, hearing thee to-night, In my heart 'tis summer still.

Fill up! The olden times come back
With light and life one more;

We scan the Future's sunny track

From youth's enchanted shore;-
The lost return: through fields of bloom
We wander at our will;

Gone is the winter's angry gloom-
In our heart's 'tis summer still.

DAYS OF MY YOUTH.

ST. GEORGE TUCKER.

Days of my youth, ye have glided away;
Hairs of my youth, ye are frosted and gray;
Eyes of my youth, your keen sight is no more;
Cheeks of my youth, ye are furrowed all o'er;

th of my youth, all your vigor is gone; hts of my youth, your gay visions are flown.

f my youth, I wish not your recall;

of my youth, I'm content ye shall fall; -f my youth, you much evil have seen;

s of my youth, bathed in tears you have

en;

hts of my youth, ye have led me astray; th of my youth, why lament your decay?

■f my age, ye will shortly be past; of my age, yet awhile ye can last; my age, in true wisdom delight; f my age, be religion your light;

hts of my age, dread ye not the cold sod; of my age, be ye fixed on your God.

THE VISION OF MIRZA.

JOSEPH ADDISON.

he fifth day of the moon, which, according custom of my forefathers, I always keep fter having washed myself, and offered up rning devotions, I ascended the high hills dat, in order to pass the rest of the day in tion and prayer. As I was here airing mythe tops of the mountains, I fell into a procontemplation on the vanity of human life; ssing from one thought to another, “Surely," "man is but a shadow, and life a dream." I was thus musing, I cast my eyes toward nmit of a rock that was not far from me, I discovered one in the habit of a shepherd, ittle musical instrument in his hand. As I upon him, he applied it to his lips, and to play upon it. The sound of it was ng sweet, and wrought into a variety of at were inexpressibly melodious, and altolifferent from anything I had ever heard; t me in mind of those heavenly airs that yed to the departed souls of good men eir first arrival in Paradise, to wear out the ions of the last agonies, and qualify them pleasures of that happy place. My heart away in secret raptures.

been often told that the rock before me haunt of a genius; and that several had tertained with that music, who had passed t never heard that the musician had before imself visible. When he had raised my 5, by those transporting airs which he to taste the pleasures of his conversation, oked upon him like one astonished, he

41

beckoned to me, and, by the waving of his hand, directed me to approach the place where he sat. I drew near with that reverence which is due to a superior nature; and as my heart was entirely subdued by the captivating strains I had heard, I fell down at his feet, and wept. The genius smiled upon me with a look of compassion and affability that familiarized him to my imagination, and at once dispelled all the fears and apprehensions with which I approached him. He lifted me from the ground, and taking me by the hand,—“Mirza," said he, "I have heard thee in thy soliloquies; fol low me."

He then led me to the highest pinnacle of the rock, and placing me on the top of it, "Cast thy eyes eastward," said he, "and tell me what thou seest."-"I see," said I, "a huge valley, and a prodigious tide of water rolling through it."—"The valley that thou seest," said he, "is the vale of misery, and the tide of water that thou seest, is part of the great tide of eternity."-"What is the reason." said, I, "that the tide I see rises out of a thick mist at one end, and again loses itself in a thick mist at the other?"-"What thou seest," said he, "is that portion of eternity which is called Time, measured out by the sun, and reaching from the beginning of the world to its consummation. "Examine now," said he, "this sea, that is bounded with darkness at both ends, and tell me what thou discoverest in it."-"I see a bridge," said I, "standing in the midst of the tide."-"The bridge thou seest," said he, "is human life; consider it attentively." Upon a more leisurely survey of it, I found it consisted of threescore and ten entire arches, with several broken arches, which, added to those that were entire, made up the number about an hundred. As I was counting the arches, the genius told me that this bridge consisted at first of a thousand arches; but that a great flood swept away the rest, and left the bridge in the ruinous condition I now beheld it. "But tell me further," said he, "what thou discoverest on it""I see multitudes of people passing over it," said I, "and a black cloud hanging on each end of it." As I looked more attentively, I saw several of the passengers dropping through the bridge into the great tide that flowed underneath it; and upon farther examination, perceived there were innumerable trap doors that lay concealed in the bridge, which the passengers no sooner trod upon, but they fell through them into the tide, and immediately disappeared. These hidden pit-falls were set very thick at the entrance of the bridge, so that throngs of people no sooner broke though the cloud, but many of them fell into them. They grew thinner toward the middle, but multipled and lay closer together toward the end of the arches that were entire.

There were indeed some persons, but their number was very small, that continued a kind of hobbling march on the broken arches, but fell through one after another, being quite tired and spent with so long a walk.

I passed some time in the contemplation of this wonderful structure, and the great variety of objects which it presented. My heart was filled with a deep melancholy, to see several dropping unexpectedly in the midst of mirth and jollity, and catching at everything that stood by them, to save themselves. Some were looking up towards the heavens in a thoughtful posture, and, in the midst of a speculation, stumbled and fell out of sight. Multitudes were very busy in the pursuit of bubbles, that glittered in their eyes, and danced before them; but often, when they thought themselves within the reach of them, their footing failed and down they sunk. In this confusion of objects, I observed some with scimitars in their hands, and others with urinals, who ran to and fro upon the bridge, thrusting several persons on trap doors which did not seem to lie in their way, and which they might have escaped had they not been forced upon them.

The genius seeing me indulge myself in this melancholy prospect, told me I had dwelt long enough upon it: "Take thine eyes off the bridge," said he, "and tell me if thou seest anything thou dost not comprehend." Upon looking up,-" What mean," said I, "those great flights of birds that are perpetually hovering about the bridge, and settling upon it from time to time? I see vultures, harpies, ravens, cormorants, and among many other feathered creatures, several little winged boys, that perch in great numbers upon the middle arches."-" These," said the genius, "are envy, avarice, superstition, despair, love, with the like cares and passions that infest human life."

Y here fetched a deep sigh: "Alas," said I, "man was made in vain! How is he given away to misery and mortality! Tortured in life, and swallowed up in death!" The genius being moved with compassion towards me, bid me quit so uncomfortable a prospect. "Look no more," said he, "on man in the first stage of his existence, in his setting out for eternity; but cast thine eye on that thick mist into which the tide bears the several generations of mortals that fall into it." I directed my sight as I was ordered, and (whether or no the good genius strengthened it with any supernatural force, or dissipated part of the mist that was before too thick for the eye to penetrate) I saw the valley opening at the farther end, and spreading forth into an immense ocean, that had a huge rock of adamant running through the midst of it and dividing it into two equal parts. The clouds still rested on one half of it, insomuch that I could discover nothing in it. But the other appeared to me a vast ocean, planted with innumerable islands, that were covered with fruits and flowers, and interwoven with a thousand little shining seas that ran among

them. I could see persons dressed in glorious habits, with garlands upon their heads, passing among the trees, lying down by the sides of fountains, or resting on beds of flowers; and could hear a confused harmony of singing birds, falling waters, human

voices, and musical instruments. Gladness grew in

me at the discovery of so delightful a scene. I wished for the wings of an eagle, that I might fly away to those happy seats; but the genius told me there was no passage to them, except through the gates of death that I saw opening every moment upon the bridge. "The islands," said he, "that lie so fresh, and green before thee, and with which the whole face of the ocean appears spotted as far as thou canst see, are more in number than the sands on the sea-shore; there are myriads of islands behind those which thou here discoverest, reaching further than even thine eye, or even thine imagination, can exist itself. These are the mansions of good men after death, who, according to the degree and kinds of virtue in which they excelled, are distributed among these several islands, which abound with pleasures of different kinds and degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfections of those who are settled in them; every island is a paradise accommodated to its respective inhabitants. Are not these, O Mirza, habitations worth contending for? Does life appear miserable, that gives thee opportunities of earning such a reward? Is death to be feared, that will convey thee to so happy an existence? Think not man was made in vain, who has such an eternity reserved for him." I gazed with inexpressible pleasure on these happy islands. At length, said I,—“ Show me now, I beseech thee, the secrets that lie hid under those dark clouds, which cover the ocean on the other side of the rock of adamant." The genius making me no answer, I turned about to address myself to him a second time, but I found that he had left me. I then turned again to the vision which I had been so long contemplating; but instead of the rolling tide, the arched bridge, and the happy islands, I saw nothing but the long, hollow valley of Bagdat, with oxen, sheep, and camels grazing upon the sides of it.

THE WIDOW AND HER SON.

WASHINGTON IRVING.

During my residence in the country, I used frequently to attend at the old village church. Its shadowy aisles, its mouldering monuments, its dark oaken panelling, all reverend with the gloom of departed years, seemed to fit it for the haunt of solemn meditation. A Sunday, too, in the country, is so holy in its repose—such a pensive quiet reigns over the face of Nature, that every restless passion is charmed down, and we feel all the natural religion of the soul gently springing up within us.

"Sweet day, so pure, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky!"