MY MOTHER'S GRAVE.

Where your plum'd chieftains and their gallant band,
Who proudly march'd o'er this, their native land?
Where the bright maidens, for whose winning smile
The fearless youth engaged in ceaseless toil?
Where is the dance, and where the exulting song
Whose lofty strains the echoing woods prolong?
Where are the aged men, whose solemn voice,
Replete with wisdom, made their sons rejoice?
Alas! no more these valiant warriors wait
Around their chiefs in wildest regal state.

No more the wood resounds with merry note,
Wrung from the horn, or pour'd from warrior's throat.
No splendor now around thy tribes is hung-
Their glory's requiem by the blast is sung.
We see no more the chieftain on his track,
With glittering bow and quiver at his back,
Like young Apollo springing o'er the ground,
With pride for former deeds of valor crown'd.
A wave of death from Europe's distant shore,
Roll'd o'er this land, and on its billows bore
Those dark-ey'd people towards the setting sun,
Whose wars are over, and whose race is run.
As when some world of distant beauty rare,
"With glowing flame burns brightly on the air,
Then slowly fades, and yields its radiant light,
Till shrouded o'er by darkest pall of night-
So once thy tribes, in richest glory drest,
Roam'd o'er this land, and seem'd supremely blest:
But now in grief and pain and fear they go,

Crush'd in the dust beneath their hated foe.

Soon all will cease, and naught their fame prolong,
Save wild tradition and the poet's song.

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Original.

MY MOTHER'S GRAVE.

BY REV. WM. H. BREWSTER.

EARTH has some sacred spots, where we feel like loosing our shoes from our feet, and treading with holy reverence; where the common words of social converse seem rude, and the smile of pleasure unfiting; places where friendship's hands have lingered in each other; where vows have been plighted, prayer offered and the tear of parting shed. O how the thoughts hover around such places, and travel back, through unmeasured space, to visit them.

But of all the spots on this green earth, none is so sacred as that where rest, waiting the resurrection, those we once cherished and loved-our brothers, our sisters, our fathers, or our children. Hence, in all ages, the better part of mankind have had chosen and loved spots for the burial of their dead; and on these spots they have loved to wander at eventide, to meditate and to weep. But of all places, even among the charnel houses of the dead, none is so sacred as a mother's grave.

There sleeps the nurse of our infancy, the guide of our youth, the counselor of our

riper years-our friend, when others deserted us and affliction's cold wave rolled over us; she whose heart was a stranger to every other feeling but love, and who could always find excuses for us when we could find none for ourselves. There she sleeps, and we love the very earth for her sake.

With sentiments like these, the writer, a few years since, while visiting in a neighboring state, the place of his earliest hopes and aspirations, turned aside from the gaiety of life, to the narrow habitations of the dead. I wandered among those who had commenced life with me in hope. Here distinctions were forgotten-at least, by the quiet sleepers around me. I saw the rich and great, who scorned the poor, and shunned them as if infected with a plague, quietly sleeping by their side. How true the language of Pope:

"How loved, how valued once, avails thee not;

To whom related, or by whom begot;

A heap of dust alone remains of thee

"Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be."

But one consideration, more than all others, made that a season of holy meditationthere, among the dead, slept a mother! I was alone, with none to interrupt my reflections. I was but a child when she died, but the long, dark day when, with a heavy, mournful heart, I followed her cold corpse to the grave, rolled back upon me. I could see the hearse, the undertaker, the minister, and hear distinctly the knell of death a mother's death. O my mother! I cried-would I could see thee once more, and in tears beg pardon for my every ungrateful act. O my dear, dear mother! how often have I laid my aching head on thy bosom! O how often has thy soft hand wiped the tear from my cheek, and on that very spot imprinted a kiss of soothing tenderness! I see thee now, bending over my bed to kiss me into a quiet slumber.

all these, and a thousand other acts of kindness now rise before me. · O my mother's grave! Let others stand awe-struck under the roaring thunder of Niagara, or survey with profound astonishment the towering Alps, or reverently tread on Horeb or Sinai, but when I mention the dearest spot on earth to me, I will name my mother's grave. There I stand chastened, subdued, penitent and humbled.

* *

"My mother! when I learned that thou wast dead,
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed?
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son,
Wretch, even then, life's journey just begun?
Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss,
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss.
I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day,
I saw the hearse that bore the slow away,
And turning from my nurs'ry window, drew
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu!
But was it such? It was-where thou art gone
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown,
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore,
The parting word will pass my lips no more!
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,
Till all my stock of infant sorrows spent ;
I learned at last submission to my dot,
But though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot."

*

*

"NEVER did man speak like this man,' was the universal conclusion of the wondering Jews, concerning the Messiah. Happy, indeed, would it have been for that ill-fated race, had they believed as well as wondered! How strangely obstinate do they appear, as we gaze upon them, resisting with increasing firmness the flood of evidence which streamed upon them from every day's development in the life of Christ! What more could they require? To-day, with the mild dignity of a rabbi, He sat upon the green turf of Olivet, and, with voice sweetly musical, discoursed of human duty with a force and purity that filled the astounded listeners with unutterable and indefinable feelings of reverence and terror. Anon, he stood over the bier of the dead, and, with Godlike energy, brought back the escaped spirit to its frail abode; or, with words of power, he awed the fiends of the nether world into abject submission as he compelled their departure from the bodies of the possessed, and caused them to fly, panic-stricken, from his dread presence. To-day, he asserted his authority over the submissive wave and the obedient wind; and anon, he spoke in tones of sympathy and love, to show that in the awful majesty of the Godhead, the sympathies of the man were not engulphed. Strangely hardened race, to resist the force of such convincing evidences !

But I am wandering. I wish here simply to point out the rich beauty of a single passage in the instructions of the Savior. "My sheep hear my voice, and they do follow me." Inexpressibly touching is this passage. Full of meaning, it reveals the strong sympathy of the Master, and the helplessness and obedience of the disciple. A passage from the journal of the Rev. John Hartley, a missionary to modern Greece, will illustrate the passage, and close my article. He says: 1

แ "Having had

my attention directed last night to the words, 'The sheep hear his

voice, and he calleth his own sheep by name,' &c., John x. 3, I asked my man if it was usual in Greece to give names to sheep: he informed me that it was, and that the sheep obeyed the shepherd when he called them by their names. This morning, I had an opportunity of verifying the truth of this remark: Passing by a flock of sheep, I asked the shepherd the same question which I put to my servant, and he gave me the same answer. I then bade him to call one of his sheep; he did so, and it instantly left its pasturage and its companions, and ran up to the hand of the shepherd with signs of pleasure, and with a prompt obedience, which I had never before observed in any other animal. It is also true of the sheep in eastern countries, "That a stranger will they not follow, but will flee from him; for they know not the voice of strangers.' The shepherd told me that many of his sheep are still wild; that they had not yet learned their names, but that by teaching they would all learn them. The others, which knew their names, he called tame."

Original.

THE REFUSAL.

BY A LADY.

"O, could you have seen her, that pride of our girls,
Arise, and cast back the dark wealth of her curls,
With a scorn on her lip that the gazer might feel,

And an eye like the flashing of lightning on steel!- Whittier

A FORM very like her methinks I have seen

Majestic in person, in soul like a queen;

The lion, lamb, eagle and dove all unite

In giving her character, shadow and light.

Methinks I do see her arrayed in bright pearls,

More lasting and pure than the "wealth of her curls,"
With a deep, truthful meaning portrayed in her eye,
Which gleams with a flash like a cloud in the sky.

Ah, yes; and I hear her indignant reply

The wealthy, the haughty she dares to defy ;

With pity, not hatred-no fear, but a frown,

She could turn from the hand that could proffer a crown.

That man who can deal in his brother's life-blood,

And sell for vile lucre the image of God,

He knows not compassion; and why should she heed

A heart harder far, than the hoof of his steed?

The wealth of affection-the slave-dealer thought
Humanity's bosom itself might be bought-
Young life with its beauty and treasure be sold
For luxury, pleasure and plenty of gold.

Thy mistake, lordly king, methinks thou hast found
For liberty shelters our New England ground;
The song of thy flattery but idly is sung--
Disgust shall repay the soft words of thy tongue...

THEIR manner of dancing consists rather in the motion of the shoulders and head than in that of the legs or feet. When several dance at a time, they move round in a ring. The men jump a great height at times, while the women sink down by degrees, making motions with the head, shoulders and breast, until they nearly squat on the ground. They afterwards spring up in a lively manner, and go round as before.

The Abyssinians, while they profess to be rigid followers of the Christian faith, are yet ignorant of the greater part of its precepts; which arises chiefly from the want of a good example being shown to them by those of the superior class. The heads of their clergy are in general the greatest drinkers in the whole country, and at feasts, the quantity of raw meat which they consume, and the ravenous manner in which they devour it, exceeds all belief; indeed, they behave more like drunken beasts, when in company, than civilized beings.

Notwithstanding the libertine conduct of the Abyssinians, they strictly keep all their fasts, which are very numerous, and on those days never eat or drink till about three o'clock in the afternoon, which time they compute by measuring so many lengths of the foot given by the shade of the body on level ground. This, indeed, is the only way in which they keep time in Abyssinia. Their great Lent, which commences in February, lasts fifty-six days. Their years are called after the four evangelists-that of John is the leap year. They reckon the number of years from the creation of the world to the birth of Christ, five thousand five hundred; and from the birth of Christ to the present time, one thousand eight hundred and five; the latter being about nine years short of our time. The administering of the holy sacrament Is quite a public ceremony. After receiving it, they place their hands to their mouths, and go their way; nor will they on any consideration spit that day, even if a fly by chance be drawn into the mouth by their breath, which at other times would occasion them to vomit, as they detest a fly; and many will not even eat or drink what a fly has been found in.

On passing a church mounted, they alight from their horse or mule, and kiss the gateway or tree in front, according to the distance they are at when passing; and if at a distance, they take up a stone, and throw it upon a heap, which is always found on the road opposite to the church. In Abyssinia, a traveler, who sees in the wildest deserts large piles of stones, might be led to attribute the custom to the same motive