THE WRECK.

What is it worldlings bow before,And thieves and murderers adore;Corrupts the young, and damns the old'Tis gold! 'tis gold!'Tis not for me! my heart detestsIts haughty rule, its proud behests;It turns the warmest natures cold,Corrupting gold! corrupting gold!What is it dooms to live and dieUnblest, the hearts it could not buy?Betrays the honest, tries the bold?'Tis gold! 'tis gold!'Tis not for me! &c.What is it sets one friend, one brother,In deadly strife against another?The kind, warm heart turns selfish, cold'Tis gold! 'tis gold!'Tis not for me! &c.What is it that doth Earth subdue,Andthinksto conquer Heaven too?That doth o'erALLdominion hold?'Tis gold! 'tis gold!'Tis not for me! &c.What is it tempts th' unguarded soul,From God, and from its destined goal?Accursed thing! still be it told,'Tis gold! 'tis gold!'Tis not for me! &c.

What is it worldlings bow before,And thieves and murderers adore;Corrupts the young, and damns the old'Tis gold! 'tis gold!

What is it worldlings bow before,

And thieves and murderers adore;

Corrupts the young, and damns the old

'Tis gold! 'tis gold!

'Tis not for me! my heart detestsIts haughty rule, its proud behests;It turns the warmest natures cold,Corrupting gold! corrupting gold!

'Tis not for me! my heart detests

Its haughty rule, its proud behests;

It turns the warmest natures cold,

Corrupting gold! corrupting gold!

What is it dooms to live and dieUnblest, the hearts it could not buy?Betrays the honest, tries the bold?'Tis gold! 'tis gold!'Tis not for me! &c.

What is it dooms to live and die

Unblest, the hearts it could not buy?

Betrays the honest, tries the bold?

'Tis gold! 'tis gold!

'Tis not for me! &c.

What is it sets one friend, one brother,In deadly strife against another?The kind, warm heart turns selfish, cold'Tis gold! 'tis gold!'Tis not for me! &c.

What is it sets one friend, one brother,

In deadly strife against another?

The kind, warm heart turns selfish, cold

'Tis gold! 'tis gold!

'Tis not for me! &c.

What is it that doth Earth subdue,Andthinksto conquer Heaven too?That doth o'erALLdominion hold?'Tis gold! 'tis gold!'Tis not for me! &c.

What is it that doth Earth subdue,

Andthinksto conquer Heaven too?

That doth o'erALLdominion hold?

'Tis gold! 'tis gold!

'Tis not for me! &c.

What is it tempts th' unguarded soul,From God, and from its destined goal?Accursed thing! still be it told,'Tis gold! 'tis gold!'Tis not for me! &c.

What is it tempts th' unguarded soul,

From God, and from its destined goal?

Accursed thing! still be it told,

'Tis gold! 'tis gold!

'Tis not for me! &c.

BY MRS. E. LOCK, OF CALCUTTA, AUTHORESS OF A VOLUME OF POEMS ENTITLED "LEISURE HOURS," AN "EDUCATIONAL WORK IN THE BENGALI LANGUAGE," ETC. ETC.

Mark yonder light bark 'mid the whitening surge,And, hark! how the loud storm is breakingAround her frail sides, while the howling winds call;Destruction's dread powers are waking!Ay, stand on the rock and behold the last shock,It has shivered her deck, and no moreHer pennons will stream in the sun's glancing beam—Her voyage forever is o'er!Down 'neath the wave she sinks! none can save;Let us bid her adieu, for, ah! neverShe'll meet with the light of her Cynosure bright,For the sea has closed o'er her forever!The whelming waves of woe swell o'er my soul,From this affliction I can never rise;The dark and heavy rolling surges breakOver my storm-tost bark, and not a star,A beacon-spark amid the gloomy waste,Shines forth to light me to the opening grave.A brilliant star there was—my guiding star;On it I kept my eye and fondly dreamedIt ne'er would set until my journey's end;On it I gazed as on a star of hope,To the tired wanderer a gift from God,A star of promise to the lonely one!But, ah! am I deceived? have all my hopesBeen placed on nothing save a shadow bright,An ignis fatuus, a meteor delusive?It cannot be, for have I not, since firstThat light arose upon my darksome path,Been guided gently, safely by its rays?The glory of this bright, resplendent starHas ne'er been quite shut by lowering skies,Though intervening clouds have oft obscured,And 'neath a mystic veil have sometimes hidIts soft and radiant light; still, still enoughI've seen to guide me safe through quicksands, rocks,Through paths beset with dangers worse than death.Upward and onward I've pursued my way,A way strewn thick with cares and trials too,And sorrows neither few nor far between.A timid, untried one launched forth uponThe ocean-world, no friend with counsel kind,No hand to save or aid the helpless barkTo navigate the sea of foreign waters!Pale apprehension brooded o'er my heart;At length it sank! but ere 'twas fully lost,This star arose benignly o'er the graveOf my departed hopes, and beaming peace,Ay, on its brow were written PEACEand LOVE.They filled my heart, those two celestial rays—An earnest gave that they would ne'er forsake,But be my guidance to my long, last home.My sinking soul was strengthened; I aroseIn trust relying on the promise given,Clasped to my heart the cheering form of hope,And on her anchor leaned in confidence,Sustained by faith e'en when enwrapped in clouds,And darkness palpable my guiding light!Almost one lustrum now has passed awaySince the soft vision met my lifted eye,Since first I felt its holy influence,Its secret spell connecting me with heaven!And has that STARin gloom impervious set,Forever set, at least from out my view!Compact, piled up, dark leaden-colored cloudsNow intervene like demons of revengeOn swift destruction bent. Malice and Hate,And Scandal's cruel breath unite to doomThe fragile bark to an untimely tomb!Full many a gloomy night (and all is nightTo the lone one now on the boisterous wave, or sea),Through life's kaleidoscope, with straining eye,I've gazed and prayed that brighter skies would shine,Or that, at least, a half-lit solitudeUpon the deep might still remain for me,And not Cimmerian darkness cover allFore'er in life my only solace stay.Baseless and unsubstantial promise given,In that unmeaning "morrow" ne'er to rise!

Mark yonder light bark 'mid the whitening surge,

And, hark! how the loud storm is breaking

Around her frail sides, while the howling winds call;

Destruction's dread powers are waking!

Ay, stand on the rock and behold the last shock,

It has shivered her deck, and no more

Her pennons will stream in the sun's glancing beam—

Her voyage forever is o'er!

Down 'neath the wave she sinks! none can save;

Let us bid her adieu, for, ah! never

She'll meet with the light of her Cynosure bright,

For the sea has closed o'er her forever!

The whelming waves of woe swell o'er my soul,From this affliction I can never rise;The dark and heavy rolling surges breakOver my storm-tost bark, and not a star,A beacon-spark amid the gloomy waste,Shines forth to light me to the opening grave.A brilliant star there was—my guiding star;On it I kept my eye and fondly dreamedIt ne'er would set until my journey's end;On it I gazed as on a star of hope,To the tired wanderer a gift from God,A star of promise to the lonely one!But, ah! am I deceived? have all my hopesBeen placed on nothing save a shadow bright,An ignis fatuus, a meteor delusive?It cannot be, for have I not, since firstThat light arose upon my darksome path,Been guided gently, safely by its rays?The glory of this bright, resplendent starHas ne'er been quite shut by lowering skies,Though intervening clouds have oft obscured,And 'neath a mystic veil have sometimes hidIts soft and radiant light; still, still enoughI've seen to guide me safe through quicksands, rocks,Through paths beset with dangers worse than death.Upward and onward I've pursued my way,A way strewn thick with cares and trials too,And sorrows neither few nor far between.A timid, untried one launched forth uponThe ocean-world, no friend with counsel kind,No hand to save or aid the helpless barkTo navigate the sea of foreign waters!Pale apprehension brooded o'er my heart;At length it sank! but ere 'twas fully lost,This star arose benignly o'er the graveOf my departed hopes, and beaming peace,Ay, on its brow were written PEACEand LOVE.They filled my heart, those two celestial rays—An earnest gave that they would ne'er forsake,But be my guidance to my long, last home.My sinking soul was strengthened; I aroseIn trust relying on the promise given,Clasped to my heart the cheering form of hope,And on her anchor leaned in confidence,Sustained by faith e'en when enwrapped in clouds,And darkness palpable my guiding light!Almost one lustrum now has passed awaySince the soft vision met my lifted eye,Since first I felt its holy influence,Its secret spell connecting me with heaven!And has that STARin gloom impervious set,Forever set, at least from out my view!Compact, piled up, dark leaden-colored cloudsNow intervene like demons of revengeOn swift destruction bent. Malice and Hate,And Scandal's cruel breath unite to doomThe fragile bark to an untimely tomb!Full many a gloomy night (and all is nightTo the lone one now on the boisterous wave, or sea),Through life's kaleidoscope, with straining eye,I've gazed and prayed that brighter skies would shine,Or that, at least, a half-lit solitudeUpon the deep might still remain for me,And not Cimmerian darkness cover allFore'er in life my only solace stay.Baseless and unsubstantial promise given,In that unmeaning "morrow" ne'er to rise!

The whelming waves of woe swell o'er my soul,

From this affliction I can never rise;

The dark and heavy rolling surges break

Over my storm-tost bark, and not a star,

A beacon-spark amid the gloomy waste,

Shines forth to light me to the opening grave.

A brilliant star there was—my guiding star;

On it I kept my eye and fondly dreamed

It ne'er would set until my journey's end;

On it I gazed as on a star of hope,

To the tired wanderer a gift from God,

A star of promise to the lonely one!

But, ah! am I deceived? have all my hopes

Been placed on nothing save a shadow bright,

An ignis fatuus, a meteor delusive?

It cannot be, for have I not, since first

That light arose upon my darksome path,

Been guided gently, safely by its rays?

The glory of this bright, resplendent star

Has ne'er been quite shut by lowering skies,

Though intervening clouds have oft obscured,

And 'neath a mystic veil have sometimes hid

Its soft and radiant light; still, still enough

I've seen to guide me safe through quicksands, rocks,

Through paths beset with dangers worse than death.

Upward and onward I've pursued my way,

A way strewn thick with cares and trials too,

And sorrows neither few nor far between.

A timid, untried one launched forth upon

The ocean-world, no friend with counsel kind,

No hand to save or aid the helpless bark

To navigate the sea of foreign waters!

Pale apprehension brooded o'er my heart;

At length it sank! but ere 'twas fully lost,

This star arose benignly o'er the grave

Of my departed hopes, and beaming peace,

Ay, on its brow were written PEACEand LOVE.

They filled my heart, those two celestial rays—

An earnest gave that they would ne'er forsake,

But be my guidance to my long, last home.

My sinking soul was strengthened; I arose

In trust relying on the promise given,

Clasped to my heart the cheering form of hope,

And on her anchor leaned in confidence,

Sustained by faith e'en when enwrapped in clouds,

And darkness palpable my guiding light!

Almost one lustrum now has passed away

Since the soft vision met my lifted eye,

Since first I felt its holy influence,

Its secret spell connecting me with heaven!

And has that STARin gloom impervious set,

Forever set, at least from out my view!

Compact, piled up, dark leaden-colored clouds

Now intervene like demons of revenge

On swift destruction bent. Malice and Hate,

And Scandal's cruel breath unite to doom

The fragile bark to an untimely tomb!

Full many a gloomy night (and all is night

To the lone one now on the boisterous wave, or sea),

Through life's kaleidoscope, with straining eye,

I've gazed and prayed that brighter skies would shine,

Or that, at least, a half-lit solitude

Upon the deep might still remain for me,

And not Cimmerian darkness cover all

Fore'er in life my only solace stay.

Baseless and unsubstantial promise given,

In that unmeaning "morrow" ne'er to rise!

AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF A HOLIDAY GIFT.

If a pen full of ink will my feelings portray,Accept my best thanks for those slippers, I pray;I prize them sincerely; they suit to a T;And no trifle, dear madam, shall wrest them from me.Should the sons of St. Crispin their workshops give o'er,And the cobblers declare they will cobble no more,Whatbootsit to me if they throw down theirawlAnd come to anend, and the craft wholly fall?Possessing such friends, with those banners unfurled,No fear of my going barefoot through the world.'Tis said Cinderella, a well-meaning lass,Was raised to great wealth by a shoe made of glass;Now if one single slipper such wonders will do,How fortunate those who are favored with two!Still some have their doubts, and hesitate whetherOne slipper of glass is worth two made of leather.The man who is upright (they may think as they choose),Thatperson'sfull weight must rest in his shoes;Be lowly his station, or high and commanding,Two slippers secure him a firm understanding.

If a pen full of ink will my feelings portray,Accept my best thanks for those slippers, I pray;I prize them sincerely; they suit to a T;And no trifle, dear madam, shall wrest them from me.

If a pen full of ink will my feelings portray,

Accept my best thanks for those slippers, I pray;

I prize them sincerely; they suit to a T;

And no trifle, dear madam, shall wrest them from me.

Should the sons of St. Crispin their workshops give o'er,And the cobblers declare they will cobble no more,Whatbootsit to me if they throw down theirawlAnd come to anend, and the craft wholly fall?Possessing such friends, with those banners unfurled,No fear of my going barefoot through the world.

Should the sons of St. Crispin their workshops give o'er,

And the cobblers declare they will cobble no more,

Whatbootsit to me if they throw down theirawl

And come to anend, and the craft wholly fall?

Possessing such friends, with those banners unfurled,

No fear of my going barefoot through the world.

'Tis said Cinderella, a well-meaning lass,Was raised to great wealth by a shoe made of glass;Now if one single slipper such wonders will do,How fortunate those who are favored with two!Still some have their doubts, and hesitate whetherOne slipper of glass is worth two made of leather.

'Tis said Cinderella, a well-meaning lass,

Was raised to great wealth by a shoe made of glass;

Now if one single slipper such wonders will do,

How fortunate those who are favored with two!

Still some have their doubts, and hesitate whether

One slipper of glass is worth two made of leather.

The man who is upright (they may think as they choose),Thatperson'sfull weight must rest in his shoes;Be lowly his station, or high and commanding,Two slippers secure him a firm understanding.

The man who is upright (they may think as they choose),

Thatperson'sfull weight must rest in his shoes;

Be lowly his station, or high and commanding,

Two slippers secure him a firm understanding.

BY MABEL CLIFFORD.

I asked a friend why she was so sad? Her reply was,"Sorrow hath made me old, while young."You ask me why I am so strangely tearful,Why clouds of anguish o'er my brow are flung?You strive and pray to make me gay and cheerful,And wonder how I can be sad while young.Yes, I am young in years, but not in feeling,For many frosts upon my bosom lie,And sorrow's mantle o'er my spirit stealing,Wrappedagewithin, and castyouthidly by.I may be young, but, with my blighted spirit,My clouded heart, and weary head and brain,I feel, I know I never can inheritA careless brow, and cheerful mien again.Then do not scorn me that I have not powerTo show a brow where shadows may not come,For, were your heart like mine, a blighted flower,You would not wonder I feel old, while young.

I asked a friend why she was so sad? Her reply was,"Sorrow hath made me old, while young."

I asked a friend why she was so sad? Her reply was,

"Sorrow hath made me old, while young."

You ask me why I am so strangely tearful,Why clouds of anguish o'er my brow are flung?You strive and pray to make me gay and cheerful,And wonder how I can be sad while young.

You ask me why I am so strangely tearful,

Why clouds of anguish o'er my brow are flung?

You strive and pray to make me gay and cheerful,

And wonder how I can be sad while young.

Yes, I am young in years, but not in feeling,For many frosts upon my bosom lie,And sorrow's mantle o'er my spirit stealing,Wrappedagewithin, and castyouthidly by.

Yes, I am young in years, but not in feeling,

For many frosts upon my bosom lie,

And sorrow's mantle o'er my spirit stealing,

Wrappedagewithin, and castyouthidly by.

I may be young, but, with my blighted spirit,My clouded heart, and weary head and brain,I feel, I know I never can inheritA careless brow, and cheerful mien again.

I may be young, but, with my blighted spirit,

My clouded heart, and weary head and brain,

I feel, I know I never can inherit

A careless brow, and cheerful mien again.

Then do not scorn me that I have not powerTo show a brow where shadows may not come,For, were your heart like mine, a blighted flower,You would not wonder I feel old, while young.

Then do not scorn me that I have not power

To show a brow where shadows may not come,

For, were your heart like mine, a blighted flower,

You would not wonder I feel old, while young.

BY MRS. PRISCILLA P. LOMPAYRAC.

I know that I shall die! and oh, beloved,Chide me not now if o'erthyheart I sendThe echoes of that voice which I have longIn silence heard.I would have been the sunshine o'er thy path,But such was not my lot. The light must fade—The tones thou lovest linger not. I dieEre the young freshness of our love hath flownI die, and thou wilt be on earth alone!Speak not, dear friend! Let this sad thought now findAn utterance—solemn, strange, as it hath sweptO'er me like some strong whirlwind in its might;But now 't hath melted to a moaning wind,Which lulleth me to peace. The flush of healthIs on my cheek, and the cool blood moves onThrough all my veins, unfevered in its flow;And yet I know that I shall die, and ereThe young fair flowers, which thou and I have sown,Have faded on their stems, be all at rest!There is strange music in the air, and tonesUpon the twilight breeze, and voices heardIn midnight dreams, for those who early die;And I have heard them all, and my doomed heartWith life hath striven until the victoryIs won. I would that we had earlier met,Dear friend, that all the sunshine of my firstYoung dreams were poured on thee, for now my loveHath caught that settled sadness which deep loveOn earth must ever wear. Have I not lookedOn death, and are they not companions e'er?And memory, grows it not tearful too?Do high hopes wither not?'Twas thus, while life's young spring bloomed on my cheek,My heart grew sorrowful beyond its years,And learned to fear and doubt, and for its dreamsAnd hopes a coffin made, all sealed and hid,Till thou didst loose them once again.But, oh! they could not spring to meet thine own,With all the freshness of their early day.There lived the memory of the past,And when I clasped thy hand in mine, and lookedInto thine eyes, and heard thy words of love,My heart grew dark with sad and tearful thought.I have remembered me,That hands which I had clasped in love were nowThe earthworms' prey; soft eyes were quenched, and tonesOf love were changed by time, or stilled by death!Oh! I have drained from even joy the dregsOf grief, which in its cup have mingled ever.Perchance its tracery was on my brow,And all my love, the fond, and deep, and true,Hath been upon thy lot a shadow cast.'Tis well that I depart ere it grow deep,And link the sunshine of its joyous soulWith its dark hues.Thou wilt remember me? I know thou wilt:Thou wilt sit here, perchance, where we reclineBeneath the shade of vines which I have rearedAnd the sweet flower-scents will go floating by,Blent with all mournful memories of the past.Yet do not weep, but think of me as oneWhose heart was like the restless moaning wave,Which frets itself to peace—whose love was allToo deep for bliss on earth, and who aboveWill watch with anxious ministry thy steps.I have had dreams—bright, holy dreams—dear friend.I would have poured the fulness of these thoughts,Which burn within, upon the breath of song—Have left my name upon the lips of menAs one whose foot had trod within the realmOf mind afar, that when upon the breathOf fame it floated past, thou might'st have said,"She was mine own, most worthy of my love."It was in vain—I die, all unfulfilledThe promise of my youth, leaving my nameBut in thy heart.Lay me to rest in that lone lovely spotWhich I have loved, and o'er my grave plant flowersLet not the funereal willow wave above:I would remind thee, by all happy things,Of her thou loved and lovest; and sometimes comeTo that sweet spot and think of me, for allMy kindred's graves are far, and they who lovedMe in my early years will see me not.Friend, dearest friend, thy love, thy love aloneIs all the sunshine which, unshaded ever,Was thrown upon my path: shall I not bearIt all away? and if mine own hath caughtFrom earth a shade of gloom, will it not soarWhere all is light? I say not now farewell,But, in that last stern hour, close thou mine eyes,Which smile adieu to earth and thee, and letMe rest in peace.

I know that I shall die! and oh, beloved,

Chide me not now if o'erthyheart I send

The echoes of that voice which I have long

In silence heard.

I would have been the sunshine o'er thy path,

But such was not my lot. The light must fade—

The tones thou lovest linger not. I die

Ere the young freshness of our love hath flown

I die, and thou wilt be on earth alone!

Speak not, dear friend! Let this sad thought now find

An utterance—solemn, strange, as it hath swept

O'er me like some strong whirlwind in its might;

But now 't hath melted to a moaning wind,

Which lulleth me to peace. The flush of health

Is on my cheek, and the cool blood moves on

Through all my veins, unfevered in its flow;

And yet I know that I shall die, and ere

The young fair flowers, which thou and I have sown,

Have faded on their stems, be all at rest!

There is strange music in the air, and tonesUpon the twilight breeze, and voices heardIn midnight dreams, for those who early die;And I have heard them all, and my doomed heartWith life hath striven until the victoryIs won. I would that we had earlier met,Dear friend, that all the sunshine of my firstYoung dreams were poured on thee, for now my loveHath caught that settled sadness which deep loveOn earth must ever wear. Have I not lookedOn death, and are they not companions e'er?And memory, grows it not tearful too?Do high hopes wither not?'Twas thus, while life's young spring bloomed on my cheek,My heart grew sorrowful beyond its years,And learned to fear and doubt, and for its dreamsAnd hopes a coffin made, all sealed and hid,Till thou didst loose them once again.But, oh! they could not spring to meet thine own,With all the freshness of their early day.There lived the memory of the past,And when I clasped thy hand in mine, and lookedInto thine eyes, and heard thy words of love,My heart grew dark with sad and tearful thought.

There is strange music in the air, and tones

Upon the twilight breeze, and voices heard

In midnight dreams, for those who early die;

And I have heard them all, and my doomed heart

With life hath striven until the victory

Is won. I would that we had earlier met,

Dear friend, that all the sunshine of my first

Young dreams were poured on thee, for now my love

Hath caught that settled sadness which deep love

On earth must ever wear. Have I not looked

On death, and are they not companions e'er?

And memory, grows it not tearful too?

Do high hopes wither not?

'Twas thus, while life's young spring bloomed on my cheek,

My heart grew sorrowful beyond its years,

And learned to fear and doubt, and for its dreams

And hopes a coffin made, all sealed and hid,

Till thou didst loose them once again.

But, oh! they could not spring to meet thine own,

With all the freshness of their early day.

There lived the memory of the past,

And when I clasped thy hand in mine, and looked

Into thine eyes, and heard thy words of love,

My heart grew dark with sad and tearful thought.

I have remembered me,That hands which I had clasped in love were nowThe earthworms' prey; soft eyes were quenched, and tonesOf love were changed by time, or stilled by death!Oh! I have drained from even joy the dregsOf grief, which in its cup have mingled ever.Perchance its tracery was on my brow,And all my love, the fond, and deep, and true,Hath been upon thy lot a shadow cast.'Tis well that I depart ere it grow deep,And link the sunshine of its joyous soulWith its dark hues.

I have remembered me,

That hands which I had clasped in love were now

The earthworms' prey; soft eyes were quenched, and tones

Of love were changed by time, or stilled by death!

Oh! I have drained from even joy the dregs

Of grief, which in its cup have mingled ever.

Perchance its tracery was on my brow,

And all my love, the fond, and deep, and true,

Hath been upon thy lot a shadow cast.

'Tis well that I depart ere it grow deep,

And link the sunshine of its joyous soul

With its dark hues.

Thou wilt remember me? I know thou wilt:Thou wilt sit here, perchance, where we reclineBeneath the shade of vines which I have rearedAnd the sweet flower-scents will go floating by,Blent with all mournful memories of the past.Yet do not weep, but think of me as oneWhose heart was like the restless moaning wave,Which frets itself to peace—whose love was allToo deep for bliss on earth, and who aboveWill watch with anxious ministry thy steps.

Thou wilt remember me? I know thou wilt:

Thou wilt sit here, perchance, where we recline

Beneath the shade of vines which I have reared

And the sweet flower-scents will go floating by,

Blent with all mournful memories of the past.

Yet do not weep, but think of me as one

Whose heart was like the restless moaning wave,

Which frets itself to peace—whose love was all

Too deep for bliss on earth, and who above

Will watch with anxious ministry thy steps.

I have had dreams—bright, holy dreams—dear friend.I would have poured the fulness of these thoughts,Which burn within, upon the breath of song—Have left my name upon the lips of menAs one whose foot had trod within the realmOf mind afar, that when upon the breathOf fame it floated past, thou might'st have said,"She was mine own, most worthy of my love."It was in vain—I die, all unfulfilledThe promise of my youth, leaving my nameBut in thy heart.

I have had dreams—bright, holy dreams—dear friend.

I would have poured the fulness of these thoughts,

Which burn within, upon the breath of song—

Have left my name upon the lips of men

As one whose foot had trod within the realm

Of mind afar, that when upon the breath

Of fame it floated past, thou might'st have said,

"She was mine own, most worthy of my love."

It was in vain—I die, all unfulfilled

The promise of my youth, leaving my name

But in thy heart.

Lay me to rest in that lone lovely spotWhich I have loved, and o'er my grave plant flowersLet not the funereal willow wave above:I would remind thee, by all happy things,Of her thou loved and lovest; and sometimes comeTo that sweet spot and think of me, for allMy kindred's graves are far, and they who lovedMe in my early years will see me not.Friend, dearest friend, thy love, thy love aloneIs all the sunshine which, unshaded ever,Was thrown upon my path: shall I not bearIt all away? and if mine own hath caughtFrom earth a shade of gloom, will it not soarWhere all is light? I say not now farewell,But, in that last stern hour, close thou mine eyes,Which smile adieu to earth and thee, and letMe rest in peace.

Lay me to rest in that lone lovely spot

Which I have loved, and o'er my grave plant flowers

Let not the funereal willow wave above:

I would remind thee, by all happy things,

Of her thou loved and lovest; and sometimes come

To that sweet spot and think of me, for all

My kindred's graves are far, and they who loved

Me in my early years will see me not.

Friend, dearest friend, thy love, thy love alone

Is all the sunshine which, unshaded ever,

Was thrown upon my path: shall I not bear

It all away? and if mine own hath caught

From earth a shade of gloom, will it not soar

Where all is light? I say not now farewell,

But, in that last stern hour, close thou mine eyes,

Which smile adieu to earth and thee, and let

Me rest in peace.

BY WM. ALEXANDER.

Beauty—'tis but a beam, a flickering flame,A flower that withers, whose gay colors die;Such, erst, was Helen's, of historic fame,Such thine, fair lady of the diamond eye.As fades the lily on the water's breast,So fades thy color, shown thee in thy glass;As fade the flowers wherewith thy head is drest,So quick away thy beauty too shall pass.Love, golden-winged, away doth quickly fly,When Time's dark pinions heard are flapping near,And thou, deformed, art left all suddenly,Who, erewhile, wert to thy acquaintance dear."This skull is Helen's"—beauteous relic this,Of her so famed for form and loveliness.

Beauty—'tis but a beam, a flickering flame,

A flower that withers, whose gay colors die;

Such, erst, was Helen's, of historic fame,

Such thine, fair lady of the diamond eye.

As fades the lily on the water's breast,

So fades thy color, shown thee in thy glass;

As fade the flowers wherewith thy head is drest,

So quick away thy beauty too shall pass.

Love, golden-winged, away doth quickly fly,

When Time's dark pinions heard are flapping near,

And thou, deformed, art left all suddenly,

Who, erewhile, wert to thy acquaintance dear.

"This skull is Helen's"—beauteous relic this,

Of her so famed for form and loveliness.

BY LAURA M. COLVIN.

Sleeps the old woodland through midsummer night!Its leafy arches, spreading far away,Are still, and silvered by the pale moonlight,From gnarled branch unto the tiniest spray.O'er the soft moss-beds, by the streamlet's sheen,And o'er the greensward, are the folded flowers;A heaven of azure o'er the beauteous scene,Doth watch the gliding of serenest hours.The moon smiles fair upon the greenwood glade,The red lips of the rose new fragrance shed,And stealing forth, in radiant robes arrayed,What sprites are those that merry measures tread?These are the revels of the Fairyland—It is Titania and her gentle band!

Sleeps the old woodland through midsummer night!

Its leafy arches, spreading far away,

Are still, and silvered by the pale moonlight,

From gnarled branch unto the tiniest spray.

O'er the soft moss-beds, by the streamlet's sheen,

And o'er the greensward, are the folded flowers;

A heaven of azure o'er the beauteous scene,

Doth watch the gliding of serenest hours.

The moon smiles fair upon the greenwood glade,

The red lips of the rose new fragrance shed,

And stealing forth, in radiant robes arrayed,

What sprites are those that merry measures tread?

These are the revels of the Fairyland—

It is Titania and her gentle band!

BY CLARK GADDIS.

O'er bleak Acadia's plains, where blowFrom arctic piles an icy breath,And earth is wrapped in shrouds of snow,As if that earth lay cold in death,I roam, as strangers sadly roam—For every step its distance lendsFrom those, the cherished ones at home,And constant friends.Still fondly in my breast I wear(And kindly every feeling glows)The images of clear ones, whereThe loved at home in peace repose:From distant lands, where'er I roam,To thee my heart still fondly tends,My mother, sisters, brother, home,And constant friends.Ye are the sunshine on my path,Dispelling gloom amid the shade;Though hope that led my boyhood, hathAll withered or all been betrayed;Still ye are true! where'er I roamI know for me the prayer ascendsFrom those, the cherished ones at home,And constant friends.

O'er bleak Acadia's plains, where blow

From arctic piles an icy breath,

And earth is wrapped in shrouds of snow,

As if that earth lay cold in death,

I roam, as strangers sadly roam—

For every step its distance lends

From those, the cherished ones at home,

And constant friends.

Still fondly in my breast I wear(And kindly every feeling glows)The images of clear ones, whereThe loved at home in peace repose:From distant lands, where'er I roam,To thee my heart still fondly tends,My mother, sisters, brother, home,And constant friends.

Still fondly in my breast I wear

(And kindly every feeling glows)

The images of clear ones, where

The loved at home in peace repose:

From distant lands, where'er I roam,

To thee my heart still fondly tends,

My mother, sisters, brother, home,

And constant friends.

Ye are the sunshine on my path,Dispelling gloom amid the shade;Though hope that led my boyhood, hathAll withered or all been betrayed;Still ye are true! where'er I roamI know for me the prayer ascendsFrom those, the cherished ones at home,And constant friends.

Ye are the sunshine on my path,

Dispelling gloom amid the shade;

Though hope that led my boyhood, hath

All withered or all been betrayed;

Still ye are true! where'er I roam

I know for me the prayer ascends

From those, the cherished ones at home,

And constant friends.

BY C****.

As rosy light in eastern skiesGives hope to all of bright sunrise;As floweret lays its petal bareAnd sheds its fragrance on the air;As babbling rill 'neath greenwood treesWends on its way to distant seas;As comet in its rapid flightAcross the azure vault of night—Thus runs the mortal life of man.When on his infant form we gaze,Sweet Hope shines bright upon his days;With tott'ring steps he treads the groundAnd sheds his joyousness around,Till, wending on through smiles and tears,He meets the sea in manhood's years;Then, for a moment flashing bright,Is lost fore'er to mortal sight—And his eternal life's began.Then breaks to him another day,In which eternal sunbeams play.As the sweet floweret fades and dies,At Spring's soft summons will arise;As babbling rill, lost in the main,Returns again in gentle rain;As comet, when it disappears,Will glow again in after years;Man may be lost to mortal eye,The Spirit Man will never die.

As rosy light in eastern skies

Gives hope to all of bright sunrise;

As floweret lays its petal bare

And sheds its fragrance on the air;

As babbling rill 'neath greenwood trees

Wends on its way to distant seas;

As comet in its rapid flight

Across the azure vault of night—

Thus runs the mortal life of man.

When on his infant form we gaze,

Sweet Hope shines bright upon his days;

With tott'ring steps he treads the ground

And sheds his joyousness around,

Till, wending on through smiles and tears,

He meets the sea in manhood's years;

Then, for a moment flashing bright,

Is lost fore'er to mortal sight—

And his eternal life's began.

Then breaks to him another day,

In which eternal sunbeams play.

As the sweet floweret fades and dies,

At Spring's soft summons will arise;

As babbling rill, lost in the main,

Returns again in gentle rain;

As comet, when it disappears,

Will glow again in after years;

Man may be lost to mortal eye,

The Spirit Man will never die.

LADY'S WALKING-DRESS.

The above is a pattern of a fashionable lady's walking-dress, made of either velvet or cloth. It is closed down the front, and ornamented with gilt buttons.

DIAGRAMS OF LADY'S WALKING-DRESS.

[See larger version]

Fig. 1 is a small sideboard-table, very convenient for holding the dessert, the glasses, the plate, and other things in use. It is placed on castors concealed in the legs.

Fig. 2 is another pattern for a sideboard-table, used for the same purpose as that represented in Fig. 1.

Fig. 1.

Fig. 2.

Fig. 3.

Open dresses are still the order of the day; and as the spring comes in, we select two very neat and ladylike styles, both of which are easily followed.

Fig. 1 is composed of alternate rows of insertion and muslin puffs; the collar is rather large and square, the favorite style at present.

Fig. 2 can be made either of Swiss muslin, cambric, or linen, and is suitable for mourning, when black studs should be used to close it.

Fig. 3 is a sleeve to correspond with Fig. 1. As we have before remarked, chemisettes and undersleeves now come in sets to match, and make a favorite and most acceptable holiday or bridal gift. A plain sleeve, with band of the same, will match Fig. 2. Lace will be worn the coming season; but, at present, muslin and cambric are most appropriate, except in evening-dress.

No. 1.

We have before alluded to the establishment of this lady, at 58 Bemers Street, Oxford Street, London, and have now procured some cuts of those peculiar inventions, founded on physical investigations and principles, which have made her so famous.

No. 1.—The Registered Coporiform Child's Bodice offers many advantages, and is valuable for infants and children, affording ease and comfort, supporting the frame, and directing the growth. It is arranged so as to follow the prominent and receding lines of the body; a smooth and comfortable fit is thus obtained, but without the slightest pressure. A pair of straps passes over the shoulders, which cross in the back, and are fastened similarly to a gentleman's brace. We can at once accord the advantages that this bodice possesses over those usually made for children—namely, the straight-corded bodice, which Madame Caplin states, from a want of shape and adaptation, slips off the shoulders on to the arms, causing the head and shoulders to bend forward; thus producing a stooping position, round shoulders, contraction of the chest, and a flattening of the ribs.

No. 2.

Madame Caplin has introduced another invention, called "The Invisible Scapula Contractor." (No. 2.) This we were very much pleased with, and consider it an ingenious contrivance. She explained its use by stating that, in many cases, the child's bodice has not sufficient power of itself to counteract the stooping of the body, and particularly where this evil has been of long standing. In such instances, the contractors cannot fail to be of the greatest utility. We were also much gratified in inspecting the models and numerous inventions which were exhibited by Madame Caplin at the Great Exhibition, and where she received the only prize granted in the United Kingdom for adaptations of this kind. They are twenty-three in number, commencing with infancy, and following the different phases of woman's life up to old age.

No. 3.

The Contracting Belt (No. 3), among others, is strictly anatomical in its construction. The front is composed of elastic materials, in which are inserted medical plates, thus combining perfect support and elasticity.

Materials.—5 skeins of pink single Berlin wool, 3 shades of green, 2 skeins of each shade; 2 balls of silver twine, and a skein of wire, No. 24, bell gauge; Penelope needle, No. 2. The stand is made of mill-board, and may be had for sixpence.

THEFLOWER.The Centre Divisions.—Commence with the pink wool, *, work 17 chain, take the wire, and, leaving an end of about 3 inches, place it between the wool and the loop on the needle, work 1 chain across the wire; then fold the wire back even with the other piece, and holding them along the foundation chain, miss the 1 plain that crosses the wire, and work 16 plain on the foundation chain, keeping the doubled wire under the stitches; then leave the wire, as it will not be required in the next round, turn; 1 chain to cross, and up the other side work 3 plain, 3 treble, 5 long, 3 treble, 3 plain, turn, and down the other side, 2 plain, 3 treble, 5 long, 3 treble, 3 plain. Repeat from * 6 times more, and in working the next 17 chain, leave the same length of wire as the chain. When the 7 divisions are made, work 1 single on the 1st plain of the 1st division to make it round; then join on the silver twine, and work the wire under the following stitches: 15 plain up the 1st division, 2 plain in one at the point, * *, 15 plain down the other side; miss 3, 1 plain on the 2d plain stitch of the next division; 7 plain more, join to the 7th stitch of the last 15 plain; 7 plain, 2 plain in one. Repeat from * *, 5 times more; then 7 plain, join to the opposite stitch of the 1st division, 8 plain, then work a plain row along the bottom of the division, and fasten off.

The Inner Divisions.—Commence with the pink wool, make 15 chain; turn, miss 1, and down the foundation chain, 1 plain, 2 treble, 1 long, 6 extra long, 1 long, 1 treble, 1 plain. Repeat 6 times more, then 1 single on the 1st plain stitch of the 1st division to make it round, join on the silver twine; take the wire and work it under the following stitches: 12 plain, 2 plain in one, †, 12 plain down the other side; miss 3, work 7 single up the next division, join to the 5th stitch of the last 12 plain; then 5 plain, 2 plain in one. Repeat from †, 5 times more, then 5 plain, join to the opposite stitch of the 1st division, 7 plain; then work a plain row along the divisions. Fasten off; and for

THELEAVES.—With the green wool, work 16 chain, turn, miss 1, 2 plain, 13 treble; 2 chain,1 single in the same stitch as the last; 3 chain, turn, and up the other side, work 3 long in one, 8 long, 4 treble, 3 plain, turn, and down the other side, 2 plain, 4 treble, 8 long, 3 long in one, 3 chain, 1 single in the same stitch as the last. Fasten off; and for

THESTEM.—Commence with the silver twine, work 10 chain, 1 single on the 1st stitch of the 3 chain of the leaf. Take the wire and work it under the following stitches: 34 plain round the leaf; then 10 plain on the stem and fasten. Work 12 leaves more the same with the 3 shades of wool; and for

THEBUD.—With the silver twine, work 15 chain, turn, miss 5, 1 single.

1st round.—3 chain (2 treble in one stitch, 5 times), 1 single on the 1st treble stitch.

2d round.—3 chain, 10 treble, 1 single on the 1st treble stitch; join on the pink wool, then miss 1 and 1 treble, 7 times. Fasten off, and work 2 buds more the same.

THEHANDLE.—With the green wool, work 7 chain, make it round, and work plain round and round for about 4 inches. Fasten off, and place the handle through it. The upper part of the stand should be covered with dark green velvet or cloth; place the leaves and buds around the sconce and sew them to the stand, then put the large and small divisions of the flower over the sconce, and sew them to the stand.

(See Plate in front of Book.)

Materials.—Drab or black satin, three shades of crimson, two of brown, three of green, three shades of amber, and two of blue embroidery silk or chenille.

Frame the satin, and draw the pattern with a white crayon; work, in embroidery stitch, the flowers with the shades of crimson, the leaves with the greens, the stems with the browns, and the birds with the shades of blue, amber, and green, blending the colors as may be suggested by the taste and judgment of the worker. The above design is well adapted for a cheval-screen, but in drawing the pattern, it will be necessary to considerably magnify the whole. The easiest method of drawing a design on satin for embroidery is to make use of a pounced pattern. This is prepared in the following manner: Trace the outline of the pattern on thin paper, then neatly pierce it with a steel point. Fix the pattern thus prepared firmly on the material, rub the pounce over the paper so as to penetrate the perforated outline; afterwards trace it over with a white crayon. Finely-ground pumice forms the best kind of pounce. Embroidery in chenille, though rather expensive, if neatly worked, is extremely rich and elegant in appearance; it is well adapted for screens, provided when made up the work is protected by glass from the dust. In working on satin, a long-eyed needle is preferable. Chenille à broder is used for embroidery; and much unnecessary waste may be avoided if the needle is brought up close to the preceding stitch.

(See Plates in front of Book.)

The cloaks we illustrate this month are made respectively of cloth and velvet, and, although differing widely in style, are perhaps equal in their claims upon the favor of our gentle readers.

THE ARROGONESE.

The first, the "Arrogonese," is of black velvet, and is very simple in construction, it being merely acircularback, which extends in a half yoke in front; to this the front portion of the cloak is attached; it is box-plaited in four plaits. These, however, are only continued to the waist, from thence they escape confinement, and the material droops in graceful freedom. A collar, narrow at the throat, but with two scallops upon each side springing boldly to greater width, adorns the neck; from the point formed by the scalloped cut of the collar depends a fancy tassel at the back. The cloak is elaborately adorned with a rich design in needle-work.

THE VALENCIA.

The companion to this, in our pages for this issue, is the "Valencia," a very graceful cloak of drab cloth; it is, however, made of this material in all colors which are favorites this season. The cloak is constructed by box-plaiting the back upon a plain or smoothly-fitting yoke, which extends upon the back only from shoulder to shoulder; the points are quite plain, and fall from the neck smoothly. The peculiarity of this style of garment chiefly consists in the mode of the cutting of the sleeve, which is, as reference to the illustration will demonstrate, a turning over of the cloth upon itself at the elbow, the edge of this portion being cut scalloped, and all the borders of the cloak most beautifully ornamented in embroidery. Both cloaks are lined with quilted taffetas in colors to match.

PLANS OF THE ORNAMENTAL COTTAGE.

(See Plate in front of Book.)

This design cannot strictly be termed a Gothic building, but by the term we only intend that the principal features are taken from the Gothic style. The walls are of brick or stone, roughcast, without pointing. The roof is of slate, and the chimney-stacks are of brick, also roughcast.

On the second floor are four large chambers and a bedroom, furnishing ample room for a family of five or six persons exclusive of servants. On the first floor, if the size of the family required it, the dining-room might be used as a back parlor or sitting-room, the present kitchen as a dining-room, and the laundry, being removed to an out-house, might be used as a kitchen. The hall is to receive additional light by a window in the roof immediately over the well of the stairs. Beneath these stairs is a flight descending to the cellar.

(See Plate in front of Book.)

Materials.—One and a quarter yards of book muslin, three skeins of Shetland wool, and twelve skeins of Berlin wool. The Shetland wool is to be of three different shades, and the Berlin may match any one of them; or mohair braid may be used instead of Shetland wool.

This antimacassar is a sort of bag, slipped over the top of the chair. The front is ornamented either with braid run on, or with chain stitch, the latter being rather the most work; but having a far better effect than the former. The initials we have selected are given to show the way in whichanyinitials may be arranged for the centre. The pattern for the border is given in the engraving with the utmost accuracy, but requires, of course, to be greatly enlarged, and marked on the muslin.

The width of the antimacassar, at the widest part, is 26 inches; a margin is left beyond the border, of about one inch, and the depth is eighteen inches. The back of the antimacassar may be of either worked or plain muslin. The two tucks are run together, near the edges, on the wrong side, then turned on the right, and a row of chain-stitch worked at the extreme edge. All the border is done with one shade of the Shetland wool; but the monogram should be in two or three shades, according to the number of letters, each letter being done in one shade. When the muslin is braided, one shade only need be employed. The Russian mohair braid is the best adapted for this purpose; it washes well, and is easily put on; but the chain-stitch is certainly prettier. Marked muslin may be readily finished for either oblong or oval antimacassars; and those who wish it, can have any initials marked for them.

THEBORDER.—Take a bone mesh half an inch wide, and do a strip of common diamond netting, wide enough for the border of the antimacassar. Do four plain rows, and in the fifth work three stitches in one. In the sixth row, take three stitches together. Repeat these two rows, and knot a handsome fringe in the loops of the last.

The border is composed entirely of Berlin wool; the depth of the fringe is four inches.

Our readers will be glad to learn the proper way of knotting fringe. Wind the wool on cotton as often as you may wish, round a card of any given width, and slip it carefully off, without cutting either end. Draw all the loops of one edge through the loops of netting, sufficiently far to allow the loops of the other edge to be drawn through them, and tightly pulled. The ends must then be cut.

BRODERIE EN LACET.

(See Plate in front of Book.)

Materials.—One-quarter of a yard of maroon satin; two yards of ribbon to match, an inch and a quarter wide; a knot of the narrowest blue silk Russia braid; a hank of gold beads; four knots of gold thread, No. 0; and some blue sewing silk.

BRODERIE EN LACETis the term applied to the new kind of embroidery. The outlines are done with silk braid, in the ordinary braiding style, and then the flowers, leaves, &c., are filled in with point lace stitches, usually done in silk the color of the braid. In the design before us, a fine gold thread is laid on theouteredge of the braid, and some of the spots are also worked in this material.

Each watch-pocket has two patterns, one for the front, which forms the pocket, the other for that part of the back which is seen above the pocket.

The pattern may be drawn from the engraving, or a pounced paper may be purchased. The design being marked on the satin, is to be braided and then worked according to the engraving. At the edge, a row of sorrento, in blue silk, with a gold bead dropped in every long stitch, makes a very pretty finish. The lining of the pocket must be wadded, and the back must have a piece of card-board between the satin and the lining. Finish with satin ribbon bows.

PATTERNS FOR EMBROIDERY.

[See larger version]

"Why in this work did the creation rest,But that eternal Providence thought you bestOf all his six days' labor? Beasts should doHomage to man, but man should wait on you."RANDOLPH'S"Praise of Women."

"Why in this work did the creation rest,

But that eternal Providence thought you best

Of all his six days' labor? Beasts should do

Homage to man, but man should wait on you."

RANDOLPH'S"Praise of Women."

The assertions of the poet are, in a general sense, true, because they harmonize with the declarations of Holy Writ. Men should provide for women; the hard work of the world belongs, with the government of the world, to men; the "household good," the education of the young, the gentle and spiritual influences that humanize man and harmonize society, are the appropriate work of women. When the good time comes, feminine value will be appreciated as highly as feminine virtues, and the last are now the basis and the glory of Christian life. But the good time is not fully come even in our happy land, therefore many women are yet obliged to toil for their own support. Some mothers have to maintain their little children, other women must provide for parents and those who helplessly depend on them. For these reasons, it is necessary that every young woman in our land should be qualified by some accomplishment which she may teach, or some art or profession she can follow, to support herself creditably, should the necessity occur. If the trial of self-exertion never comes, women will be better qualified by such useful education for their happiest position, that of presiding over, guiding, and adorning the well-ordered home.

These educational views, that we have always held and urged on our readers, are now fast becoming the fashion and rule in society. We are happy to note the change—to find grave men, whose experience of life is practical wisdom, uniting in plans to promote the usefulness of woman's talents. Give her education and opportunity, let it be seen by actual trial what she can learn and what she can do, then a true estimate of the best means of promoting and insuring the happiness of humanity may be made.

Among the various plans for woman's advantage, adopted in our country within the past five years, three are most worthy of note, viz., opening "Female Medical Colleges," "Schools of Design for Women," and "Schools to Teach the Art of Type-setting." The first and most important of these we have often and zealously advocated and described in our "Book." We shall continue to uphold Female Medical Education as one of the best and most important advantages for woman and for the race. Now, however, we will give some account of another excellent improvement.

The Philadelphia School of Design for Women.—This school, the first of the kind in America, was founded by Mrs. Sarah Peter, 1848. It is now an incorporated institution, with a Board of gentlemen Managers, from among the most eminent citizens of Philadelphia, and a Board of lady Assistant Managers, who attend to the internal affairs of the school, the admission of pupils, their deportment, proficiency, &c.

"The changes of the last few years," says the editor of a religious paper, "have deprived woman of some of the sources of employment and supply which tended to her comfort, and are bringing her into a state of dependence upon man, such as is not compatible with her best interests. New sources of employment, consistent with her nature, are to be sought out, by which her usefulness may be increased, her comfort promoted, and her true dignity maintained. One of these will be found opened by the School of Design.

"The pupils are employed in drawing and coloring, in copying and in producing original patterns, and on lithographs and wood-engravings. The products of their industry are used by our manufacturers of cotton prints, delaines, and paper hangings, and by the publishers of ornamented books and periodicals. Hitherto, the Schools of Design in France have enabled that country to lay the world under contribution for tasteful fabrics. We hope that Philadelphia will encourage an enterprise from which both city and country will derive a benefit.

"Several specimens of the skill of the pupils are now, we understand, on exhibition in the Crystal Palace."

Thus our readers will see that this noble institution for the development of woman's talents is sustained by the good will and good offices of men. An endowment of $50,000 is in hopeful progress; when that is obtained, as it surely will be in this rich city, the Philadelphia School of Design will become the model for such institutions in every section of our land.

About ten thousand children of both sexes, from theworking classes, are said to be now under this art instruction in the city of Paris; probably twice that number of scholars are in the different Schools of Design throughout France. But, then, it is about two hundred years since their first school of decorative art was established.

The first school of the kind in England was opened about twenty years ago, through the exertions of Lord Sidmouth. Now there are many institutions of the kind, and thousands of English girls and young women engaged in the study and practice of designing, drawing, &c. We trust that, in a very few years, thousands of our young and talented countrywomen will be emulating, if not excelling the taste, beauty, and perfectness shown by Europeans in every branch of decorative art.

INFLUENCE OFFEMALEEDUCATION INGREECE.—Our readers are aware, probably, that a Mission School for the instruction of girls was established in Athens, Greece, some twenty-five years ago. At the head of this school were the Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Hill. Under their care, about five thousand young women have received instruction. In a recent letter from Rev. Dr. Hill to the Foreign Mission, he thus describes the effect of this education:—

"Our prospects for the ensuing season of missionary labor were never more encouraging; on every side we witness the fruit of our twenty years' toil, in the improved religious and moral character of those around us. Some of these have received their training in our schools, and have carried with them the principles they were taught by us into their own domestic and social circles. They are scattered over the whole of Greece. Very pleasing accounts are continually being brought to our ears by American and English travellers who visit the Morea, the islands and the provinces of northern Greece, regarding those who wereonce our pupils, and are now mothers of families. But theinfluence of our principles and our instructions is not confined to those only who were brought up under our immediate care. The 'leaven has leavened,' if not the whole, at least a large 'lump,' and the effect of our labors, it may be said with great truth, is visible to a greater or less degree among the whole community. There is no end to the applications we have for admission to the privileges of our schools, nor are there any bounds to the facilities we have for preaching the Gospel freely, and for the dissemination of the Word of God, and of religious and other useful tracts. Under my own roof, I assemble twenty indoor pupils from the age of six to eighteen, with my own family, for morning and evening worship, and for religious instruction; and our outdoor pupils, when our schools shall be reopened, will outnumber four hundred. I have just added five more rooms in a contiguous building to those hitherto devoted to our missionary schools; and, if I could obtain a much larger space, or could afford the outlay, we could fill every portion of it."

READING WITHOUTIMPROVEMENT.—"Some ladies, to whose conversation I had been listening, were to take away an epic poem to read. 'Why shouldyouread an epic poem?' I said to myself. 'You might as well save yourselves the trouble.' How often I have been struck at observing thatno effect at allis produced, by the noblest works of genius, on thehabitsof thought, sentiment, and talk of the generality of readers; their mental tone becomes no deeper, no mellower; they are not equal to a fiddle, which improves by being repeatedly played upon. I should not expect one in twenty, of even educated readers, so much as torecollectone singularly sublime, and by far the noblest part, of the poem in question: so little emotion does anything awake, even in the moment of reading; if it did, they would not forget it so soon."

So says good, sensible John Foster, whose thoughts are always as clear and pure as rock water. There is another sentiment of his we should like to have read and remembered, too, by those who are soon to be married:—

LOVE—HOW TO SECURE IT.—"I have often contended that attachments between friends and lovers cannot be secured strong, and perpetually augmenting, except by the intervention of some interest which is notpersonal, but which is common to them both, and towards which their attentions and passions are directed with still more animation than even towards each other. If the whole attention is to be directed, and the whole sentimentalism of the heart concentrated on each other; if it is to be an unvaried, 'I towards you, and you towards me,' as if each were to the other not an ally or companion joined to pursue happiness, but the very end and object—happiness itself; if it is the circumstance of reciprocation itself, and not what is reciprocated, that is to supply perennial interest to affection; if it is to be mind still reflecting back the gaze of mind, and reflecting it again, cherub towards cherub, as on the ark, and no luminary or glory between them to supply beams and warmth to both—I foresee that the hope will disappoint, the plan will fail. Attachment must burn in oxygen, or it will go out; and, by oxygen, I mean a mutual admiration and pursuit of virtue, improvement, utility, the pleasures of taste, or some other interesting concern, which shall be the element of their commerce, and make them love each other not onlyforeach other, but as devotees to some third object which they both adore. The affections of the soul will feel a dissatisfaction and a recoil, if, as they go forth, they are entirely intercepted and stopped by any object that is notideal; they wish rather to be like rays of light glancing on the side of an object, and then sloping and passing away; they wish the power of elongation, through a series of interesting points, on towards infinity."

PUBLICLIBERALITY.—The State of New York, which has expended, from time to time, upwards of half a million of dollars in the advancement of medical education, has more recently divided thirty thousand dollars between the two Medical Colleges at Albany and Geneva.

Would it not be better to devote a little money to educate those who have the normal care of humanity in their hands—rather than give all to those who are preparing to cure its diseases? Women are the preservers of infancy, they form the physical constitution of their children; give women that knowledge of the laws of health which their duties require, and one-half the present number of male physicians might be spared.

A RULINGPASSION.—I have the highest opinion of the value of aruling passion; but if this passion monopolizes all the man, it requires that the object be a very comprehensive or a very dignified one, to save him from being ridiculous. The devotedantiquary, for instance, who is passionately in love with an old coin, an old button, or an old nail, is ridiculous. The man who isnothing buta musician, and recognizes nothing in the whole creation but crotchets and quavers, is ridiculous. So is thenothing butverbal critic, to whom the adjustment of a few insignificant particles in some ancient author, appears a more important study than the grandest arrangements of politics or morals. Even the total devotee to the grand scienceAstronomy, incurs the same misfortune. Religion and morals have a noble pre-eminence here; no man or woman can become ridiculous by his or her passionate devotion tothem; even aspecificdirection of this passion will make a man sublime—witnessHoward;specific, I say, and correctly, though, at the same time,anylarge plan of benevolence must be comprehensive, so to speak, of a large quantity of morals.

HEwho administers medicine to the sad heart in the shape of wit and humor, is most assuredly a good Samaritan. A cheerful face is nearly as good for an invalid as healthy weather. To make a sick man think he is dying, all that is necessary is to look half dead yourself. Open, unrestrained merriment is a safety-valve to the heart and disposition. If overburdened with the noxious gases of care, pull the string of wit, up flies the valve of fun, and out go the troubles and vexations of life to the four winds of heaven.

TOCORRESPONDENTS.—The following articles are accepted: "The Linden," "The Song-Birds of Spring," "My Early Days," "To one who Rests," "Cupid's Arrows," "Bury me in the Evening," "To an Absent Dear One," "Some Thoughts on Training Female Teachers," "The Lily and the Star" (the two other poems by the same writer are not wanted, because we are overstocked with poetry), "Truth" (the other poem is not accepted for want of room), "A Song," "I miss thee, Love," "The Young Enthusiast," and "Love and Artifice."

The following articles are declined: "Letter from Eden," "The faded bloom of Spring" (the poem is not without merit, but there are faults of rhythm and rhyme which make it inadmissible), "True Friendship" (theacrosticMr. Godey will give from his "Arm-Chair," and thanks Theresa for her compliments, which are pleasant, though her poetry is not perfect), "Sudden Death," "Exercise in the Morning," "A Long Story," "Arabella," "Sonnets," "The Old House," "Ages," "Seeing isnotBelieving," and "Good-Bye."

FAME.

Back to Index Next