LOVE'S ELYSIUM.

BY J. A. BARTLEY.

In a dreamy land Elysian,Charmed by many a magic vision,Have I lately roamed with one—With an angel maiden smiling,All my soul from night beguiling,By one smiling as a sun.In that bright Elysian region,Where the flowers and stars are legion,And its rivers crystal clear,And above its mountains blushing,Sweetest music-words are gushingOn the charmed, bewildered ear—And within that wondrous Aidenn,I and my angel maidenRoamed but lately side by side;And the words we spoke were solelyMurmured thoughts of passion holy—I and my angel bride!Oh, mischance most ill and evil,Wrought by some malignant devil,From that bright and radiant climeI have now been cast forever,By an Acherontic riverRoaming through the desert Time!

In a dreamy land Elysian,Charmed by many a magic vision,Have I lately roamed with one—With an angel maiden smiling,All my soul from night beguiling,By one smiling as a sun.

In a dreamy land Elysian,

Charmed by many a magic vision,

Have I lately roamed with one—

With an angel maiden smiling,

All my soul from night beguiling,

By one smiling as a sun.

In that bright Elysian region,Where the flowers and stars are legion,And its rivers crystal clear,And above its mountains blushing,Sweetest music-words are gushingOn the charmed, bewildered ear—

In that bright Elysian region,

Where the flowers and stars are legion,

And its rivers crystal clear,

And above its mountains blushing,

Sweetest music-words are gushing

On the charmed, bewildered ear—

And within that wondrous Aidenn,I and my angel maidenRoamed but lately side by side;And the words we spoke were solelyMurmured thoughts of passion holy—I and my angel bride!

And within that wondrous Aidenn,

I and my angel maiden

Roamed but lately side by side;

And the words we spoke were solely

Murmured thoughts of passion holy—

I and my angel bride!

Oh, mischance most ill and evil,Wrought by some malignant devil,From that bright and radiant climeI have now been cast forever,By an Acherontic riverRoaming through the desert Time!

Oh, mischance most ill and evil,

Wrought by some malignant devil,

From that bright and radiant clime

I have now been cast forever,

By an Acherontic river

Roaming through the desert Time!

My dear Friend: Your own observations on the prevailing modes of dress will have told you very plainly that, excepting caps and bonnets, there is nothing either very new or very striking. The caps are, however, unquestionably becoming, full of that fairy grace and elegance which distinguish the workmanship of a Parisianartiste. I send you a sketch of one which you will find extremely becoming. The foundation is a caul of black net, in front of which a wreath of roses with foliage and grass surrounds the face, the part crossing the forehead being of leaves alone, and forming a small point,à laMarie Stuart. A single row of black lace is laid on the caul behind the wreath, and the lappets are formed of black velvet ribbon, edged all round with the same lace. They droop from the summit of the crown down each side. The back of the crown is covered with falling loops of the same ribbon. Morning caps of white lace are frequently trimmed with plain blond sarsnet ribbon (pink or blue) formed with a succession of bows, terminating in one on each side the face. The lace itself approaches the face only on the forehead, where it forms a point. Several morning caps have two rows of blond lace, in which case a few bows of ribbon, like those on the cheek, are placed on the ear, between them. All have small bows, and very long floating ends at the back of the neck. It is not at all uncommon to see them half a yard long.

PARISIAN CAP.

The bonnets, which begin to assume something of an autumnal aspect, are decidedly pretty. Though not of a close shape, they are not now suspended at the back of the hair, as they frequently were a little while ago. The purple is still visible, but that is all. Fancy straws are very much worn trimmed with plaid or flowered ribbons. Groups of wheat ears, poppies, and grass are placed at each side of the bonnet, when the ribbon is of a kind with which such decorations will harmonize. For the interior a great deal of blond is worn, and it would appear quitede rigueurthat the two sides should by no means correspond. If a flower is placed in the blond on one side, a knot of velvet ribbon will be seen on the other; and one will be placed on the temple, while the other is low down on the cheek. Roses and black velvet are the most common; and the prettiest trimmings for the interior of a straw bonnet. I saw one which had a remarkably elegant effect; and as I think it would be generally becoming, I give you the description: The chapeau of paille-de-riz, spotted with black, had the brim edged with black velvet, cut bias, and covering about an inch of its depth outside and in. In the interior a very narrow black lace edged it. The bonnet, of that deep pink which nearly approaches rose, was edged in the same way, the lace falling from the velvet on the silk. A broad ribbon of the same hue simply crossed the crown and formed the strings. It had narrow black velvet ribbon run all round it. The interior had a double quilling of white blond all round the face; a single rose, with its foliage, was placed on one side, and on the other a quilling of black lace, and one of pink ribbon filled up the corresponding space. I have seen some pretty dress bonnets, of alternate ruches of ribbon and black lace, with a perfect wreath of rose-buds round the outside of the brim. In one bonnet, of cinnamon ribbon and black lace, the wreath could not certainly have been composed of less than forty buds, besides foliage.

By the way, I do not know if I mentioned to you the new style of habit-shirt and sleeve which are so much worn in morning toilette. In case I have not, I send you a specimen. The collarshave a hem about half an inch wide, stitched all round. Above this are eight, ten, or even twelve minute tucks, run with exquisite neatness. The front of the habit-shirt corresponds, being made one wide tuck and the same number of narrow ones as are in the collar, alternately run from the throat to the waist. A piece of muslin goes down the front, with a broad hem at each edge, a few narrow ones close to them, and a row of ornamental buttons down the front. The sleeves, which areà la duchesse, have the band composed of small tucks, and a frill nearly four inches wide, but slightly sloped towards the join, made to correspond with the collar and habit-shirt.

PARISIAN HABIT-SHIRT.

In articles of fancy there is little to remark, this being emphatically the dull season. Bags, however, are almost universally used for carrying the handkerchief, and purses for holding the money. I must say I am glad of this; those clumsy, ugly,porte-monnaies, with their clasps that never would fasten, were always my aversion. You will say, why did I use them?Que voulez vous?At Paris one must follow the fashion, unless one would wish to be remarked. The law ofopinion, is, to the full, as binding as the law of the land. And, by the by, what a curious phenomenon is a truly Parisian rage, or passion, or enthusiasm; or whatever else you like to designate a general admiration and approbation of novelty.

According to the grand, but painfully true poem of Charles Mackay

"The man is thought a knave or fool,Or bigot, plotting crime,Who, for the advancement of his kind,Is wiser than his time."

"The man is thought a knave or fool,

Or bigot, plotting crime,

Who, for the advancement of his kind,

Is wiser than his time."

And certain it is that really great men have too often lived and died without seeing their genius appreciated; and in smaller matters it requires enormous interest, or some fortuitous circumstances, or an enormous amount of puffing, to induce the public to recognize merit. It is very different here; real excellence, taste, or skill, is certain of success, no matter in what line it may be exercised. The invention of an elegant headdress, or a novelty in fancy-work, of no matter what (always provided it be really good), may reckon confidently on universal encouragement. I have lately seen a curious illustration of this fact. The owner of a pastry store invented acake, dedicated it to the Princess Mathilde, and he is making a rapid fortune. The Gâteau Mathilde took at once. How many years would it have required elsewhere to give such a thing the same celebrity?

This energy of admiration, which insures success to the deserving in every line, which gives distinction to those who seek that recompense for their talents, and fortune to those who labor for it, is one of those points which, I confess, I sincerely admire in the Parisian character. Going into a fashionable shop at an hour when all the world is, or is supposed to be, at dinner, I found only one of the young lady assistants, and she was busily employed embroidering a handkerchief. On my taking it up and admiring it, she observed: "Oh, that is very trifling, it is only for myself." I remarked, that it was early to have finished business. "Oh, we have not done for the day; but Madame always allows us half an hour for recreation after dinner, so I was amusing myself with this work." I have noticed, too, in this as in many other shops in Paris, that chairs or stools are placed onbothsides of the counter, and that, when the customer is seated, thedemoiselletakes a seat also, before beginning to display her goods. This is one of the French fashions that I should greatly like to see followed elsewhere.

Yours, very truly,V.

BY BLANCHE BENNAIRDE.

Thou beauteous morning, bringing us the Day,Thou harbinger of good, thou child of joy,Thou hope of the forlorn, for which they pray,Thou consolation nothing can destroy!Comfort thou givest to the heart in grief,And blessed promise, pointing to the goal;Thy voice is music, bringing sweet reliefTo Night's pale mourners—to the suffering soul;The lovely air is fragrant with thy breath;Glad music greets our ear on every side,For plants and trees awake from sleep like death,And every hill, and vale, and forest wide,Join now in sweet, harmonious, heavenly songs,Praising His name, to whom all praise belongs.

Thou beauteous morning, bringing us the Day,

Thou harbinger of good, thou child of joy,

Thou hope of the forlorn, for which they pray,

Thou consolation nothing can destroy!

Comfort thou givest to the heart in grief,

And blessed promise, pointing to the goal;

Thy voice is music, bringing sweet relief

To Night's pale mourners—to the suffering soul;

The lovely air is fragrant with thy breath;

Glad music greets our ear on every side,

For plants and trees awake from sleep like death,

And every hill, and vale, and forest wide,

Join now in sweet, harmonious, heavenly songs,

Praising His name, to whom all praise belongs.

BEING THE CLANDESTINE CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN KITTY CLOVER AT SCHOOL, AND HER "DEAR, DEAR FRIEND" IN TOWN.

EDITED BY HORACE MATHEW.

[We intend giving a selection from these "spicy" Letters, chiefly for the purpose of showing what the boarding-school system for girls is in England, and thus contrasting the course of female education in that country with our own modes of instruction. The Letters are doubtless somewhat exaggerated; but the caricature shows what the reality must be. Some of the regulations and modes of teaching are worthy of note. We should like to see the "drill and march" teaching introduced into our young ladies' schools. This part of the English Girls' School training is never neglected. They are taught to walk as sedulously as to dance.]

THE FIRST LETTER LEFT.

(Dated February 10th.)

SHOWING HOW KITTY WAS TAKEN TO SCHOOL BY HER "WICKED MAMMA."

Oh! my darling Eleanor, it is all over!—and yet I live; but I have strong hopes of dying before to-morrow morning. I feel that I can never exist within these hateful walls, to be a wretched slave to Mrs. Rodwell's "maternal solicitude and intellectual culture." What do I want with intellectual culture indeed? But I'm determined I won't learn a bit—not a tinny-tiny bit!

I must tell you, dearest, that, before leaving home, I cried continually for at least three weeks; but my tears made not the slightest impression on mamma's hard heart, which, I am sure, must be stone. More than this, I starved myself during the last three days—did not take one luncheon—even refused pudding; and at Mrs. St. Vitus's ball would not dance, nor touch a thing at supper. But all in vain! No one seemed to care a pin about it; and ma only appeared to take pleasure in my sufferings. The boys teased, and made cruel jokes upon my misery; and that detestable Martha helped to get me ready as cheerfully as if I—no,she—was going to be married. The last day I went into hysterics; and looked so ill—with my red eyes and pale cheeks—that ma, to my great joy, got frightened, and sent for Dr. Leech. But that cross old monster only dangled his bunch of big seals, and said that I should be better at Turnham-green—a little change of air would do me good! Much he knows about medicine! for, at the very moment he was talking, I felt as if I must have fainted.

So in a cold drizzling rain—will you believe it, Nelly?—I was dragged into the carriage (for pa had walked down to the office on foot, carrying his own blue bag, purposely that ma might have the carriage), and propped up on each side with bags of oranges, cakes, and goodies, to cheat me into the stupid notion, I really imagine, that I was going to have a treat, in the same way that nurse always gives Julius his powders, with lots of sugar on the top! Oh! my sweetest Eleanor, words cannot express the wretchedness of your poor friend during that long ride! And yet Oates never did drive so quickly; he seemed to be doing it on purpose—whipping the poor horse through Hyde-Park as furiously as if we were trying to catch a mail-train, instead of going at that delicious crawling pace which we have always been accustomed to by the side of the Serpentine. Opposite Lord Holland's park the horse fell. Oh, how my heart beat, to be sure! I thought he was killed at least, and that we should be obliged to return home; but no such thing. He picked himself up as quietly as you would a pin, and the carriage went on even faster than before.

But after all, Eleanor, what pained me most was mamma's and Martha's cold-hearted conversation whilst I was in a corner suffering so much! They chatted as cheerfully upon worldly nonsense as if we were going to a pantomime. I shall never forget their cutting cruelty at such a moment as that; and to make matters worse, what with crying and the rain, I felt as wet through as if I had been travelling along the submarine telegraph, besidesmy tears spoiling my pretty puce-colored bonnet strings, which were quite new that day.

At last we stopped before a large, cold-looking house, with walls pulled tight round it, like the curtains of the four-poster when pa's ill in bed. It was all windows, with bars here and there, and the plaster looked damp, and altogether it was much more like a convent than a college; for I must tell you our school isn't called a "school" (for it seems there are no schools foryoung ladies now-a-days), nor a "seminary," nor an "academy," but it's a "college." I thought I should have fainted away, only I had the cakes and oranges in my arms, and was afraid of dropping them down the area, when Mrs. Rodwell took me upon her "maternal" knee, and began stroking me down and calling me her "dear young friend," with whom she said "she should soon be on excellent terms," (only I am sure we never shall, excepting the "excellent terms" pa pays her), and she went on playing with me, Nelly, just as I have seen the great boa-constrictor, at the Zoological Gardens, cuddle and play with the poor dear little rabbit, before he devours it.

And now, dearest, mind you never mention what I am going to tell you; but all the sentiment and fine talking and writing about a mother's love is nonsense! utter nonsense! all a delightful sham!—for all the world, Nelly, like those delicious sweetméringuesat the pastry-cook's, which look like a feast, and only melt into a mouthful! I am sure of it, Nelly, dear, or else how could they bear to make us so miserable? looking quite happy whilst our poor hearts are breaking? sending us from our natural homes, where we are so comfortable, to such miserable places as this "Princesses' College?" and especially, too, when governesses now-a-days are so plentiful, and far cheaper, I am told, than maids of all work! Why, it was only last Friday morning I showed ma the most beautiful advertisement there was in the "Morning Post," all about a governess offering to "teach English, French, German, Italian, Latin, the use of globes, dancing,and crochet-work too, and drawing, painting, music, singing, together with the art of making wax-flowers actually, and all for 21l.a year!" But ma only patted me, and said she "should be ashamed to encourage such a terrible state of things," or some such stupid stuff that put me in a passion to listen to. I am sure I shall never believe ma loves me again, after throwing me from her dear fat arms into the long thin claws of that awful Mrs. Rodwell! They opened and shut, and closed round me, Nell, exactly like a lobster's!

Before I could escape, ma and Martha were gone, and I was left alone—all alone—in this large dungeon of a place, with every door fast. Well, Nelly, you have been to school—at least I suppose you have—so you can imagine how I was allowed to remain in the schoolmistress's—no, our schoolmistress is called a "Lady Principal"—in the Lady Principal'sboudoirto compose myself; how I was treated to weak tea and thin bread and butter with Mrs. R., and asked all the time all manner of questions that made my cheeks burn with rage, about home, and about mamma and papa, until eight o'clock came, and with it the permission to retire, as "bed would do my head good." I was too glad to get released, if it was merely to indulge my grief, and cry myself to sleep under the bedclothes!

But, law! if it was so uncomfortable in theboudoir(and such aboudoir, Nell!—a dark closet with a handful of cinders for fire, and full of gimcracks, little pincushions, lavender baskets, painted card-racks, and fire-screens, until it seemed furnished from a fancy fair)—but if that was uncomfortable, I say, it was positively wretched in the bedroom, with its six iron cramp-beds, three washing-basins, andone looking-glass! Yes, Nelly, only one looking-glass amongst six young ladies! I never heard of such a thing. And then the place was so, so very cold, that I am sure I shall have a red nose and chilblains for the remainder of my life;but I hope, my dear, fond Nelly, you will love me all the same!

Well, I cried myself to sleep, and it was a great comfort, I can assure you; and it seemed still in the middle of the night, when a loud ringing in my ears frightened me out of my sleep, and made me nearly fall out of bed. And, after that came a sharp, barking voice, calling out—"Now, young ladies! are you going to breakfast in bed?" and causing a general stretching, scuffling, and jumping up.

The cold glimmering dawn lighted only portions of the room, but I could see five other girls creeping about, half asleep, quarreling for basins, engaging turns at theonelooking-glass, joking, grumbling, yawning, and laughing; whilst I, poor I, sat, hope-forlorn, shivering, half with cold, and half with fear, on the edge of the bed. There, a tall young lady, in a flannel dressing-gown, discovered me, and exclaimed: "Why, here's the New Girl! I say, my young lady, you had better make haste; the second bell will soon ring, and Miss Snapp will give you something to cry for if you're not ready."

Then they all came and stared at me (the rude things); and as I could not help crying, one of them called out, "Oh! Oh! how affecting! Oh! Oh!Oh!OH!" ending at last in a loud bellow, in which I joined in painful earnest; and then they left me, and went on whispering, washing, combing, and lacing each other, until "Ding, ding, ding," went the second bell, and at the first sound they all scampered away, some with their dresses still unfastened, calling after others to come and hook them for them.

I never should have got finished myself, unlessa mild, quiet-looking woman had ventured to my assistance, and led me down stairs into the school-room, where I nearly dropped uponfeelingthe stare of some fifty girls fall upon me all in a lump, just like the water from a shower-bath after you have pulled the string. Oh, darling Nelly! what would I have given for one familiar face that I knew, or to have had your loving self by my side, so that I might have thrown my arms around your dear neck, and have agood cry; for I am sure that a good cry does one, frequently, much more good than a good laugh!

The buzzing, which had suddenly ceased on my appearance, began again with double vehemence, making nearly as much noise as the water, when it's running into the cistern at home. Amidst the hurried whispers, I could detect, "What a milksop!" "Mammy's darling!" "She'll soon be broken in!" &c.; when the same dog-like voice was heard to bark again, calling out above the uproar, "To your seats, young ladies! Silence! Five forfeits for the first who speaks!"

In the lull which followed, I was seated by the side of my quiet conductress, and permitted to write this letter to my dear, darling Eleanor, just to fill up my time before breakfast, after which I am to be examined and classed according to what I know.

Oh, Nelly, I do so dread this day, and am so extremely wretched, thinking, all the time, what they are doing at home, and how Martha is rejoicing that she has got her sister away from home. But I must leave off, dearest; and I will promise you several more letters (that is, of course, if I survive this day), in which I will tell you of everything that occurs in this filthy school—-I mean college. That will be the only ray of pleasure, Nelly, which will shoot in this dark dungeon through the captive heart of your devoted, but wretchedly unhappy

Kitty Clover.

P. S.—Excuse haste and my dreadful scrawl.

P. S.—You will see I have forwarded this to the pastry-cook's in Tottenham-court-road. Do not eat too many pink tarts, dear, when you call for it.

P. S.—We hear a great deal, Nelly, about the trials and troubles of the world, and of all we have to go through, and about school being the happiest time of our lives; but they seem to do all they can to make it miserable, and I don't believe any hardship on this world is worse than going to school, and having to face fifty girls, all making fun of the New Pupil.

BY D. W. BELISLE.

There is no study that engages so little general attention as that of the planetary world. Yet it is the oldest of all sciences, dating from the hour when, in obedience to the command of Jehovah, "Let there be light," lo! the "God of day" arose with all its brilliancy in the East, while the queen of night, with her myriads of starry attendants, sank softly below the horizon in the West, and all, in their joy at the new creation, sang together in their spheres.

The Chaldeans were the first to divide the starry hosts into constellations, and from them it was introduced into Egypt by Abraham, who gave lectures on astronomy to the Egyptians. From Egypt the Greeks received their knowledge of the hitherto to them unknown science. When Babylon fell into the hands of Alexander, Calisthenes found astronomical observations among the records, dating 1903 years before that period, which carries us back to the time of the dispersion of mankind by the confusion of tongues. Fifteen hundred years after this, the Babylonians sent to Hezekiah to inquire about the shadows going back on the dial of Ahaz. From that period up to the present time it is not difficult to trace the progress this science has made, although sometimes obscured by fanaticism and superstition, which imprisoned the dauntless Galileo for asserting a belief in the unerring laws that bind the whole system of worlds in their spheres.

My object in these articles is not to show why a science that at once elevates and refines the soul, by bringing it to dwell upon the works ofHimwhence every holy, noble impulse springs that stirs the heart, is so much neglected, except by our professors and astronomers, but to call attention to, and take a cursory view of the most interesting constellations, commencing withUrsa Minor, or the Little Bear. This constellation crosses the meridian in November, and does not properly belong to this month, andis only adverted to here on account of the importance attached to its only star of any magnitude, the Alruccaba of the Jews, the Cynosura of the Romans, and ourNorth Star. By this the mariner ploughs his track fearlessly from continent to continent through the trackless ocean, launches into unknown seas, and, with his eye on the star that never fails him, steers his bark among the icebergs which in the North never yield to the sun, among the frowning peaks of which lurk the messengers of destruction. By this the surveyor determines the boundaries of kingdoms, and by this the Arab and Bedouin traverse their seas of burning sand.

"The Lesser BearLeads from the pole the lucid band: the starsWhich from this constellation faintly shine,Twice twelve in number, onlyonebeams forthConspicuous in high splendor, named by GreeceThe Cynosure; by us the Polar Star."

"The Lesser Bear

Leads from the pole the lucid band: the stars

Which from this constellation faintly shine,

Twice twelve in number, onlyonebeams forth

Conspicuous in high splendor, named by Greece

The Cynosure; by us the Polar Star."

The seven principal stars in this constellation form a reversed dipper, Cynosura being the first of the three that constitute the handle. Of the four that constitute the bowl, one of them is so small as to obscure the uniformity; still, it may be readily traced in a clear night with the naked eye.

The mythological history of this constellation is that Juno, the imperious queen of heaven, in a rage transformed Arcas, the son of the Nymph Calisto, into abear; and, afterwards repenting, by the favor of Jupiter, translated him to the skies, that he might not be destroyed by the huntsman.

"Placed at the helm he sat, and marked the skies,Nor closed in sleep his ever watchful eyes."

"Placed at the helm he sat, and marked the skies,

Nor closed in sleep his ever watchful eyes."

The Chinese claim that the Emperor Hong-ti, a grandson of Noah, first discovered and applied to navigation thePolar Star. It is certain it was used for this purpose at a very early day. Lacan, a Latin poet, who wrote about the time of the birth of our Saviour, thus adverts to the practice of steering vessels by this star:—

"Unstable Tyre, now knit to firmer ground,With Sidon for her purple shells renowned,Safe in theCynosure, their glittering guide,With well-directed navies stem the tide."

"Unstable Tyre, now knit to firmer ground,

With Sidon for her purple shells renowned,

Safe in theCynosure, their glittering guide,

With well-directed navies stem the tide."

This was over eighteen centuries ago, and still Cynosura is the "glittering guide" of the mariner, and will be for ages yet to come. It guided nations who lived so long ago that oblivion has swept their name and age from existence, as it does us at the present time, and will guide other nations so far down the stream of time that the word American will be without a meaning, if heard.

Sixty degrees south-west of the Polar Star may be seenTaurus, the first constellation on the meridian the present month. For the space of two thousand years, Taurus was the prince, the leader of the celestial hosts. Anterior to the time of Abraham, or more than four thousand years ago, the vernal equinox took place, and the year opened when the sun was in Taurus. Aries, or the Ram, succeeded next, and now the Fishes lead the brilliant throng, and the once leader is the second sign and third constellation in the zodiac. There are one hundred and forty-one visible stars comprised in this constellation, among which are two beautiful clusters, known as the Pleiades and Hyades. Six only of the Pleiades are visible to the naked eye; yet Dr. Hook, with a twelve feet telescope, saw seventy-eight stars, and Rheita, with one of greater power, counted two hundred in this small cluster, while still beyond is seen a faint hazy light, which probably would resolve into stars could an instrument be made powerful enough to overcome the distance that intervenes. All that has been, or ever can be revealed by the aid of the most powerful telescope, is as nothing in comparison to what

Beyond its reach still rolls,In orbits like our own—Worlds, on whose surface nature foldsHer dewy wings.

Beyond its reach still rolls,

In orbits like our own—

Worlds, on whose surface nature folds

Her dewy wings.

There is no finite mind which can trace the depth and breadth of immensity—

There is no eye but His aloneCan thread this deep abyss,can tell how many worlds have goneBefore the dawn of this;Or number all the worlds that yetOur Maker in the void may set.

There is no eye but His alone

Can thread this deep abyss,

can tell how many worlds have gone

Before the dawn of this;

Or number all the worlds that yet

Our Maker in the void may set.

The Pleiades are so called from the Greek wordpleein, to sail, and were in ancient times used by the mariners of that nation to guide them in their course. Virgil, who flourished twelve hundred years before the discovery of the magnetic needle, thus alludes to it—

"Then first on seas the shallow alder swam;Then sailors quartered heaven, and found a nameFor every fixed and every wandering star—The Pleiades, Hyades, and the Northern Car."

"Then first on seas the shallow alder swam;

Then sailors quartered heaven, and found a name

For every fixed and every wandering star—

The Pleiades, Hyades, and the Northern Car."

This cluster of stars is more familiarly known as theSeven Stars, and are sometimes also called "The Virgins of Spring," because the sun enters it in the "season of flowers," or about the 18th of May. He who placed them in the firmament alludes to it when he demands "Canst thou bind the sweet influences of the Pleiades?"—i. e.can you make the flowers bloom, or prevent them unfolding their buds intheir season? The Pleiades are situated in the shoulder of the Bull, and come to the meridian ten minutes before nine o'clock on the evening of the first of this month.

The Hyades are situated 11° S. E. of the Pleiades, in the face of the Bull, and are so arranged as to form the letter V. The most brilliant star in the constellation is on the left, in the top of the letter, and called Aldebaran, from which the moon's distance is computed. This star comes to the meridian at nine o'clock on the tenth of this month. Fifteen and a half degrees E. N. E. of Aldebaran is a bright star, which marks the tip of the southern horn, while eight degrees north a still brighter star indicates the tip of the northern horn. This star also marks the foot of the Wagoner, and is called Auriga, and, with Zeta in the southern horn and Aldebaran, forms a triangle.

According to Grecian mythology, Europa, a princess of Phœnicia, and daughter of Agenor, with her female attendants, was gathering flowers in the meadows. The princess was so beautiful that Jupiter became enamored of her, and, assuming the shape of a milk white bull, mingled with the herds of Agenor; and, under this guise, attracted the attention of the princess, who caressed the beautiful animal, and finally ventured to sit upon his back. Jupiter took advantage of her situation, and retired with her precipitately to the sea, crossed it, and arrived safely with her in Crete. Europe is said to have derived its name from her. The Egyptians and Persians worship a deity under this figure, and Belzoni found an embalmed bull among the ruins of Thebes.

Thou, like the Phœnix born,On this auspicious morn,Dost take thy station in the circling years;While stars sing o'er thy birth,And waking sons of earthThy advent greet with hopeful smiles and tears.We hail thee from afar,Upon thy mystic carRiding adown the whirlwind and the storm;Thou com'st in regal state,With power and strength elate,And robed in mystery is thy youthful form.The Old Year sleepeth sound,With bay and ivy crowned,The slain and slayer sleep in sweet accord;Earth's treasured jewels brightHe gathered in his flight,And garnered for the glory of his Lord.How many beaming eyesThat joy to see thee rise,Will lose their brightness and have passed away!How many a beating heart,Whose throbbings life impart,Will throb its last before thy closing day!Yet earth, so fair and bright,Was made to glad the sight,Else why Spring's blossoms that successive rise;With all the rich perfumeOf Summer's leafy bloom;The Autumn's gorgeous tints and glowing skies;With Winter robed in white;Each bringing new delight—The season's changing scenes that never pall;While yon o'erbending blue,With bright eyes beaming through,The Architect Divine stretched over all?Then let us not complain;But, while we here remain,Extract the honey and avoid the sting.Why not, when thus we mayMake life a summer's day,And let time steal away with noiseless wing?Yea, let us do our best,And leave to Heaven the rest,Nor die a thousand deaths in fearing one;If we but cheerful be,Sorrow and care will flee,And, rose-like, Time will fragrance leave when gone.Then hail to thee, New Year,In thine allotted sphere!With song and welcome we our voices raise;And may thy deeds so shineThat, through all coming time,Millions shall, rising, join to hymn thy praiseAnd thou, our own loved land,Maintain thy glorious stand,A beacon light to penetrate earth's gloom!And, when the year is spent,May health and sweet contentIn every home and heart serenely bloom!

Thou, like the Phœnix born,On this auspicious morn,Dost take thy station in the circling years;While stars sing o'er thy birth,And waking sons of earthThy advent greet with hopeful smiles and tears.

Thou, like the Phœnix born,

On this auspicious morn,

Dost take thy station in the circling years;

While stars sing o'er thy birth,

And waking sons of earth

Thy advent greet with hopeful smiles and tears.

We hail thee from afar,Upon thy mystic carRiding adown the whirlwind and the storm;Thou com'st in regal state,With power and strength elate,And robed in mystery is thy youthful form.

We hail thee from afar,

Upon thy mystic car

Riding adown the whirlwind and the storm;

Thou com'st in regal state,

With power and strength elate,

And robed in mystery is thy youthful form.

The Old Year sleepeth sound,With bay and ivy crowned,The slain and slayer sleep in sweet accord;Earth's treasured jewels brightHe gathered in his flight,And garnered for the glory of his Lord.

The Old Year sleepeth sound,

With bay and ivy crowned,

The slain and slayer sleep in sweet accord;

Earth's treasured jewels bright

He gathered in his flight,

And garnered for the glory of his Lord.

How many beaming eyesThat joy to see thee rise,Will lose their brightness and have passed away!How many a beating heart,Whose throbbings life impart,Will throb its last before thy closing day!

How many beaming eyes

That joy to see thee rise,

Will lose their brightness and have passed away!

How many a beating heart,

Whose throbbings life impart,

Will throb its last before thy closing day!

Yet earth, so fair and bright,Was made to glad the sight,Else why Spring's blossoms that successive rise;With all the rich perfumeOf Summer's leafy bloom;The Autumn's gorgeous tints and glowing skies;

Yet earth, so fair and bright,

Was made to glad the sight,

Else why Spring's blossoms that successive rise;

With all the rich perfume

Of Summer's leafy bloom;

The Autumn's gorgeous tints and glowing skies;

With Winter robed in white;Each bringing new delight—The season's changing scenes that never pall;While yon o'erbending blue,With bright eyes beaming through,The Architect Divine stretched over all?

With Winter robed in white;

Each bringing new delight—

The season's changing scenes that never pall;

While yon o'erbending blue,

With bright eyes beaming through,

The Architect Divine stretched over all?

Then let us not complain;But, while we here remain,Extract the honey and avoid the sting.Why not, when thus we mayMake life a summer's day,And let time steal away with noiseless wing?

Then let us not complain;

But, while we here remain,

Extract the honey and avoid the sting.

Why not, when thus we may

Make life a summer's day,

And let time steal away with noiseless wing?

Yea, let us do our best,And leave to Heaven the rest,Nor die a thousand deaths in fearing one;If we but cheerful be,Sorrow and care will flee,And, rose-like, Time will fragrance leave when gone.

Yea, let us do our best,

And leave to Heaven the rest,

Nor die a thousand deaths in fearing one;

If we but cheerful be,

Sorrow and care will flee,

And, rose-like, Time will fragrance leave when gone.

Then hail to thee, New Year,In thine allotted sphere!With song and welcome we our voices raise;And may thy deeds so shineThat, through all coming time,Millions shall, rising, join to hymn thy praise

Then hail to thee, New Year,

In thine allotted sphere!

With song and welcome we our voices raise;

And may thy deeds so shine

That, through all coming time,

Millions shall, rising, join to hymn thy praise

And thou, our own loved land,Maintain thy glorious stand,A beacon light to penetrate earth's gloom!And, when the year is spent,May health and sweet contentIn every home and heart serenely bloom!

And thou, our own loved land,

Maintain thy glorious stand,

A beacon light to penetrate earth's gloom!

And, when the year is spent,

May health and sweet content

In every home and heart serenely bloom!

BY HELEN HAMILTON.

'Tis night upon the waters; but the hourThat bringeth silence unto all beside,With the deep majesty of its repose,Calms not the tumult of thy rushing tide,Thou monarch cataract! thy mighty voiceGoes up to God from out the silent night,And the wild waters, hurrying to thy grasp,Rush madly onward 'neath the moon's pale light.He who would visit Europe's ruined fanesMust look upon them 'neath the stars of night;The crowded city's haunts of noise and wealthAre fittest to behold in noon's broad light;The calm untroubled river best is seen'Neath the soft glories of the day's decline;And ocean's grandeur with the storm-wind dwells:All seasons,all, Niagara, are thine.Spring drops her crown of blossoms at thy feet;And summer veils thy trees in deepest green;And gorgeous autumn flings his richest robeOf gold and crimson o'er the forest scene;And winter comes in panoply of ice,And loads with diamonds rock, and bush, and tree—But all these seasons, bringing change to all,Bring never change, Niagara, to thee!Above thy mist-veiled brow the lightnings play,Thy thunder answers back the heaven's roar,But the wild storm adds no sublimityUnto thy grandeur, changeless evermore.The angry winds of winter can but raiseThe misty veil that shrouds thine awful brow;Vain is the Ice-king's might to chain thy waves,Down rushing to the em'rald depths below.Yet even to thee, Oh mighty cataract!The time will come when thou shalt be no more;When the deep anthem of thy thunder voiceShall silent be beside the rocky shore;When the bright rainbow, bending from the skies,Shall seek in vain the brow she used to crown,And thine own waves will sing thy requiem,From lake to lake in fury rushing down.

'Tis night upon the waters; but the hour

That bringeth silence unto all beside,

With the deep majesty of its repose,

Calms not the tumult of thy rushing tide,

Thou monarch cataract! thy mighty voice

Goes up to God from out the silent night,

And the wild waters, hurrying to thy grasp,

Rush madly onward 'neath the moon's pale light.

He who would visit Europe's ruined fanesMust look upon them 'neath the stars of night;The crowded city's haunts of noise and wealthAre fittest to behold in noon's broad light;The calm untroubled river best is seen'Neath the soft glories of the day's decline;And ocean's grandeur with the storm-wind dwells:All seasons,all, Niagara, are thine.

He who would visit Europe's ruined fanes

Must look upon them 'neath the stars of night;

The crowded city's haunts of noise and wealth

Are fittest to behold in noon's broad light;

The calm untroubled river best is seen

'Neath the soft glories of the day's decline;

And ocean's grandeur with the storm-wind dwells:

All seasons,all, Niagara, are thine.

Spring drops her crown of blossoms at thy feet;And summer veils thy trees in deepest green;And gorgeous autumn flings his richest robeOf gold and crimson o'er the forest scene;And winter comes in panoply of ice,And loads with diamonds rock, and bush, and tree—But all these seasons, bringing change to all,Bring never change, Niagara, to thee!

Spring drops her crown of blossoms at thy feet;

And summer veils thy trees in deepest green;

And gorgeous autumn flings his richest robe

Of gold and crimson o'er the forest scene;

And winter comes in panoply of ice,

And loads with diamonds rock, and bush, and tree—

But all these seasons, bringing change to all,

Bring never change, Niagara, to thee!

Above thy mist-veiled brow the lightnings play,Thy thunder answers back the heaven's roar,But the wild storm adds no sublimityUnto thy grandeur, changeless evermore.The angry winds of winter can but raiseThe misty veil that shrouds thine awful brow;Vain is the Ice-king's might to chain thy waves,Down rushing to the em'rald depths below.

Above thy mist-veiled brow the lightnings play,

Thy thunder answers back the heaven's roar,

But the wild storm adds no sublimity

Unto thy grandeur, changeless evermore.

The angry winds of winter can but raise

The misty veil that shrouds thine awful brow;

Vain is the Ice-king's might to chain thy waves,

Down rushing to the em'rald depths below.

Yet even to thee, Oh mighty cataract!The time will come when thou shalt be no more;When the deep anthem of thy thunder voiceShall silent be beside the rocky shore;When the bright rainbow, bending from the skies,Shall seek in vain the brow she used to crown,And thine own waves will sing thy requiem,From lake to lake in fury rushing down.

Yet even to thee, Oh mighty cataract!

The time will come when thou shalt be no more;

When the deep anthem of thy thunder voice

Shall silent be beside the rocky shore;

When the bright rainbow, bending from the skies,

Shall seek in vain the brow she used to crown,

And thine own waves will sing thy requiem,

From lake to lake in fury rushing down.

BY "LEONORA."

It was evening, and midwinter;Piped the wind on pinions fleet,While with sharp, incessant rattle,As of insect hordes at battle,'Gainst the windows drove the sleet.Cosily, in ample kitchenSeated, were a busy groupRound a hearthstone swept most trimly,While the flames rolled up the chimney,Chimney broad and deep.On the rug the sleepy house-dogLay, with muzzle on his paws;In the corner purred grimalkin,Who full oft had made the welkinRing with hideous noise.Poring o'er the latest paper,Quite absorbed, the father sat;While a merry little urchin,With some twigs and splinters birchen,Built a tower upon his foot.On a stand of gayest fabricHexagons and squares were piled,And a bright-haired little maiden,Scarce less fair than Eve in Aidenn,At her patchwork toiled.With her earnest eyes and lovingBent upon the little band,Sat a matron briskly knitting,Shaping hose most trimly fitting,With a patient hand.Curled the smoke wreaths up the chimney,While below the simmering pile,Like a summer insect's droning,Or the night winds stifled moaning,Sounded all the while.Mingling with the antique patternOf the paper on the walls,Danced the curious shadows lightly,While the flames burned dim or brightly,Mounting up in wavy coils.Sounded out the measured tickingOf the clock against the wall;Sat the boy, with blue eyes dancing,At his father slyly glancing;What would be his wonder fancyingWhen his tower should fall!Thus went by the fleeting momentsAt the farmer's happy home;Kindly words of love were spoken,Beaming glances gave sweet tokenOf affections deep and warm.Still without the storm kept raging,Wailingly the blast swept by,'Gainst the panes the sleet still driving,Seemed for entrance vainly striving,Emblem of the tempter's arrows,Warded with their wedded sorrows,From that lowly family.

It was evening, and midwinter;Piped the wind on pinions fleet,While with sharp, incessant rattle,As of insect hordes at battle,'Gainst the windows drove the sleet.

It was evening, and midwinter;

Piped the wind on pinions fleet,

While with sharp, incessant rattle,

As of insect hordes at battle,

'Gainst the windows drove the sleet.

Cosily, in ample kitchenSeated, were a busy groupRound a hearthstone swept most trimly,While the flames rolled up the chimney,Chimney broad and deep.

Cosily, in ample kitchen

Seated, were a busy group

Round a hearthstone swept most trimly,

While the flames rolled up the chimney,

Chimney broad and deep.

On the rug the sleepy house-dogLay, with muzzle on his paws;In the corner purred grimalkin,Who full oft had made the welkinRing with hideous noise.

On the rug the sleepy house-dog

Lay, with muzzle on his paws;

In the corner purred grimalkin,

Who full oft had made the welkin

Ring with hideous noise.

Poring o'er the latest paper,Quite absorbed, the father sat;While a merry little urchin,With some twigs and splinters birchen,Built a tower upon his foot.

Poring o'er the latest paper,

Quite absorbed, the father sat;

While a merry little urchin,

With some twigs and splinters birchen,

Built a tower upon his foot.

On a stand of gayest fabricHexagons and squares were piled,And a bright-haired little maiden,Scarce less fair than Eve in Aidenn,At her patchwork toiled.

On a stand of gayest fabric

Hexagons and squares were piled,

And a bright-haired little maiden,

Scarce less fair than Eve in Aidenn,

At her patchwork toiled.

With her earnest eyes and lovingBent upon the little band,Sat a matron briskly knitting,Shaping hose most trimly fitting,With a patient hand.

With her earnest eyes and loving

Bent upon the little band,

Sat a matron briskly knitting,

Shaping hose most trimly fitting,

With a patient hand.

Curled the smoke wreaths up the chimney,While below the simmering pile,Like a summer insect's droning,Or the night winds stifled moaning,Sounded all the while.

Curled the smoke wreaths up the chimney,

While below the simmering pile,

Like a summer insect's droning,

Or the night winds stifled moaning,

Sounded all the while.

Mingling with the antique patternOf the paper on the walls,Danced the curious shadows lightly,While the flames burned dim or brightly,Mounting up in wavy coils.

Mingling with the antique pattern

Of the paper on the walls,

Danced the curious shadows lightly,

While the flames burned dim or brightly,

Mounting up in wavy coils.

Sounded out the measured tickingOf the clock against the wall;Sat the boy, with blue eyes dancing,At his father slyly glancing;What would be his wonder fancyingWhen his tower should fall!

Sounded out the measured ticking

Of the clock against the wall;

Sat the boy, with blue eyes dancing,

At his father slyly glancing;

What would be his wonder fancying

When his tower should fall!

Thus went by the fleeting momentsAt the farmer's happy home;Kindly words of love were spoken,Beaming glances gave sweet tokenOf affections deep and warm.

Thus went by the fleeting moments

At the farmer's happy home;

Kindly words of love were spoken,

Beaming glances gave sweet token

Of affections deep and warm.

Still without the storm kept raging,Wailingly the blast swept by,'Gainst the panes the sleet still driving,Seemed for entrance vainly striving,Emblem of the tempter's arrows,Warded with their wedded sorrows,From that lowly family.

Still without the storm kept raging,

Wailingly the blast swept by,

'Gainst the panes the sleet still driving,

Seemed for entrance vainly striving,

Emblem of the tempter's arrows,

Warded with their wedded sorrows,

From that lowly family.

Disrespectfully Dedicated to the Renowned Bachelor who wrote an Essay of several pages on an Hour's Experience with a Baby.

BY MARY NEAL.

'Twas night, and all day long I'd stroveTo soothe my little suffering dove.Oh, whose beside a mother's loveCould rightly nurse a baby?I laid me down to steal some rest,Its head was pillowed on my breast;In dreams, my husband's love still blessedMe and my darling baby.But soon its piteous moanings brokeMy rest, and from my dreams I wokeTo feel its pulse's feverish stroke,My little suffering baby!"And oh, how hot its little head!Rise quick and get a light, dear Fred!Something unusual, I'm afraid,Is ailing our poor baby."Slowly he rose, with sullen grace,The light gleamed on his cloudy face—"I never knew 'twas a (man's!) placeBefore, to tend a baby!"My pulses throbbed; a terror creptThroughout my heart; and, while I wept,Thisnoble manlay down andslept,And left me with my baby.Oh, you, light-hearted, beauteous maid,Whose greatest care's to curl and braid,Far from life's lessons have you strayed.If you ne'er think of babies!Then learn from me, a matron staid,For this alone was woman made,After her sovereign lord's obeyed,To nurse and tend the babies.And Man, thou noblest work of God!Thou, who canst never see the loadThy wife sustains through life's rough road,With thee and with her babies,Go kneel upon thy mother's graveAnd think—that every life she gaveMade her Death's victim or Life's slave;Thenlove your wife—and babies!And you, you musty bachelor,Who could not watch a little flower,And keep it tearless one short hour—Poor victimized "wee" baby!—Go hide yourgray, diminished headWithin your mother's feather bed,And ne'er through life may it be saidYou have a wife or baby!

'Twas night, and all day long I'd strove

To soothe my little suffering dove.

Oh, whose beside a mother's love

Could rightly nurse a baby?

I laid me down to steal some rest,

Its head was pillowed on my breast;

In dreams, my husband's love still blessed

Me and my darling baby.

But soon its piteous moanings brokeMy rest, and from my dreams I wokeTo feel its pulse's feverish stroke,My little suffering baby!"And oh, how hot its little head!Rise quick and get a light, dear Fred!Something unusual, I'm afraid,Is ailing our poor baby."

But soon its piteous moanings broke

My rest, and from my dreams I woke

To feel its pulse's feverish stroke,

My little suffering baby!

"And oh, how hot its little head!

Rise quick and get a light, dear Fred!

Something unusual, I'm afraid,

Is ailing our poor baby."

Slowly he rose, with sullen grace,The light gleamed on his cloudy face—"I never knew 'twas a (man's!) placeBefore, to tend a baby!"My pulses throbbed; a terror creptThroughout my heart; and, while I wept,Thisnoble manlay down andslept,And left me with my baby.

Slowly he rose, with sullen grace,

The light gleamed on his cloudy face—

"I never knew 'twas a (man's!) place

Before, to tend a baby!"

My pulses throbbed; a terror crept

Throughout my heart; and, while I wept,

Thisnoble manlay down andslept,

And left me with my baby.

Oh, you, light-hearted, beauteous maid,Whose greatest care's to curl and braid,Far from life's lessons have you strayed.If you ne'er think of babies!Then learn from me, a matron staid,For this alone was woman made,After her sovereign lord's obeyed,To nurse and tend the babies.

Oh, you, light-hearted, beauteous maid,

Whose greatest care's to curl and braid,

Far from life's lessons have you strayed.

If you ne'er think of babies!

Then learn from me, a matron staid,

For this alone was woman made,

After her sovereign lord's obeyed,

To nurse and tend the babies.

And Man, thou noblest work of God!Thou, who canst never see the loadThy wife sustains through life's rough road,With thee and with her babies,Go kneel upon thy mother's graveAnd think—that every life she gaveMade her Death's victim or Life's slave;Thenlove your wife—and babies!

And Man, thou noblest work of God!

Thou, who canst never see the load

Thy wife sustains through life's rough road,

With thee and with her babies,

Go kneel upon thy mother's grave

And think—that every life she gave

Made her Death's victim or Life's slave;

Thenlove your wife—and babies!

And you, you musty bachelor,Who could not watch a little flower,And keep it tearless one short hour—Poor victimized "wee" baby!—Go hide yourgray, diminished headWithin your mother's feather bed,And ne'er through life may it be saidYou have a wife or baby!

And you, you musty bachelor,

Who could not watch a little flower,

And keep it tearless one short hour—

Poor victimized "wee" baby!—

Go hide yourgray, diminished head

Within your mother's feather bed,

And ne'er through life may it be said

You have a wife or baby!

BY R. T. CONRAD.

"But when they saw him walking upon the sea, they supposed it had been a spirit, and cried out. For they all saw him and were troubled. And immediately he talked with them, and saith unto them, Be of good cheer: it is I; be not afraid."—Mark vi.49, 50.

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