WORK-TABLE FOR JUVENILES.

They toiled—for night was round their bark;The fierce winds tossed the white sea spray:And, like the heavens, their hearts were dark,For Jesus was away.When, lo, a spirit! See it treadThe waves that wrestle with the sky!They shrieked, appalled: but Jesus said—"Be of good cheer: 'tis I!"As o'er the little day of lifeThe gathering cloud advances slow;And all above is storm and strife,And darkness all below;What heart but echoes back the shriekOf nature from the tortured sky?But hark! o'er all a whisper meek—"Be of good cheer: 'tis I!"Who here makes misery our mate?Links love with death, and life with doom?Sends fears e'en darker than our fate—The shadows of the tomb?The hand that smites is raised in love;He seeks to save who bids us sigh:Who! murmurer? Hark—'tis from above!"Be of good cheer: 'tis I!"When change on change, and ill on ill,Have taught the trusting heart to doubt;When earth grows dark as, faint and chill,Hope after hope goes out;E'en then, amid the gloom, a rayBreaks brightly on the heavenward eye;And Faith hears, o'er the desolate way,"Be of good cheer: 'tis I!"And when our weary race is run,The toil, the task, the trial o'er;And twilight gathers, dim and dun,Upon life's wave-worn shore;When struggling trust and lingering fearCast shadows o'er the filmy eye;What rapture then, that voice to hear:"Be of good cheer: 'tis I!"

They toiled—for night was round their bark;

The fierce winds tossed the white sea spray:

And, like the heavens, their hearts were dark,

For Jesus was away.

When, lo, a spirit! See it tread

The waves that wrestle with the sky!

They shrieked, appalled: but Jesus said—

"Be of good cheer: 'tis I!"

As o'er the little day of lifeThe gathering cloud advances slow;And all above is storm and strife,And darkness all below;What heart but echoes back the shriekOf nature from the tortured sky?But hark! o'er all a whisper meek—"Be of good cheer: 'tis I!"

As o'er the little day of life

The gathering cloud advances slow;

And all above is storm and strife,

And darkness all below;

What heart but echoes back the shriek

Of nature from the tortured sky?

But hark! o'er all a whisper meek—

"Be of good cheer: 'tis I!"

Who here makes misery our mate?Links love with death, and life with doom?Sends fears e'en darker than our fate—The shadows of the tomb?The hand that smites is raised in love;He seeks to save who bids us sigh:Who! murmurer? Hark—'tis from above!"Be of good cheer: 'tis I!"

Who here makes misery our mate?

Links love with death, and life with doom?

Sends fears e'en darker than our fate—

The shadows of the tomb?

The hand that smites is raised in love;

He seeks to save who bids us sigh:

Who! murmurer? Hark—'tis from above!

"Be of good cheer: 'tis I!"

When change on change, and ill on ill,Have taught the trusting heart to doubt;When earth grows dark as, faint and chill,Hope after hope goes out;E'en then, amid the gloom, a rayBreaks brightly on the heavenward eye;And Faith hears, o'er the desolate way,"Be of good cheer: 'tis I!"

When change on change, and ill on ill,

Have taught the trusting heart to doubt;

When earth grows dark as, faint and chill,

Hope after hope goes out;

E'en then, amid the gloom, a ray

Breaks brightly on the heavenward eye;

And Faith hears, o'er the desolate way,

"Be of good cheer: 'tis I!"

And when our weary race is run,The toil, the task, the trial o'er;And twilight gathers, dim and dun,Upon life's wave-worn shore;When struggling trust and lingering fearCast shadows o'er the filmy eye;What rapture then, that voice to hear:"Be of good cheer: 'tis I!"

And when our weary race is run,

The toil, the task, the trial o'er;

And twilight gathers, dim and dun,

Upon life's wave-worn shore;

When struggling trust and lingering fear

Cast shadows o'er the filmy eye;

What rapture then, that voice to hear:

"Be of good cheer: 'tis I!"

BY PAUL H. HAYNE.

The laughing Hours before her feetAre strewing vernal roses,And the voices in her soul are sweetAs music's mellowed closes;All Hopes and Passions, heavenly-born,In her have met together;And Joy hath spread around her mornA mist of golden weather.As o'er her cheek of delicate dyesThe blooms of childhood hover,So do the tranced and sinless eyesAll childhood's heart discover;Full of a dreamy happiness,With rainbow fancies laden,Whose arch of promise leans to blessHer spirit's beauteous Aidenn.She is a being born to raiseThose undefiled emotionsThat link us with our sunniest days,And most sincere devotions:In her we see, renewed and bright,That phase of earthly storyWhich glimmers in the morning lightOf God's exceeding glory.Why, in a life of mortal cares,Appear these heavenly faces?Why, on the verge of darkened years,These amaranthine graces?'Tis but to cheer the soul that faintsWith pure and blest evangels,To prove if heaven is rich with saints,That earth may have her angels.Enough! 'tis not for me to prayThat on her life's sweet river,The calmness of a virgin dayMay rest, and rest forever;I know a guardian genius standsBeside those waters lowly,And labors with immortal handsTo keep them pure and holy.

The laughing Hours before her feet

Are strewing vernal roses,

And the voices in her soul are sweet

As music's mellowed closes;

All Hopes and Passions, heavenly-born,

In her have met together;

And Joy hath spread around her morn

A mist of golden weather.

As o'er her cheek of delicate dyesThe blooms of childhood hover,So do the tranced and sinless eyesAll childhood's heart discover;Full of a dreamy happiness,With rainbow fancies laden,Whose arch of promise leans to blessHer spirit's beauteous Aidenn.

As o'er her cheek of delicate dyes

The blooms of childhood hover,

So do the tranced and sinless eyes

All childhood's heart discover;

Full of a dreamy happiness,

With rainbow fancies laden,

Whose arch of promise leans to bless

Her spirit's beauteous Aidenn.

She is a being born to raiseThose undefiled emotionsThat link us with our sunniest days,And most sincere devotions:In her we see, renewed and bright,That phase of earthly storyWhich glimmers in the morning lightOf God's exceeding glory.

She is a being born to raise

Those undefiled emotions

That link us with our sunniest days,

And most sincere devotions:

In her we see, renewed and bright,

That phase of earthly story

Which glimmers in the morning light

Of God's exceeding glory.

Why, in a life of mortal cares,Appear these heavenly faces?Why, on the verge of darkened years,These amaranthine graces?'Tis but to cheer the soul that faintsWith pure and blest evangels,To prove if heaven is rich with saints,That earth may have her angels.

Why, in a life of mortal cares,

Appear these heavenly faces?

Why, on the verge of darkened years,

These amaranthine graces?

'Tis but to cheer the soul that faints

With pure and blest evangels,

To prove if heaven is rich with saints,

That earth may have her angels.

Enough! 'tis not for me to prayThat on her life's sweet river,The calmness of a virgin dayMay rest, and rest forever;I know a guardian genius standsBeside those waters lowly,And labors with immortal handsTo keep them pure and holy.

Enough! 'tis not for me to pray

That on her life's sweet river,

The calmness of a virgin day

May rest, and rest forever;

I know a guardian genius stands

Beside those waters lowly,

And labors with immortal hands

To keep them pure and holy.

BY J. M. C.

Passing a bower, I looked within,And lo! a little girl was there,With rosy cheeks and dimpled chin,Soft hazel eyes and golden hair.The darling child was on her knees,Her tiny hands were clasped in prayer,Her ringlets fluttered in the breezeAnd glistened round her forehead fair.She seemed a being pure and bright,Just come to earth from "realms of light;"I treasured every word she said,And this the orison she made:"They tell me life is fraught with care,That joy will fade when youth is flown,And ills arise so hard to bearI cannot tread life's mazealone.Then, Heavenly Father, be my guide!By thee be all my wants supplied!To thee I turn, in thee confide!"Watch o'er this little wayward heart,Whose pulses beat so blithely now;Ah, keep it pure and free from art,And teach it to thy will to bow!Father, Saviour, be its guideWhen pleasures tempt or woes betide!Beneath thy wing let me abide."As a young bird, untaught to fly,Essays in vain aloft to soarWithout its parents' aid, soIThy help require, thy helpimplore,To lead me in the heavenward way!Oh, then, be thou my guide, my stay!From the right path ne'er let me stray!"

Passing a bower, I looked within,

And lo! a little girl was there,

With rosy cheeks and dimpled chin,

Soft hazel eyes and golden hair.

The darling child was on her knees,

Her tiny hands were clasped in prayer,

Her ringlets fluttered in the breeze

And glistened round her forehead fair.

She seemed a being pure and bright,

Just come to earth from "realms of light;"

I treasured every word she said,

And this the orison she made:

"They tell me life is fraught with care,That joy will fade when youth is flown,And ills arise so hard to bearI cannot tread life's mazealone.Then, Heavenly Father, be my guide!By thee be all my wants supplied!To thee I turn, in thee confide!

"They tell me life is fraught with care,

That joy will fade when youth is flown,

And ills arise so hard to bear

I cannot tread life's mazealone.

Then, Heavenly Father, be my guide!

By thee be all my wants supplied!

To thee I turn, in thee confide!

"Watch o'er this little wayward heart,Whose pulses beat so blithely now;Ah, keep it pure and free from art,And teach it to thy will to bow!Father, Saviour, be its guideWhen pleasures tempt or woes betide!Beneath thy wing let me abide.

"Watch o'er this little wayward heart,

Whose pulses beat so blithely now;

Ah, keep it pure and free from art,

And teach it to thy will to bow!

Father, Saviour, be its guide

When pleasures tempt or woes betide!

Beneath thy wing let me abide.

"As a young bird, untaught to fly,Essays in vain aloft to soarWithout its parents' aid, soIThy help require, thy helpimplore,To lead me in the heavenward way!Oh, then, be thou my guide, my stay!From the right path ne'er let me stray!"

"As a young bird, untaught to fly,

Essays in vain aloft to soar

Without its parents' aid, soI

Thy help require, thy helpimplore,

To lead me in the heavenward way!

Oh, then, be thou my guide, my stay!

From the right path ne'er let me stray!"

BY ANNIE B. CLARE.

Thy feet have passed through the vale of the shadow,Young, gifted, and beautiful, loving and loved;With spirit immortal thou walkest the meadows,By rivers that gladden the city of God!Thou castest thy crown at the feet of the Saviour;A fair smiling cherub is holding thy hand;Together thou joinest the song of the ransomed,Whose robes are washed white in the blood of the Lamb!Dost see in that cherub thy guardian angelWho was with thee below, and preceded thee there,Who, lovely on earth, is more lovely in Heaven,Who called thee impatient his glory to share?Oh! fair gleams the marble in yonder sweet forestWhich the hand of affection hath placed o'er thy grave;And constant the tribute of fresh blooming flowersBy friendship entwined, and over thee laid.Oh! sweet is the song that the wild bird is singing,And fair are the trees that wave over thy head,And soft are the shadows that sunset is flingingO'er thee and thy babe in thy low quiet bed.Ever fresh in our hearts and remembrance are wroughtThe scenes of thy life in beautiful story;From the day that thou camest a joyous young bride,Till called by thy Saviour, partaker of glory.That life seems a dream we delight to recall,So pure and so gentle thy sweet virtues shone;The graces of earth and graces of heaven,Like a mantle of beauty over thee thrown.Thy fairy-like form is ever before us;Thy cheek where the rose and the lily combined;Thine eye of the dew-begemmed violet's color,Beaming with purity, goodness, and mind!How gloomy seemed earth of thy presence bereft!How dark was the home by thy sunshine made gay!How crushed was the heart of the mourner thou'st left,The light of his life thus taken away!But bright gleams the path that thy dear feet have trod,And light shone around thee through the dark river,And joy was 'mongst angels in presence of God,As they welcomed thee home forever and ever.

Thy feet have passed through the vale of the shadow,Young, gifted, and beautiful, loving and loved;With spirit immortal thou walkest the meadows,By rivers that gladden the city of God!

Thy feet have passed through the vale of the shadow,

Young, gifted, and beautiful, loving and loved;

With spirit immortal thou walkest the meadows,

By rivers that gladden the city of God!

Thou castest thy crown at the feet of the Saviour;A fair smiling cherub is holding thy hand;Together thou joinest the song of the ransomed,Whose robes are washed white in the blood of the Lamb!

Thou castest thy crown at the feet of the Saviour;

A fair smiling cherub is holding thy hand;

Together thou joinest the song of the ransomed,

Whose robes are washed white in the blood of the Lamb!

Dost see in that cherub thy guardian angelWho was with thee below, and preceded thee there,Who, lovely on earth, is more lovely in Heaven,Who called thee impatient his glory to share?

Dost see in that cherub thy guardian angel

Who was with thee below, and preceded thee there,

Who, lovely on earth, is more lovely in Heaven,

Who called thee impatient his glory to share?

Oh! fair gleams the marble in yonder sweet forestWhich the hand of affection hath placed o'er thy grave;And constant the tribute of fresh blooming flowersBy friendship entwined, and over thee laid.

Oh! fair gleams the marble in yonder sweet forest

Which the hand of affection hath placed o'er thy grave;

And constant the tribute of fresh blooming flowers

By friendship entwined, and over thee laid.

Oh! sweet is the song that the wild bird is singing,And fair are the trees that wave over thy head,And soft are the shadows that sunset is flingingO'er thee and thy babe in thy low quiet bed.

Oh! sweet is the song that the wild bird is singing,

And fair are the trees that wave over thy head,

And soft are the shadows that sunset is flinging

O'er thee and thy babe in thy low quiet bed.

Ever fresh in our hearts and remembrance are wroughtThe scenes of thy life in beautiful story;From the day that thou camest a joyous young bride,Till called by thy Saviour, partaker of glory.

Ever fresh in our hearts and remembrance are wrought

The scenes of thy life in beautiful story;

From the day that thou camest a joyous young bride,

Till called by thy Saviour, partaker of glory.

That life seems a dream we delight to recall,So pure and so gentle thy sweet virtues shone;The graces of earth and graces of heaven,Like a mantle of beauty over thee thrown.

That life seems a dream we delight to recall,

So pure and so gentle thy sweet virtues shone;

The graces of earth and graces of heaven,

Like a mantle of beauty over thee thrown.

Thy fairy-like form is ever before us;Thy cheek where the rose and the lily combined;Thine eye of the dew-begemmed violet's color,Beaming with purity, goodness, and mind!

Thy fairy-like form is ever before us;

Thy cheek where the rose and the lily combined;

Thine eye of the dew-begemmed violet's color,

Beaming with purity, goodness, and mind!

How gloomy seemed earth of thy presence bereft!How dark was the home by thy sunshine made gay!How crushed was the heart of the mourner thou'st left,The light of his life thus taken away!

How gloomy seemed earth of thy presence bereft!

How dark was the home by thy sunshine made gay!

How crushed was the heart of the mourner thou'st left,

The light of his life thus taken away!

But bright gleams the path that thy dear feet have trod,And light shone around thee through the dark river,And joy was 'mongst angels in presence of God,As they welcomed thee home forever and ever.

But bright gleams the path that thy dear feet have trod,

And light shone around thee through the dark river,

And joy was 'mongst angels in presence of God,

As they welcomed thee home forever and ever.

BY H. B. WILDMAN.

It may be, indeed, I am childless and vain,But I love the old relic of antiquate form;Like the surf-beaten vessel that furrows the main,It hath struggled and weathered through many a storm!Full well I remember it, when but a boy,The spot where 'twas placed by that matronly hand;And now I'm grown old, like a child with its toy,I love the old relic—my Grandmother's stand.'Tis a "long time ago," though briefly it seems,Since I heard her dear lessons of virtue and truth;Oh, oh! that the Past would return with its dreams,And let me live over one day of my youth!Then I should sit down in that old-fashioned room,So simple, so artless, so rustically planned;Then I should bring roses, and drink their perfume,As they blushed in that vase on my Grandmother's stand.Ah, well I remember the treasures it bore—The book that our dear village parson laid there;In fancy, I see the good man at the door,In fancy, behold him, still bending in prayer.That "old-fashioned Bible," I ne'er can forget,That blessed old Book, with its holy command;That "old-fashioned Bible," I see it there yet—That dear blessed Book, on my Grandmother's stand.Oh, the world it may boast of its beauty and art,And Grandeur explore the dark depths of the tide;But thePast, with its treasures, can gladden the heartFar more than the perishing gildings of pride!Then, away with your grandeur and arts that impose,I'll praise the old relic with life's wasting sand;I'll guard the dear treasure till life's latest close,And bless when I'm dying my Grandmother's stand.

It may be, indeed, I am childless and vain,

But I love the old relic of antiquate form;

Like the surf-beaten vessel that furrows the main,

It hath struggled and weathered through many a storm!

Full well I remember it, when but a boy,

The spot where 'twas placed by that matronly hand;

And now I'm grown old, like a child with its toy,

I love the old relic—my Grandmother's stand.

'Tis a "long time ago," though briefly it seems,Since I heard her dear lessons of virtue and truth;Oh, oh! that the Past would return with its dreams,And let me live over one day of my youth!Then I should sit down in that old-fashioned room,So simple, so artless, so rustically planned;Then I should bring roses, and drink their perfume,As they blushed in that vase on my Grandmother's stand.

'Tis a "long time ago," though briefly it seems,

Since I heard her dear lessons of virtue and truth;

Oh, oh! that the Past would return with its dreams,

And let me live over one day of my youth!

Then I should sit down in that old-fashioned room,

So simple, so artless, so rustically planned;

Then I should bring roses, and drink their perfume,

As they blushed in that vase on my Grandmother's stand.

Ah, well I remember the treasures it bore—The book that our dear village parson laid there;In fancy, I see the good man at the door,In fancy, behold him, still bending in prayer.That "old-fashioned Bible," I ne'er can forget,That blessed old Book, with its holy command;That "old-fashioned Bible," I see it there yet—That dear blessed Book, on my Grandmother's stand.

Ah, well I remember the treasures it bore—

The book that our dear village parson laid there;

In fancy, I see the good man at the door,

In fancy, behold him, still bending in prayer.

That "old-fashioned Bible," I ne'er can forget,

That blessed old Book, with its holy command;

That "old-fashioned Bible," I see it there yet—

That dear blessed Book, on my Grandmother's stand.

Oh, the world it may boast of its beauty and art,And Grandeur explore the dark depths of the tide;But thePast, with its treasures, can gladden the heartFar more than the perishing gildings of pride!Then, away with your grandeur and arts that impose,I'll praise the old relic with life's wasting sand;I'll guard the dear treasure till life's latest close,And bless when I'm dying my Grandmother's stand.

Oh, the world it may boast of its beauty and art,

And Grandeur explore the dark depths of the tide;

But thePast, with its treasures, can gladden the heart

Far more than the perishing gildings of pride!

Then, away with your grandeur and arts that impose,

I'll praise the old relic with life's wasting sand;

I'll guard the dear treasure till life's latest close,

And bless when I'm dying my Grandmother's stand.

BY BEATA.

Your letter, dearest Laura, a welcome found indeed;Never fear to write whate'er you think, 'tis that I wish to read;I agree with you, sweet cousin, that openness and truthCan alone preserve to latest years the friendship of our youth.Yes—let me bear it as I may, I would not hide from youI have been sadly slighted by the fickle Harry Drew!Since the ball, I saw him seldom before we left the town,And though six months have here elapsed, he has not once been down.But much we've seen of Argentrie, and I trust that I have gainedA friend, with whom I can forget the faithless one disdained;And as he does not think me yet an "angel of the sky,"To win his honest word of praise I own I sometimes try.His knowledge is so very great, his statements are so clear;Of life, its hopes and trials, with deepfelt awe I hear;New views are spread before me, and I feel not all in vain—Oh! never, never can I be a thoughtless child again.My duties now present themselves, I scarce can tell you how;I am sure I was unconscious they were left undone till now;That though papa is fond of music, 'twas not for him I played,Nor for his pleasure that I read, or the least exertion made.But all that is changed at last, and when at close of dayHe returns fatigued from business, I am never far away;I will a better daughter henceforward to him prove,And, where I have received so much, return at least my love.And my gentle, tender mother, making each of us her care,If I cannot quite remove her charge, I can lighten and can share;I have assumed some trifling tasks she willingly resigned,And looks upon me with such pride—ah, mother! ever kind.Yet not alone a mentor is Mr. Argentrie,In all our merry frolics he joins with heartfelt glee;He is staying at the farm adjoining to Belleaire,Though indeed I must confess he is very seldom there.And when I wish to mount upon my pretty milk-white steed,He is waiting to assist and escort me in my need;And thus we two explore each lane, and every prospect round;I never such enjoyment in the balls withHarryfound.Come see us, dearest Laura, while "the bloom is on the rye,"For summer with its glories will soon be hastening by.My mother looks so beautiful, and Fan and Charles so gay,I would that we at bright Belleaire the year entire might stay.Come quickly, and enjoy with us our rural life serene,And add another pleasure to your happy coz, Pauline.

Your letter, dearest Laura, a welcome found indeed;

Never fear to write whate'er you think, 'tis that I wish to read;

I agree with you, sweet cousin, that openness and truth

Can alone preserve to latest years the friendship of our youth.

Yes—let me bear it as I may, I would not hide from youI have been sadly slighted by the fickle Harry Drew!Since the ball, I saw him seldom before we left the town,And though six months have here elapsed, he has not once been down.

Yes—let me bear it as I may, I would not hide from you

I have been sadly slighted by the fickle Harry Drew!

Since the ball, I saw him seldom before we left the town,

And though six months have here elapsed, he has not once been down.

But much we've seen of Argentrie, and I trust that I have gainedA friend, with whom I can forget the faithless one disdained;And as he does not think me yet an "angel of the sky,"To win his honest word of praise I own I sometimes try.

But much we've seen of Argentrie, and I trust that I have gained

A friend, with whom I can forget the faithless one disdained;

And as he does not think me yet an "angel of the sky,"

To win his honest word of praise I own I sometimes try.

His knowledge is so very great, his statements are so clear;Of life, its hopes and trials, with deepfelt awe I hear;New views are spread before me, and I feel not all in vain—Oh! never, never can I be a thoughtless child again.

His knowledge is so very great, his statements are so clear;

Of life, its hopes and trials, with deepfelt awe I hear;

New views are spread before me, and I feel not all in vain—

Oh! never, never can I be a thoughtless child again.

My duties now present themselves, I scarce can tell you how;I am sure I was unconscious they were left undone till now;That though papa is fond of music, 'twas not for him I played,Nor for his pleasure that I read, or the least exertion made.

My duties now present themselves, I scarce can tell you how;

I am sure I was unconscious they were left undone till now;

That though papa is fond of music, 'twas not for him I played,

Nor for his pleasure that I read, or the least exertion made.

But all that is changed at last, and when at close of dayHe returns fatigued from business, I am never far away;I will a better daughter henceforward to him prove,And, where I have received so much, return at least my love.

But all that is changed at last, and when at close of day

He returns fatigued from business, I am never far away;

I will a better daughter henceforward to him prove,

And, where I have received so much, return at least my love.

And my gentle, tender mother, making each of us her care,If I cannot quite remove her charge, I can lighten and can share;I have assumed some trifling tasks she willingly resigned,And looks upon me with such pride—ah, mother! ever kind.

And my gentle, tender mother, making each of us her care,

If I cannot quite remove her charge, I can lighten and can share;

I have assumed some trifling tasks she willingly resigned,

And looks upon me with such pride—ah, mother! ever kind.

Yet not alone a mentor is Mr. Argentrie,In all our merry frolics he joins with heartfelt glee;He is staying at the farm adjoining to Belleaire,Though indeed I must confess he is very seldom there.

Yet not alone a mentor is Mr. Argentrie,

In all our merry frolics he joins with heartfelt glee;

He is staying at the farm adjoining to Belleaire,

Though indeed I must confess he is very seldom there.

And when I wish to mount upon my pretty milk-white steed,He is waiting to assist and escort me in my need;And thus we two explore each lane, and every prospect round;I never such enjoyment in the balls withHarryfound.

And when I wish to mount upon my pretty milk-white steed,

He is waiting to assist and escort me in my need;

And thus we two explore each lane, and every prospect round;

I never such enjoyment in the balls withHarryfound.

Come see us, dearest Laura, while "the bloom is on the rye,"For summer with its glories will soon be hastening by.My mother looks so beautiful, and Fan and Charles so gay,I would that we at bright Belleaire the year entire might stay.Come quickly, and enjoy with us our rural life serene,And add another pleasure to your happy coz, Pauline.

Come see us, dearest Laura, while "the bloom is on the rye,"

For summer with its glories will soon be hastening by.

My mother looks so beautiful, and Fan and Charles so gay,

I would that we at bright Belleaire the year entire might stay.

Come quickly, and enjoy with us our rural life serene,

And add another pleasure to your happy coz, Pauline.

To Charles Gavan Duffy, Esq., the gifted editor of the "Dublin Nation" newspaper, my first literary patron and esteemed friend, I beg leave to dedicate these lines.

BY WILLIAM P. MULCHINOCK.

Beside the dark blue oceanI wander free, I wander free,And sweep with fond devotionMy lyre for thee, my lyre for thee;And if the strain I wakenHave words of flame, have words of flame,Whence bright hope may be taken—Fromtheethey came, fromtheethey came.Mine eye was ever ladenWith slavish tears, with slavish tears;My heart, like timid maiden,Was full of fears, was full of fears;To tyrant mandates spokenI meekly bowed, I meekly bowed;Nor dreamed spells could be wokenTo curb the proud, to curb the proud.I knew not Ireland's glory,Her woes or wrongs, her woes or wrongs;I only heard the storyFrom Saxon tongues, from Saxon tongues;And if, at times, in sorrow,My heart would ope, my heart would ope,I knew not where to borrowOne ray of hope, one ray of hope.But soonthy firefraught pages[1]Allured my sight, allured my sight,With lore from youthful sagesAnd poets bright, and poets bright;The sweetest hope shone o'er meWith blessed ray, with blessed ray,And visions bright before mePassed night and day, passed night and day.I mused by moor and mountain,Upon the past, upon the past,Until at Wisdom's fountainI drank at last, I drank at last;I learned to laugh at dangerLike hero brave, like hero brave—I longed to meet the strangerWith naked glave, with naked glave.By thee Truth's light was givenUnto the blind, to me the blind;By thee the clouds were riven,That dimmed the mind, that dimmed the mind;And if the strain I wakenHave words of flame, have words of flame,Whence bright hope may be taken,Fromtheethey came, fromtheethey came.[2]

Beside the dark blue ocean

I wander free, I wander free,

And sweep with fond devotion

My lyre for thee, my lyre for thee;

And if the strain I waken

Have words of flame, have words of flame,

Whence bright hope may be taken—

Fromtheethey came, fromtheethey came.

Mine eye was ever ladenWith slavish tears, with slavish tears;My heart, like timid maiden,Was full of fears, was full of fears;To tyrant mandates spokenI meekly bowed, I meekly bowed;Nor dreamed spells could be wokenTo curb the proud, to curb the proud.

Mine eye was ever laden

With slavish tears, with slavish tears;

My heart, like timid maiden,

Was full of fears, was full of fears;

To tyrant mandates spoken

I meekly bowed, I meekly bowed;

Nor dreamed spells could be woken

To curb the proud, to curb the proud.

I knew not Ireland's glory,Her woes or wrongs, her woes or wrongs;I only heard the storyFrom Saxon tongues, from Saxon tongues;And if, at times, in sorrow,My heart would ope, my heart would ope,I knew not where to borrowOne ray of hope, one ray of hope.

I knew not Ireland's glory,

Her woes or wrongs, her woes or wrongs;

I only heard the story

From Saxon tongues, from Saxon tongues;

And if, at times, in sorrow,

My heart would ope, my heart would ope,

I knew not where to borrow

One ray of hope, one ray of hope.

But soonthy firefraught pages[1]Allured my sight, allured my sight,With lore from youthful sagesAnd poets bright, and poets bright;The sweetest hope shone o'er meWith blessed ray, with blessed ray,And visions bright before mePassed night and day, passed night and day.

But soonthy firefraught pages[1]

Allured my sight, allured my sight,

With lore from youthful sages

And poets bright, and poets bright;

The sweetest hope shone o'er me

With blessed ray, with blessed ray,

And visions bright before me

Passed night and day, passed night and day.

I mused by moor and mountain,Upon the past, upon the past,Until at Wisdom's fountainI drank at last, I drank at last;I learned to laugh at dangerLike hero brave, like hero brave—I longed to meet the strangerWith naked glave, with naked glave.

I mused by moor and mountain,

Upon the past, upon the past,

Until at Wisdom's fountain

I drank at last, I drank at last;

I learned to laugh at danger

Like hero brave, like hero brave—

I longed to meet the stranger

With naked glave, with naked glave.

By thee Truth's light was givenUnto the blind, to me the blind;By thee the clouds were riven,That dimmed the mind, that dimmed the mind;And if the strain I wakenHave words of flame, have words of flame,Whence bright hope may be taken,Fromtheethey came, fromtheethey came.[2]

By thee Truth's light was given

Unto the blind, to me the blind;

By thee the clouds were riven,

That dimmed the mind, that dimmed the mind;

And if the strain I waken

Have words of flame, have words of flame,

Whence bright hope may be taken,

Fromtheethey came, fromtheethey came.[2]

BY WM. ALEXANDER.

Where is thy dwelling place, all-pleasing Light?Around Jehovah's everlasting throne,Where, inaccessible, He sits alone,'Mid joy supreme, ineffable delight.Thy radiant face makes all wide Nature glad;Hill, valley, rock, and river thou dost cheer,And little birds make melody, if thou appear—Deprived of thy fond presence, they are sad.Thou art another synonym for life;Thy smile is but the smile of Deity,Whose glance fills ever overflowinglyThe lamps of heaven, with golden beauty rifeThy magic pencil paints the landscapes all;Thy absence covers earth with pall funereal.

Where is thy dwelling place, all-pleasing Light?

Around Jehovah's everlasting throne,

Where, inaccessible, He sits alone,

'Mid joy supreme, ineffable delight.

Thy radiant face makes all wide Nature glad;

Hill, valley, rock, and river thou dost cheer,

And little birds make melody, if thou appear—

Deprived of thy fond presence, they are sad.

Thou art another synonym for life;

Thy smile is but the smile of Deity,

Whose glance fills ever overflowingly

The lamps of heaven, with golden beauty rife

Thy magic pencil paints the landscapes all;

Thy absence covers earth with pall funereal.

BY EDW. NEWTON VAN SANT.

Not the clamor of the ignoble crowd,Not the threat'ning look of the tyrant proud,Nor the fury with which Auster raves,Wild king of the Adriatic waves;Nor e'en the mighty arm of Jove,Hurling his bolts through the vault above,Can swerve the man of just intentFrom that on which his mind is bent.Nay, should the shattered heavens fall,In crashing ruin blending all,Still 'mid the gath'ring gloom of chaos drear,He'd stand a stranger unto fear.

Not the clamor of the ignoble crowd,

Not the threat'ning look of the tyrant proud,

Nor the fury with which Auster raves,

Wild king of the Adriatic waves;

Nor e'en the mighty arm of Jove,

Hurling his bolts through the vault above,

Can swerve the man of just intent

From that on which his mind is bent.

Nay, should the shattered heavens fall,

In crashing ruin blending all,

Still 'mid the gath'ring gloom of chaos drear,

He'd stand a stranger unto fear.

"Well, my little daughter, I suppose you have been half afraid that I should not return in time for your holiday. However, you see I am here, ready for our lesson, and I have seen so many new and pretty things, that I hardly know which to choose for you to do."

"Pray let it be something very easy, as well as pretty, dear mamma. I should like to make a work-basket, or something of that sort, which would be useful."

"Then, indeed, my child, you will almost think me a conjurer; for I have brought you all the necessary materials for making the prettiest thing of the sort that, I think, was ever seen. Here they are! First, there is a frame of wire, then a little wadding, black filet—which is, you know, the imitation netting of which you made your watch-pockets—netting-silks, gimps, and satin ribbon. Besides these, there is a piece of black satin, and some black sarsnet ribbon. You will require a littletoile ciré, which I dare say your work-box will furnish."

"But can you not give me any idea of the appearance of this basket, mamma? I never feel as if I could do anything unless I had some notion of what it would be like when completed."

MODEL WORK-BASKET.

"Here is a sketch for you, my dear, and though no drawing will faithfully represent the extreme elegance of the basket, yet it will, as you say, give you a notion of the general effect."

"It is, indeed, very pretty. I see the sides are transparent; they, I suppose, are made of the filet."

"Yes; and you will begin by cutting a piece of the netting long and deep enough for the four sides, as it is joined only at one of the corners. Take great care to cut it accurately, or your flowers will not run evenly. It must be cut to appear in diamonds, not in squares. Another piece will be required for the bottom of the basket. On these a pattern must be darned in colored silks. I have drawn you one which will do nicely for the sides."

DARNING PATTERNS.

"It is very small, is it not, mamma?"

"It is intended that one of these designs shall be seen in each compartment of the basket. You will see that there are three on each side, and two at each end—ten altogether—so that the pattern is to be repeated that number of times."

"How shall I manage to keep them at equal distances, mamma?"

"I think I should fold the length of netting into ten parts, and run a white thread to mark each separate piece. Now you will require three colors for the darning; what will you choose?"

"What do you think of sky-blue, with maize and scarlet? They would be very pretty, would they not?"

"Very; but then all the trimmings must be in sky-blue, and as you want something rather effective for candle-light, I would suggest that a rich crimson or scarlet would be a better predominant color. With it you might have green and gold, or green and blue."

"Green and blue form a mixture that I cannot fancy to be pretty, mamma. Do you like the effect of it?"

"Not much; but it is very fashionable. The French introduce it into everything, and call itpréjugé vaincu, or, prejudice conquered."

"Well, I am afraid, mamma, that my prejudiceis unconquerable; so if you please, we will have maize and green in preference. How am I to use these colors?"

"Do the upper part of the design in scarlet, the lower in green, and the spots up the centre, and between the designs, in maize. In darning, work half the design, from the centre, leaning towards the right hand, and the other half towards the left."

"Am I to use the same pattern for the bottom of the basket?"

"Not in its present form; but if you repeat the design,reversed, from the lower part, so as to leave thepointsfor the ends, it will be very suitable. You may add a star or diamond, or something very simple, to fill the spaces at the sides. When all the darning is done, detach the card-board which forms the bottom, tack the wadding down on one side of it, and cover it on this side with the black satin and netting, and on the other with the black satin only. Now all the framework of the basket is to be entirely covered with the narrow sarsnet ribbon I have given you for the purpose, the short wires being covered, and the ends secured, before the handle, top, and bottom of the frame are done. Stretch the netting which forms the sides very carefully on. Sew it at the joint, and also at the edges of the net. Now quill the satin ribbon in the centre, into a full and handsome plait; trim the handle with it. Sew the pasteboard bottom in, and add the gimps round the top, while one only may be used for the lower part."

"I might easily add a cover, might I not, mamma?"

"You might, my dear; but in that case the basket should be lined with satin, of some good color, and the piece of netting you did for the bottom would form the upper part of the top. In the inner part of the cover you might then add a double-stitched ribbon across, to hold scissors, stiletto, &c. But your basket, though more useful, perhaps, would not be so light and elegant as it is at present."

"If you think so, mamma, we will have it so, and for once let well alone."

Fig. 1.

It will be noticed that we have adopted the excellent fashion of the "Moniteur," and now give an undersleeve and chemisette to correspond. No French woman would be guilty of wearing a collar of one style and sleeves of another, yet our countrywomen constantly commit this breach of toilet etiquette.

Fig. 2.

Figs. 1 and 2 are one set, intended for winter wear, as will be seen from the close cuff of the sleeve; it is composed of lace insertion and edging. The large square collar has superseded the frills, bands, and even the deep-pointedmousquetaireof the past season.

Fig. 3.

Fig. 4.

Figs. 3 and 4 are in excellent taste though ofdifferent styles. The chemisette and sleeve are composed of Swiss muslin, insertion, and edging. They can be copied at a very small expense, but will need particular care in clear-starching and ironing.

Fig. 5.

Fig. 5 is a breakfast cap of alternate Swiss muslin insertion, the frill and fall surrounding the face; an old style reintroduced.Coquesof ribbon separate it, and there are strings of the same.

Fig. 6.

Fig. 6 has also an entire frill, though falling more behind the ear. It is relieved by knots of ribbon. Either of them is suitable for a sick-room cap.

(See Brown Plate in front of Book.)

THE HORTENSE MANTELET.

The form is round and exceedingly small. The body of the mantelet is of very rich emerald green satin. The edge is cut out in large rounded points, bordered with three rows of narrow black velvet, and on each of the points are fixed three ornaments of cut black velvet in straight rows. The intervals between the satin points at the edge of the mantelet are filled up by Brussels net, covered with rows of narrow black velvet. The Brussels net is cut out in pointed vandykes, each vandyke being between the rounded points of the satin. The whole is finished by a deep fall of black lace, set on full. The neck of the mantelet is trimmed with rows of narrow black velvet, and cut ornaments, the same as those on the points at the lower part.

THE VICTORIA.

This mantelet has received the name of Victoria in honor of the English queen, for whom one after the same pattern has recently been made. The material is silk of a peculiarly beautiful tint; fawn color with a tinge of gold. This is an entirely new color, and is distinguished in Paris by the name ofaurifère. The Victoriamantelet is round in form, netting easily on the shoulders, but without hanging in fulness. The upper part of the mantelet is trimmed with several rows of figured silt braid, of a bright groseille color, edged with small points of gold. Attached to the lower row of braid is a deep fringe of the color of the mantelet, having at intervals long tassels of groseille color. At the back, between the shoulders, a bow of silk, having two rounded ends, finished by groseille tassels, gives the effect of a hood. The mantelet is finished at the bottom with rows of groseille colored braid, and fringe corresponding with that described in the trimming of the upper part.

CHILD'S DRESS.

BRAIDING ROUND DRESS.

This is a very pretty light dress for a little girl. The material used may either be a light silk or French merino; the trimming a narrow silk braid, which, according to the taste of the maker, may be extended down the body and round the sleeves.

The pattern of mantle, as given in the diagrams, is a pretty addition to the dress when worn out of doors.

DESCRIPTION OF DIAGRAMS.

Fig. 1 represents the front of frock.Fig. 2 the back of frock. Joinatoa(Fig. 1),btob,ctoc.Fig. 3.—Piece cut out for trimming down the front.Fig. 4.—Piece to join atatoa(Fig. 3), to form trimming down the back.Fig. 5.—Pattern of sleeve, the narrow part of which should fall on shoulder.Fig. 6.—Front of mantle.Fig. 7.—Back of mantle. Joinatoa(Fig. 6),btob.

Fig. 1 represents the front of frock.

Fig. 2 the back of frock. Joinatoa(Fig. 1),btob,ctoc.

Fig. 3.—Piece cut out for trimming down the front.

Fig. 4.—Piece to join atatoa(Fig. 3), to form trimming down the back.

Fig. 5.—Pattern of sleeve, the narrow part of which should fall on shoulder.

Fig. 6.—Front of mantle.

Fig. 7.—Back of mantle. Joinatoa(Fig. 6),btob.

DIAGRAMS FOR CHILD'S DRESS.

[See larger version]

(See Plate in front of Book.)

This admirable style of winter costume is pronouncedpar excellenceamong the favorites of the season, recommending itself by its exceeding comfort, great simplicity of adjustment, and its elegance of outline and exquisite proportions. Itstout ensembleis absolutely charming.

It is indiscriminately formed of clothes or velvets, in all the prevailing colors, plain or ornamented with embroideries, galoons, or, if of cloth, with velvet passementeries, or other trimmings.

We have selected for illustration one composed of mode cloth, charmingly embroidered in a chaste and unique design of intermingled branches. The back is three-quarters circle for medium-sized persons, and thirty-three inches deep. It is seamed down the back, and is cut bias.

This circular is sewn upon the under lower edge—about one inch from the edge—of a yoke, which thus appears like a cape. This yoke is adjusted smoothly to the neck, but is veryslightly full upon the shoulders. It likewise is cut bias. Its depth at the back is twelve inches, upon the shoulders eight, and in front to the points thirteen inches.

The circular is gathered into one wide and two narrow plaits where it joins the points, which are similar to the tabs of a mantilla, and thus forms the appearance of sleeves.

The fronts are thirty-two inches from the neck to the bottom. A collar, four inches deep at the back, where it is slightly pointed, completes the garment.

It has a bow upon the middle of the lower edge of the yoke, with streamers, and is lined with taffeta in color to match.

TOILET COVER IN CROCHET.

The pattern consists of a handsome square, with a rich border on three sides. A foundation chain of 400 stitches must be made, which will allow for a close square at each edge of the toilet. To correspond with the edge, do one row of dc, before beginning to work the pattern from the engraving.

Materials.—Twelve reels Messrs. W. Evans & Co.'s boar's-head crochet cotton, No. 12.

The entire centre square is given, but not the whole of the front of the border. When the centre of each row is reached, however, it will be very easy to work the remainder backwards. The whole cover is done in square crochet. The border may be added all round, if desired; but this form, being a perfect square, is not so suited for a toilet table.

It may be trimmed either with fringe (done like that of the anti-macassars lately given), or with a handsome crochet lace, several designs for which we have furnished in various numbers.

EMBROIDERY FOR SHIRTS.

COTTAGE FURNITURE.

Fig. 1Fig. 1.

Fig. 1.

Fig. 1 is what is called a bed cupboard, with a shelf and top having two flaps.

Fig. 2.

Fig. 2 is a chiffonier pier-table for placing between windows.

"The Good Time Coming."—Coming! In our blessed land it has come. Are not the means of happiness around us in inexhaustible profusion? All now needed is, that human energies be engaged as earnestly in working up these materials, and using these advantagesfor good, as men work for gold; and the wonderful, waited-for era is here.

Have we not steam for a Pegasus, lightning for a postman, and the glorious sun for an artist to help, or rather hurry onward, the work of improvement in all material things? and free institutions, free schools, and a free press, to aid, or rather force, mental development! and the open Bible, the Christian Sabbath, and the preached gospel to enlighten the soul!

Nothing seems wanting but heavenward faith and human endeavor.

Women have much, very much to do in this work. Home is the centre of happiness; the cradle of every heroic man is tended by woman's angel care; his soul bears the impress of her kindly teachings, as the daguerreotype plate shows the kiss of the sun in the picture it calls forth. Every mother should aim to make her son worthy of living in the "good time," and then it will be.

Oh, but there are terrible evils to suffer—evils that will forever surround humanity—poverty, pain, death! Can we have the "good time" on earth, while these inevitable evils haunt us?

Death is not an evil to the good, but only the seal of eternal, unchangeable blessedness. Poverty may be made the means of increased and exquisite happiness to society, when the true principles of Christian charity, and brotherly love, and gratitude are universally observed. Disease will lose most of its malignity when God's laws, impressed on our physical nature, are understood and obeyed; and pain has been mitigated, indeed, nearly annihilated, by the wonderful discovery of etherization, which seems now providentially brought to the aid of suffering humanity, so that all classes of mankind might find cause for rejoicing in the "good time." The aid of this Lethean balm in banishing the horrors of the hospital, can hardly be over-estimated; the merits of the discovery are yet but partially acknowledged; we must leave these themes to the medical corps—but the good results on humanity our sex ought most thankfully to acknowledge. This thought reminds us of a duty we owe our readers—an introduction to thehomeof one who has most certainly done his part towards helping on the "good time." The paper has been delayed for want of room; but it shall go in now, as a fit tribute for the New Year.

Etherton Cottage—A Visit there.—Our readers will remember an engraving of this beautiful cottage in our March number of last year. We gave then a slight sketch of the discovery of Etherization, and of the struggles through which Dr. W. T. G. Morton had fought his way onward to the completion of his great purpose; and how he had proved, by the testimony of the most honored members of the Medical profession in Massachusetts, his right to claim the discovery of the "Anæsthetic and pain-subduing qualities of Sulphuric Ether." But great scientific discoverers, like great poets, are not always as happy at home as they are celebrated abroad.Fameis not always, we are sorry to say, synonymous withdomestic felicity. Those who unite both, deserve amaranths among their laurels, and both are deserved by the owner of Etherton Cottage, as we think our lady friends will agree, when they go with us to that pleasant home, where we had the pleasure of spending a day during our last summer tour in New England.

West Needham, notwithstanding its poor prosaic name, is really a pretty, pastoral-looking place, surrounded by low, wooded hills, protecting, as it were, the fine farms and orchards, and the pleasant dwellings, everywhere seen in the valleys and on the uplands around. In twenty minutes after leaving the bustle of Boston, if the cars make good speed, you will reach this rural scene, where Nature still holds her quiet sway, except when the steam-horse goes snorting and thundering by.

Here, in the heart of this still life, Doctor Morton, some seven years ago, selected an uncultivated lot, covered with bushes, brambles, and rocks, and, by his own science and taste, and the strong arm of Irish labor, he has formed a home of such finished beauty as would seem to require, at least, in its gardens and grounds, a quarter of a century to perfect. His grounds slope down to the railroad embankment; but a plantation of young trees, and on the height above, thick groves, of a larger growth, hide the buildings from view as the cars pass on this great route from Boston to the West. From the station it is a pleasant drive through the shaded and winding way as you ascend the rising grounds to the south. Suddenly turning a shoulder of the knoll, Etherton Cottage is before you. The effect was fine, and what made the scene more interesting to us was the presence of another cottage nestled near by, smaller but equally pleasant-looking, where we knew Dr. Morton had settled his good parents. Here they live as one household, and from the windows of Etherton Cottage may be seen the dwelling of another member of the family, a sister, now happily married, for whom the Doctor also cared.

We might give a long description of these pretty cottages and beautiful grounds, but words are wasted to little purpose in landscape or architectural descriptions. So leaving the walks, arbors, flowers, and fountains, we will introduce you at once to Mrs. Morton, a lady whose attractions and merits we had heard much praised while in Washington last winter. She is, indeed, one of those true women who seem born to show that Solomon's old picture of a good wife and mother may now be realized. The Doctor seems very fond and proud of her, as he may well be; and their children—the eldest a girl of nine, the youngest a boy of three years, with a brother and sister between—formed a lovely group of more interest to us than all the "superb views" around. So we will just tell you, dear reader, of the family and their home pursuits, as these were revealed to us during that interesting visit.

We should say here that Doctor Morton has relinquished his profession, and now passes his summers entirely at this country residence, and his winters in Washington, where he hopes soon to gain from Congress some reward for his great discovery of Etherization. When this is granted, he intends visiting Europe, where he is urgently invited by the savans of the Old World. It will be a triumph for Young America to send forth a man so young, who has won such distinction. It seemed but a few years since we first saw Willie Morton, a clerk in the publisher's officewhere our own magazine was issued; and now we were his guest, in his own elegant dwelling, surrounded by every requisite of happiness.

His country life is just what it should be, devoted to rural pursuits and filled up with plans of home improvements. You only feel the presence of his inventive genius by its active operation on the material world around. Not a word is heard of "chloroform" or "ether" at Etherton Cottage; but various contrivances for obviating all defects or difficulties in bringing his domain into the perfect order he has planned, meet you at every turning, and all sorts of odd combinations appear, which, when understood, are found to contribute to the beauty or utility of the whole. In short, everything useful is made ornamental, and the ornamental is made useful.

Then the Doctor has a passion for surrounding himself with domestic animals. This we like; it makes a country home more cheerful when dumb dependents on human care share the abundance of God's blessings. So after dinner we went to the barn to see the "pigs and poultry." This barn, fronting north, was quite a model structure, built on the side of the sloping ground, combining, in its arrangements, rooms for the gardener (an Englishman) and his family, and the barn proper, where the horse and cow had what a young lady called "splendid accommodations." There was also a coach-house and tool-room, a steam-engine room where fodder was cut up, and food—that is, grain of several kinds—ground for the swine and poultry; also a furnace where potatoes were steamed. The water was brought by hydraulic machinery from a brook at the bottom of the grounds for use in the barn, and everything was managed with scientific skill and order.

The arrangements for the poultry were very elaborate. Their rooms were the first floor at the back or southern front of the barn; of course, half underground. This lower story had a lattice-work front, and within Mrs. Biddy had every accommodation hen life could desire. Into these apartments the troop were allowed to enter at evening through a wicket opening in this southern front; but in the morning the poultry all passed out into the north-eastern portion of the grounds allotted them, where was a pool of water for the water-fowl, and a fine range for all. Still, the green field at the south, the running brook, and the eventide meal made them all eager to rush in whenever the gate between the two portions of their range was opened. It was this rush we went to witness.

We stood in the main floor, near the southern or back door of the barn, which overlooked the green field: the little gate opened, and such a screaming, crowing, gabbling ensued, and such a flutter of wings, that for a few minutes it was nearly deafening. A pair of Chinese geese led the way of this feathered community. These geese, a present from the late statesman, Daniel Webster, to Dr. Morton, who prized them accordingly, were entirely brown, of large size, carrying their heads very high, and walking nearly upright; they sent forth shouts that made the air ring. They seemed to consider themselves the Celestials, and all beside inferiors. Next, came a pair of wild geese; one wing cut, and thus obliged to remain in the yard, they had become quite tame; but still, their trumpet-call seemed to tell their love of freedom. These, too, were brown, with black heads, and long lithe necks, that undulated like the motions of a snake, with every movement. Very unlike these were the next pair of snow-white Bremen geese, stout, fat, contented-looking creatures, only making the usual gabbling of geese which are well to do in the world. Among the varieties of the duck genus were several of the Poland species; snowy white, except the vermilion-colored spots on the head, that look like red sealingwax plasters round the eyes. These ducks made a terriblequackery. But the domestic fowl was the multitude: there appeared to be all kinds and species, from the tall Shanghais, that seemed to stalk on stilts, to the little boatlike creepers that move as if on castors. It was a queer sight, such an army of hens and chickens, rushing hither and thither, to pick up the grain scattered for their supper. And then the pride of the old peacock; he just entered with the rest, then spread his heavy wings and flew up to the ridge-pole of the barn, where he sat alone in his glory. It was, altogether, a pleasant sight.

But within the barn was a lovelier spectacle. From the centre beam hung a large rope, its lower end passing through a circular board, about the size of a round tea-table; four smaller ropes passed through holes near the edge of this round board, at equal distances, and were united with the large rope several yards above, thus forming four compartments, with the centre rope for a resting-place. In these snug spaces were seated the four beautiful children, like birds in a nest, swinging every way in turn as the little feet that first touched the floor gave impulse.

It was a lovely picture of childhood made happy by parental care for the amusements of infancy. The father's genius had designed that swing to give pleasure, as it had discovered the elixir for pain, by taking thought for others. With both Dr. Morton and his amiable wife, the training of their little ones seemed the great subject of interest. The children werewell governed, this was easy to see, and thus a very important point in their instruction was made sure. They were also made happy by every innocent and healthful recreation. Their future destiny seemed the engrossing object of their parents' minds; to bring up these little ones in the fear and love of the Lord, their most earnest desire.

During the evening, the topic of education was the chief one discussed, and we parted from this interesting family fully assured that the good old Puritan mode of uniting faith in God with human endeavor was there understood and acted on. Miss Bremer might find, at Etherton Cottage, a charming illustration of her "love-warmed homes in America."

The Wives of England.—We are glad to see that attention has at length been called to the sufferings and injuries of that unfortunate class, the women of the lower orders in England. The recent murder of a woman by her husband, habitually given to beating her in the most cruel manner, with other flagrant instances of similar brutality, have called forth several warm remonstrances from the London press. During a recent session of Parliament, a bill was passed, making such offences punishable by lengthened imprisonment, but the law has been found inadequate. A late writer in the "Morning Chronicle" calls loudly for corporeal punishment, and says: "We have brutes, not men to deal with; the appeal must be made to the only sense they possess, the sense of physical pain. The law can and must lay on the lash heavily; the terror of the torture will soon restrain those on whom all other means have failed."

"The Times," in an indignant article on the same subject, dwells upon the indifference and supineness of neighbors and bystanders, during these scenes of violence, and ironically calls upon the draymen and carters of London, whose outraged virtue led them to apply the lash to General Haynau for whipping women in far-off Hungary, to stand by their own countrywomen. "If Lynch law is to prevail in England," says the "Times," "let it not exclude the defence of Englishwomen."

Though no advocate for Lynch law, we cannot but marvelthat, in the breasts of Englishmen, that misdirected sense of justice which is at the bottom of all such illegal acts, should be so entirely wanting; and, as the purpose of the "Times," in its appeal to the draymen, is to arouse this feeling, and make apowerof public opinion, we heartily agree with it. We must, however, dissent from the writers in both of these journals, when they advise recourse to corporeal punishment. You cannot lash a man into a sense of his error; you but degrade and brutalize him the more. Let the axe be laid to the root, begin with his moral nature. Educate him; elevate his character by teachings from the pulpit and school-room; take away his disabilities; teach him to respect himself, and he will soon learn to respect others. The hardened sinners who now pollute the earth by such misdeeds will, ere long, be called to their great account. Let England see that the generations now rising do not follow in their footsteps.

Our Friends.—A Happy New Year to all who are with us this glad morning. The Old Year has passed away, and with it much that we loved is gone. Let us hope the coming year will bring us many opportunities of doing good—and that God will assist our feeble endeavors to improve the time as it passes. Then the Year will be happy indeed.

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