STANZAS.

OH! scorn him not—the noble soulWhose happy dreams have sped:Whose cherished hopes of blissful loveHave ever, ever fled!For, oh! 'tis hard at best to bearMisfortunes from above;But deathlike to the manly heartIs cruel, shipwrecked love!Oh! scorn him not—but gently striveTo soothe his troubled breast;For man's vocation here on earthIs wearisome at best:Then metre out true sympathy—Pour oil upon the smart—And, smiling angels, oh! bewareTo crush a manly heart!

OH! scorn him not—the noble soul

Whose happy dreams have sped:

Whose cherished hopes of blissful love

Have ever, ever fled!

For, oh! 'tis hard at best to bear

Misfortunes from above;

But deathlike to the manly heart

Is cruel, shipwrecked love!

Oh! scorn him not—but gently striveTo soothe his troubled breast;For man's vocation here on earthIs wearisome at best:Then metre out true sympathy—Pour oil upon the smart—And, smiling angels, oh! bewareTo crush a manly heart!

Oh! scorn him not—but gently strive

To soothe his troubled breast;

For man's vocation here on earth

Is wearisome at best:

Then metre out true sympathy—

Pour oil upon the smart—

And, smiling angels, oh! beware

To crush a manly heart!

BY H. B. WILDMAN.

ISTOODbeside a pleasant stream,Where spicy boughs were wreathing;Its gentle ripples came and wentLike sleeping infants breathing.The lily press'd its dewy cheekUpon the kissing billow,And slumber'd like a summer brideUpon her nuptial pillow.Yet, by this stream a dark rock tower'dLike fane in forest waving;Deep furrows shown within its side,Wrought by the ripples laving!I gazed upon the sunny stream,And thought of sunny faces,And wonder'd how such gentle wavesCould leave such angry traces.Again I stood within the hallWhere Wealth her glow was shedding;The spacious dome seem'd lighted upFor some grand princely wedding.The moon look'd down on golden spires,As if to give a greeting;One would have thought, amid the show,'Twas Pleasure's natal meeting.Yet there, within that hall, that nightI saw the discontented;I saw pale faces mark'd with care,Like spirits unrepented.I gazed upon the princely hallWhere wealth had blown her bubble,And wonder'd how, amid such show,There could be aught of trouble.And thus, I said, amid Life's glare—Amid this world of hurry—'Tis true that "tongues we find in trees,And sermons in the quarry!"Our life is like yon little stream,Where ripples are retreating;And Pleasure, though array'd in smiles,Hath spots where Care is eating.Our life is like a summer streamThat lulls us into slumber;We dream we're happy for a while,While waves in countless number,Though gentle in their ceaseless flow,Are every day and morrow,Still chafing in the shores of LifeSome secret marks of sorrow!

ISTOODbeside a pleasant stream,Where spicy boughs were wreathing;Its gentle ripples came and wentLike sleeping infants breathing.

ISTOODbeside a pleasant stream,

Where spicy boughs were wreathing;

Its gentle ripples came and went

Like sleeping infants breathing.

The lily press'd its dewy cheekUpon the kissing billow,And slumber'd like a summer brideUpon her nuptial pillow.

The lily press'd its dewy cheek

Upon the kissing billow,

And slumber'd like a summer bride

Upon her nuptial pillow.

Yet, by this stream a dark rock tower'dLike fane in forest waving;Deep furrows shown within its side,Wrought by the ripples laving!

Yet, by this stream a dark rock tower'd

Like fane in forest waving;

Deep furrows shown within its side,

Wrought by the ripples laving!

I gazed upon the sunny stream,And thought of sunny faces,And wonder'd how such gentle wavesCould leave such angry traces.

I gazed upon the sunny stream,

And thought of sunny faces,

And wonder'd how such gentle waves

Could leave such angry traces.

Again I stood within the hallWhere Wealth her glow was shedding;The spacious dome seem'd lighted upFor some grand princely wedding.

Again I stood within the hall

Where Wealth her glow was shedding;

The spacious dome seem'd lighted up

For some grand princely wedding.

The moon look'd down on golden spires,As if to give a greeting;One would have thought, amid the show,'Twas Pleasure's natal meeting.

The moon look'd down on golden spires,

As if to give a greeting;

One would have thought, amid the show,

'Twas Pleasure's natal meeting.

Yet there, within that hall, that nightI saw the discontented;I saw pale faces mark'd with care,Like spirits unrepented.

Yet there, within that hall, that night

I saw the discontented;

I saw pale faces mark'd with care,

Like spirits unrepented.

I gazed upon the princely hallWhere wealth had blown her bubble,And wonder'd how, amid such show,There could be aught of trouble.

I gazed upon the princely hall

Where wealth had blown her bubble,

And wonder'd how, amid such show,

There could be aught of trouble.

And thus, I said, amid Life's glare—Amid this world of hurry—'Tis true that "tongues we find in trees,And sermons in the quarry!"

And thus, I said, amid Life's glare—

Amid this world of hurry—

'Tis true that "tongues we find in trees,

And sermons in the quarry!"

Our life is like yon little stream,Where ripples are retreating;And Pleasure, though array'd in smiles,Hath spots where Care is eating.

Our life is like yon little stream,

Where ripples are retreating;

And Pleasure, though array'd in smiles,

Hath spots where Care is eating.

Our life is like a summer streamThat lulls us into slumber;We dream we're happy for a while,While waves in countless number,

Our life is like a summer stream

That lulls us into slumber;

We dream we're happy for a while,

While waves in countless number,

Though gentle in their ceaseless flow,Are every day and morrow,Still chafing in the shores of LifeSome secret marks of sorrow!

Though gentle in their ceaseless flow,

Are every day and morrow,

Still chafing in the shores of Life

Some secret marks of sorrow!

BY WILLIAM RODERICK LAWRENCE.

BRIGHTflowers for her I loveYes, flowers rich and rare,The rose-bud and the violetTo grace her golden hair;Yet nature's gems—though beautifulAnd pure and bright they be—Are not so fair as she I love,Or beautiful to me.Rare gems for her I love!All sparkling in their light,A diadem to grace that browSo beautifully bright;Yet earthly crowns must fade—Immortal crowns aboveAlone are worthy to be soughtBy her I fondly love.Music for her I love!Melodiously low,Breathed soft from harps whose golden stringsWith songs of rapture glow;Such music as the angels makeIn worlds of light above—Such music would I have to cheerThe heart of her I love.And peace for her I love!The peace religion brings,Renouncing fleeting, transient joysFor bright and heavenly things;Let happiness be hers,And heaven her rest above;May this, my prayer, accepted riseFor her I truly love.

BRIGHTflowers for her I love

Yes, flowers rich and rare,

The rose-bud and the violet

To grace her golden hair;

Yet nature's gems—though beautiful

And pure and bright they be—

Are not so fair as she I love,

Or beautiful to me.

Rare gems for her I love!All sparkling in their light,A diadem to grace that browSo beautifully bright;Yet earthly crowns must fade—Immortal crowns aboveAlone are worthy to be soughtBy her I fondly love.

Rare gems for her I love!

All sparkling in their light,

A diadem to grace that brow

So beautifully bright;

Yet earthly crowns must fade—

Immortal crowns above

Alone are worthy to be sought

By her I fondly love.

Music for her I love!Melodiously low,Breathed soft from harps whose golden stringsWith songs of rapture glow;Such music as the angels makeIn worlds of light above—Such music would I have to cheerThe heart of her I love.

Music for her I love!

Melodiously low,

Breathed soft from harps whose golden strings

With songs of rapture glow;

Such music as the angels make

In worlds of light above—

Such music would I have to cheer

The heart of her I love.

And peace for her I love!The peace religion brings,Renouncing fleeting, transient joysFor bright and heavenly things;Let happiness be hers,And heaven her rest above;May this, my prayer, accepted riseFor her I truly love.

And peace for her I love!

The peace religion brings,

Renouncing fleeting, transient joys

For bright and heavenly things;

Let happiness be hers,

And heaven her rest above;

May this, my prayer, accepted rise

For her I truly love.

BY HELEN HAMILTON.

THOUGHthou art dying, yet I may not weepSuch grief I leave to those who part for years;Weonly part for days; it may be—hours;We have no need of tears.Ere thy last kiss is cold upon my lips,Thy dying clasp is loosened from my hand;I will be with thee—thou but goest beforeInto the better land.When thou hast reached Heav'n's golden portal, pauseAnd cast one look adown Death's shadowy road;I will be near, nor tremble as I walkThe road thou first hast trod.Would that together we might pass away!Would that one sound might ring our passing knell!Yet soon we'll meet where partings are unknown;For the last time—farewell.

THOUGHthou art dying, yet I may not weepSuch grief I leave to those who part for years;Weonly part for days; it may be—hours;We have no need of tears.

THOUGHthou art dying, yet I may not weep

Such grief I leave to those who part for years;

Weonly part for days; it may be—hours;

We have no need of tears.

Ere thy last kiss is cold upon my lips,Thy dying clasp is loosened from my hand;I will be with thee—thou but goest beforeInto the better land.

Ere thy last kiss is cold upon my lips,

Thy dying clasp is loosened from my hand;

I will be with thee—thou but goest before

Into the better land.

When thou hast reached Heav'n's golden portal, pauseAnd cast one look adown Death's shadowy road;I will be near, nor tremble as I walkThe road thou first hast trod.

When thou hast reached Heav'n's golden portal, pause

And cast one look adown Death's shadowy road;

I will be near, nor tremble as I walk

The road thou first hast trod.

Would that together we might pass away!Would that one sound might ring our passing knell!Yet soon we'll meet where partings are unknown;For the last time—farewell.

Would that together we might pass away!

Would that one sound might ring our passing knell!

Yet soon we'll meet where partings are unknown;

For the last time—farewell.

BY WM. ALEXANDER.

NATURE! Well hath the Poet said: "Who canPaint like to thee?" Inimitably fineSeem all the hues and colorings of thine,Though microscopic eye may closely scan:Close search but lifts the mystic veil that hidesThy scenes of beauty. In the tiny cupOf thy fair flowers, what wonders open up!Lo! a whole insect nation there resides,Clad in rich vests of fine embroidery,Or coats of living purple, green, and gold.Such fairy scenes, so constantly unrolled,Declare design most manifest to be;And the least path Omnipotence hath trodExhibits footprints of our glorious God.

NATURE! Well hath the Poet said: "Who can

Paint like to thee?" Inimitably fine

Seem all the hues and colorings of thine,

Though microscopic eye may closely scan:

Close search but lifts the mystic veil that hides

Thy scenes of beauty. In the tiny cup

Of thy fair flowers, what wonders open up!

Lo! a whole insect nation there resides,

Clad in rich vests of fine embroidery,

Or coats of living purple, green, and gold.

Such fairy scenes, so constantly unrolled,

Declare design most manifest to be;

And the least path Omnipotence hath trod

Exhibits footprints of our glorious God.

BY WINNIE WOODFERN.

ITHOUGHTmy heart had cast awayEach memory of its early day;I thought nor grief, nor change, nor fear,Could teach these eyes to shed a tear;And yet, a very child I be,Alas, I still remember thee!I often gaze with heart unmovedOn lips that smile like thine, beloved;I often catch a deep low tone,That bears the music of thine own;Yet pass, without a tear or smile,My pulses calm and cool, the while.Thou, dearest, hast been linked to meBy things which never more can be;By memories of that lovely place,That village,quiet in its grace,Like lilies, in the summer air,That stir not; knowing they are fair.And those who trod its mossy walks,And shared with me those woodland talks,'Till our hearts, hungry for the painOf loving, to be loved again,Learned the deep meaning of a wordWhich had been better never heard.Thou, and thy love, were of that timeWhen life was but a passion—rhyme;When I knew not that care might comeEven to that sweet mountain home;When stars and streams and flowers were partOf this, then calmly beating heart.So, when the martyr's cross was mine,I chose another love than thine;Our hearts, but not our souls, were mates,Our love the same, but not our fates;And he who, in these later years,Seeks me, seeks also scorching tears.'Tis long since I have breathed thy name!It once could turn my heart to flame;But now, so changed and cold am I,I only speak it with a sigh,That dreams, whose proper home is Heaven,To hearts o'ertasked with Earth, are given!Oh, long forsaken! no fond dream,Floating (like flowers on a stream),Down the wild current of my mind,Counts o'er the joys I've left behind,A little thing has drawn these tears,For thee, and for our early years!A moment since I cast a lookWithin the pages of a bookWhich thou to me hast often read,Thy shoulder pillowing my head;A faint, sweet perfume thence arose;There lay thy gift—a faded rose!It was as if an altar burnedWith sacrifices, and I turned—Beloved, do not think me weak!Tears, wild with grief, fled down my cheek,And to my lips arose a prayerThat I mightdiewhile pausing there!My song is o'er; 'twill only tell,To some who know and love me well,At times, within my inmost soul,Are thoughts I cannot quite control,Because they breathe and speak of thee,Who can be nothing now to me!

ITHOUGHTmy heart had cast awayEach memory of its early day;I thought nor grief, nor change, nor fear,Could teach these eyes to shed a tear;And yet, a very child I be,Alas, I still remember thee!

ITHOUGHTmy heart had cast away

Each memory of its early day;

I thought nor grief, nor change, nor fear,

Could teach these eyes to shed a tear;

And yet, a very child I be,

Alas, I still remember thee!

I often gaze with heart unmovedOn lips that smile like thine, beloved;I often catch a deep low tone,That bears the music of thine own;Yet pass, without a tear or smile,My pulses calm and cool, the while.

I often gaze with heart unmoved

On lips that smile like thine, beloved;

I often catch a deep low tone,

That bears the music of thine own;

Yet pass, without a tear or smile,

My pulses calm and cool, the while.

Thou, dearest, hast been linked to meBy things which never more can be;By memories of that lovely place,That village,quiet in its grace,Like lilies, in the summer air,That stir not; knowing they are fair.

Thou, dearest, hast been linked to me

By things which never more can be;

By memories of that lovely place,

That village,quiet in its grace,

Like lilies, in the summer air,

That stir not; knowing they are fair.

And those who trod its mossy walks,And shared with me those woodland talks,'Till our hearts, hungry for the painOf loving, to be loved again,Learned the deep meaning of a wordWhich had been better never heard.

And those who trod its mossy walks,

And shared with me those woodland talks,

'Till our hearts, hungry for the pain

Of loving, to be loved again,

Learned the deep meaning of a word

Which had been better never heard.

Thou, and thy love, were of that timeWhen life was but a passion—rhyme;When I knew not that care might comeEven to that sweet mountain home;When stars and streams and flowers were partOf this, then calmly beating heart.

Thou, and thy love, were of that time

When life was but a passion—rhyme;

When I knew not that care might come

Even to that sweet mountain home;

When stars and streams and flowers were part

Of this, then calmly beating heart.

So, when the martyr's cross was mine,I chose another love than thine;Our hearts, but not our souls, were mates,Our love the same, but not our fates;And he who, in these later years,Seeks me, seeks also scorching tears.

So, when the martyr's cross was mine,

I chose another love than thine;

Our hearts, but not our souls, were mates,

Our love the same, but not our fates;

And he who, in these later years,

Seeks me, seeks also scorching tears.

'Tis long since I have breathed thy name!It once could turn my heart to flame;But now, so changed and cold am I,I only speak it with a sigh,That dreams, whose proper home is Heaven,To hearts o'ertasked with Earth, are given!

'Tis long since I have breathed thy name!

It once could turn my heart to flame;

But now, so changed and cold am I,

I only speak it with a sigh,

That dreams, whose proper home is Heaven,

To hearts o'ertasked with Earth, are given!

Oh, long forsaken! no fond dream,Floating (like flowers on a stream),Down the wild current of my mind,Counts o'er the joys I've left behind,A little thing has drawn these tears,For thee, and for our early years!

Oh, long forsaken! no fond dream,

Floating (like flowers on a stream),

Down the wild current of my mind,

Counts o'er the joys I've left behind,

A little thing has drawn these tears,

For thee, and for our early years!

A moment since I cast a lookWithin the pages of a bookWhich thou to me hast often read,Thy shoulder pillowing my head;A faint, sweet perfume thence arose;There lay thy gift—a faded rose!

A moment since I cast a look

Within the pages of a book

Which thou to me hast often read,

Thy shoulder pillowing my head;

A faint, sweet perfume thence arose;

There lay thy gift—a faded rose!

It was as if an altar burnedWith sacrifices, and I turned—Beloved, do not think me weak!Tears, wild with grief, fled down my cheek,And to my lips arose a prayerThat I mightdiewhile pausing there!

It was as if an altar burned

With sacrifices, and I turned—

Beloved, do not think me weak!

Tears, wild with grief, fled down my cheek,

And to my lips arose a prayer

That I mightdiewhile pausing there!

My song is o'er; 'twill only tell,To some who know and love me well,At times, within my inmost soul,Are thoughts I cannot quite control,Because they breathe and speak of thee,Who can be nothing now to me!

My song is o'er; 'twill only tell,

To some who know and love me well,

At times, within my inmost soul,

Are thoughts I cannot quite control,

Because they breathe and speak of thee,

Who can be nothing now to me!

BY MARY GRACE HALPING.

THEYsay that she is beautiful;They praise that speaking eye,That fair and softly rounded cheek,Its bright and changeful dye,That pure and polished brow that towersLike ivory temple high.But is that radiant being fairThe light and joy ofhome?Doth from its loving inmates thereHer heart forget to roam?Oh, is she not as false and fairAs ocean's snowy foam?They say, unlike the tones of earthRings out that music free;But only from the halls of mirthAre heard those tones of glee;They say that she is beautiful—She is not so to me.I've seen that sweet and smiling lipGive back a stern reply;I've seen the cloud of passion dimThat proudly glorious eye,And on that pure transparent browThe shade of anger lie.I know that outward beauty sitsUpon that queenly brow;Before its proud and gorgeous shrineDoth man admiring bow,While she, with false, capricious smile,Repays each idle vow.I know with seeming truth doth flashThat darkly radiant eye,Yet beauty oft will sell for cashWhat love can never buy,Aside a loving heart will dashThat time and change defy.Upon the thickly crowded street,I many a form have past,Whom grace gave not proportion meetFrom beauty's model cast,To whom thesoula glory lendsA radiance that will last,When beauty's tender floweret bendsBefore time's wintry blast.YetthereI see no lovingheart,No spirit pure and free,Though like a whited sepulchreAn outward gloss may be;They say that she is beautiful,She is not so to me.

THEYsay that she is beautiful;They praise that speaking eye,That fair and softly rounded cheek,Its bright and changeful dye,That pure and polished brow that towersLike ivory temple high.

THEYsay that she is beautiful;

They praise that speaking eye,

That fair and softly rounded cheek,

Its bright and changeful dye,

That pure and polished brow that towers

Like ivory temple high.

But is that radiant being fairThe light and joy ofhome?Doth from its loving inmates thereHer heart forget to roam?Oh, is she not as false and fairAs ocean's snowy foam?

But is that radiant being fair

The light and joy ofhome?

Doth from its loving inmates there

Her heart forget to roam?

Oh, is she not as false and fair

As ocean's snowy foam?

They say, unlike the tones of earthRings out that music free;But only from the halls of mirthAre heard those tones of glee;They say that she is beautiful—She is not so to me.

They say, unlike the tones of earth

Rings out that music free;

But only from the halls of mirth

Are heard those tones of glee;

They say that she is beautiful—

She is not so to me.

I've seen that sweet and smiling lipGive back a stern reply;I've seen the cloud of passion dimThat proudly glorious eye,And on that pure transparent browThe shade of anger lie.

I've seen that sweet and smiling lip

Give back a stern reply;

I've seen the cloud of passion dim

That proudly glorious eye,

And on that pure transparent brow

The shade of anger lie.

I know that outward beauty sitsUpon that queenly brow;Before its proud and gorgeous shrineDoth man admiring bow,While she, with false, capricious smile,Repays each idle vow.

I know that outward beauty sits

Upon that queenly brow;

Before its proud and gorgeous shrine

Doth man admiring bow,

While she, with false, capricious smile,

Repays each idle vow.

I know with seeming truth doth flashThat darkly radiant eye,Yet beauty oft will sell for cashWhat love can never buy,Aside a loving heart will dashThat time and change defy.

I know with seeming truth doth flash

That darkly radiant eye,

Yet beauty oft will sell for cash

What love can never buy,

Aside a loving heart will dash

That time and change defy.

Upon the thickly crowded street,I many a form have past,Whom grace gave not proportion meetFrom beauty's model cast,To whom thesoula glory lendsA radiance that will last,When beauty's tender floweret bendsBefore time's wintry blast.

Upon the thickly crowded street,

I many a form have past,

Whom grace gave not proportion meet

From beauty's model cast,

To whom thesoula glory lends

A radiance that will last,

When beauty's tender floweret bends

Before time's wintry blast.

YetthereI see no lovingheart,No spirit pure and free,Though like a whited sepulchreAn outward gloss may be;They say that she is beautiful,She is not so to me.

YetthereI see no lovingheart,

No spirit pure and free,

Though like a whited sepulchre

An outward gloss may be;

They say that she is beautiful,

She is not so to me.

BY NICHOLAS NETTLEBY.

AWAKE, O Muse! my trembling pen inspire!Infuse my words with unpolluted song;Touch every line with thine own sacred fire,And bear me by thy impulses along!To thee, sweet Air, that dost around me play,Touching ethereally each silv'ry stringThat vibrates in the golden Harp of May,To thee I dedicate this offering.Soft, gentle Air! unnumbered missions thine,Missions of mercy, kindness, and of love;Guardian to man thou art, almost divine,Doing below as angel hosts above.Thine is it, Air, at morn's first op'ning light,To hang rich curtains in the eastern sky,Which, casting back their own refulgence bright,Proclaim to earth that glorious day is nigh.Thine is the task, as heaven's all-wondrous orbFills the eternal arch that o'er us spans,Within thyself its fiercest rays t' absorb,And make its milder, softer radiance man's.O'er the broad earth thou wingest; every dayLighting bright smiles in mansions high and low;Blessings uncounted strewing in thy way,Bright'ning the eye, kindling the cheek with glow.When burning fever mantles o'er the brow,And dire disease foretells the angel Death,Welcome is thy refreshing entrance. NowGold hath not there the sweetness of thy breath.With flowers thou lov'st to sport in fondest glee,Sipping from velvet cups their rich perfume;Thou lov'st to dally with the old oak-tree,And with its broad green crest sweetly commune.That sombre cloud that far on high is seen,Shading the earth from Sol's intensest rays,Is upward borne by thee, a wondrous screen,Which both thy goodness and thy power displays.Within our path thy liquid waves are found,Constant attendant upon every hour,Bearing unto us many a moving sound,And messages from each surrounding flower.And if (when weary of a long repose),Thou dost invite an earth-refreshing storm,When three-tongued lightnings in the heavens discloseTerrific thunderclouds of grandest form,Mantling the sky in blackest robes of night,And rushing onward in confusion dire,While deep explosions cause the timid fright,And heaven and earth are filled with lurid fire;Then is it that thy majesty we love;Then we behold the wonders of thy power;Thou hold'st the elements that rage above,And guidest them in that sublimest hour!But over thee, sweet Air, another hand,Higher and stronger, holier than thine own,Presides. 'Tis He, who by a seraph band,Is circled round. HEupon Heaven's Throne!

AWAKE, O Muse! my trembling pen inspire!Infuse my words with unpolluted song;Touch every line with thine own sacred fire,And bear me by thy impulses along!

AWAKE, O Muse! my trembling pen inspire!

Infuse my words with unpolluted song;

Touch every line with thine own sacred fire,

And bear me by thy impulses along!

To thee, sweet Air, that dost around me play,Touching ethereally each silv'ry stringThat vibrates in the golden Harp of May,To thee I dedicate this offering.

To thee, sweet Air, that dost around me play,

Touching ethereally each silv'ry string

That vibrates in the golden Harp of May,

To thee I dedicate this offering.

Soft, gentle Air! unnumbered missions thine,Missions of mercy, kindness, and of love;Guardian to man thou art, almost divine,Doing below as angel hosts above.

Soft, gentle Air! unnumbered missions thine,

Missions of mercy, kindness, and of love;

Guardian to man thou art, almost divine,

Doing below as angel hosts above.

Thine is it, Air, at morn's first op'ning light,To hang rich curtains in the eastern sky,Which, casting back their own refulgence bright,Proclaim to earth that glorious day is nigh.

Thine is it, Air, at morn's first op'ning light,

To hang rich curtains in the eastern sky,

Which, casting back their own refulgence bright,

Proclaim to earth that glorious day is nigh.

Thine is the task, as heaven's all-wondrous orbFills the eternal arch that o'er us spans,Within thyself its fiercest rays t' absorb,And make its milder, softer radiance man's.

Thine is the task, as heaven's all-wondrous orb

Fills the eternal arch that o'er us spans,

Within thyself its fiercest rays t' absorb,

And make its milder, softer radiance man's.

O'er the broad earth thou wingest; every dayLighting bright smiles in mansions high and low;Blessings uncounted strewing in thy way,Bright'ning the eye, kindling the cheek with glow.

O'er the broad earth thou wingest; every day

Lighting bright smiles in mansions high and low;

Blessings uncounted strewing in thy way,

Bright'ning the eye, kindling the cheek with glow.

When burning fever mantles o'er the brow,And dire disease foretells the angel Death,Welcome is thy refreshing entrance. NowGold hath not there the sweetness of thy breath.

When burning fever mantles o'er the brow,

And dire disease foretells the angel Death,

Welcome is thy refreshing entrance. Now

Gold hath not there the sweetness of thy breath.

With flowers thou lov'st to sport in fondest glee,Sipping from velvet cups their rich perfume;Thou lov'st to dally with the old oak-tree,And with its broad green crest sweetly commune.

With flowers thou lov'st to sport in fondest glee,

Sipping from velvet cups their rich perfume;

Thou lov'st to dally with the old oak-tree,

And with its broad green crest sweetly commune.

That sombre cloud that far on high is seen,Shading the earth from Sol's intensest rays,Is upward borne by thee, a wondrous screen,Which both thy goodness and thy power displays.

That sombre cloud that far on high is seen,

Shading the earth from Sol's intensest rays,

Is upward borne by thee, a wondrous screen,

Which both thy goodness and thy power displays.

Within our path thy liquid waves are found,Constant attendant upon every hour,Bearing unto us many a moving sound,And messages from each surrounding flower.

Within our path thy liquid waves are found,

Constant attendant upon every hour,

Bearing unto us many a moving sound,

And messages from each surrounding flower.

And if (when weary of a long repose),Thou dost invite an earth-refreshing storm,When three-tongued lightnings in the heavens discloseTerrific thunderclouds of grandest form,

And if (when weary of a long repose),

Thou dost invite an earth-refreshing storm,

When three-tongued lightnings in the heavens disclose

Terrific thunderclouds of grandest form,

Mantling the sky in blackest robes of night,And rushing onward in confusion dire,While deep explosions cause the timid fright,And heaven and earth are filled with lurid fire;

Mantling the sky in blackest robes of night,

And rushing onward in confusion dire,

While deep explosions cause the timid fright,

And heaven and earth are filled with lurid fire;

Then is it that thy majesty we love;Then we behold the wonders of thy power;Thou hold'st the elements that rage above,And guidest them in that sublimest hour!

Then is it that thy majesty we love;

Then we behold the wonders of thy power;

Thou hold'st the elements that rage above,

And guidest them in that sublimest hour!

But over thee, sweet Air, another hand,Higher and stronger, holier than thine own,Presides. 'Tis He, who by a seraph band,Is circled round. HEupon Heaven's Throne!

But over thee, sweet Air, another hand,

Higher and stronger, holier than thine own,

Presides. 'Tis He, who by a seraph band,

Is circled round. HEupon Heaven's Throne!

BY BEATA.

IWASthinking of the "Godey;" that it was out I knew,The month was just beginning, and the papers said so too;"A charming number," "brilliant," "a treat for ladies all,"And I wished to see its contents, and read "Fashion" on the fall.A rainy afternoon it was—not a dashing, roaring rain,With a trumpet-sounding wind, or a stirring hurricane;It did not rattle 'gainst the glass a lively, merry chime,But a dull and dreary drizzle, a stupid, yawning time.I almost had a mind to venture on the street,But I do detest the pavements, even when they're clean and neat;So I thought upon the "Godey," with its fresh and uncut page,And longed for something pretty, my moments to engage.It struck me that some pleasant chat would restore a cheerful tone,And rising with a sigh (for I, musing, sat alone),I gathered up my sewing and quickly took my way,Where it always wears an aspect bright, despite a rainy day.But scarcely had I entered, ere there fell, distinct and clear,The sound ofcutting pagesupon my wondering ear;There sat my quiet brother, this dismal afternoon,With my number in his hand, as I perceived full soon.I asked, "Is that 'Littell' you have?" but I knew only too wellThe answer which I should receive, that it was not "Littell;"And had he read my wishes, and offered me the "Book,"I would not have accepted; but I love the first, fresh look.So I waited very patiently, and my reward was near;I saw that he was pleased, though it cost me rather dear;And when the day was closing, and the rain at last was done,I enjoyed the precious "Godey," and the glorious setting sun.

IWASthinking of the "Godey;" that it was out I knew,

The month was just beginning, and the papers said so too;

"A charming number," "brilliant," "a treat for ladies all,"

And I wished to see its contents, and read "Fashion" on the fall.

A rainy afternoon it was—not a dashing, roaring rain,With a trumpet-sounding wind, or a stirring hurricane;It did not rattle 'gainst the glass a lively, merry chime,But a dull and dreary drizzle, a stupid, yawning time.

A rainy afternoon it was—not a dashing, roaring rain,

With a trumpet-sounding wind, or a stirring hurricane;

It did not rattle 'gainst the glass a lively, merry chime,

But a dull and dreary drizzle, a stupid, yawning time.

I almost had a mind to venture on the street,But I do detest the pavements, even when they're clean and neat;So I thought upon the "Godey," with its fresh and uncut page,And longed for something pretty, my moments to engage.

I almost had a mind to venture on the street,

But I do detest the pavements, even when they're clean and neat;

So I thought upon the "Godey," with its fresh and uncut page,

And longed for something pretty, my moments to engage.

It struck me that some pleasant chat would restore a cheerful tone,And rising with a sigh (for I, musing, sat alone),I gathered up my sewing and quickly took my way,Where it always wears an aspect bright, despite a rainy day.

It struck me that some pleasant chat would restore a cheerful tone,

And rising with a sigh (for I, musing, sat alone),

I gathered up my sewing and quickly took my way,

Where it always wears an aspect bright, despite a rainy day.

But scarcely had I entered, ere there fell, distinct and clear,The sound ofcutting pagesupon my wondering ear;There sat my quiet brother, this dismal afternoon,With my number in his hand, as I perceived full soon.

But scarcely had I entered, ere there fell, distinct and clear,

The sound ofcutting pagesupon my wondering ear;

There sat my quiet brother, this dismal afternoon,

With my number in his hand, as I perceived full soon.

I asked, "Is that 'Littell' you have?" but I knew only too wellThe answer which I should receive, that it was not "Littell;"And had he read my wishes, and offered me the "Book,"I would not have accepted; but I love the first, fresh look.

I asked, "Is that 'Littell' you have?" but I knew only too well

The answer which I should receive, that it was not "Littell;"

And had he read my wishes, and offered me the "Book,"

I would not have accepted; but I love the first, fresh look.

So I waited very patiently, and my reward was near;I saw that he was pleased, though it cost me rather dear;And when the day was closing, and the rain at last was done,I enjoyed the precious "Godey," and the glorious setting sun.

So I waited very patiently, and my reward was near;

I saw that he was pleased, though it cost me rather dear;

And when the day was closing, and the rain at last was done,

I enjoyed the precious "Godey," and the glorious setting sun.

BY I. J. STINE.

'TISo'er! the tender tie is brokeWhich bound my heart so close to thee;Though painful, though severe the stroke,I now can smile that I am free.The grief, the sorrow, and the woeThat I was called to undergo,The bitter pangs, the heartfelt pain,All, all have ceased their tyrant reign.'Twas but a moment's pain, 'tis gone;I'm happy, though unhappy now;And Melancholy, meek and wan,Sits peaceful on my thoughtful brow.The world, with all its loss and gain,Me neither pleasure gives nor pain;With thee, false, heartless one, with theeI lost all joy—all misery.

'TISo'er! the tender tie is broke

Which bound my heart so close to thee;

Though painful, though severe the stroke,

I now can smile that I am free.

The grief, the sorrow, and the woe

That I was called to undergo,

The bitter pangs, the heartfelt pain,

All, all have ceased their tyrant reign.

'Twas but a moment's pain, 'tis gone;I'm happy, though unhappy now;And Melancholy, meek and wan,Sits peaceful on my thoughtful brow.The world, with all its loss and gain,Me neither pleasure gives nor pain;With thee, false, heartless one, with theeI lost all joy—all misery.

'Twas but a moment's pain, 'tis gone;

I'm happy, though unhappy now;

And Melancholy, meek and wan,

Sits peaceful on my thoughtful brow.

The world, with all its loss and gain,

Me neither pleasure gives nor pain;

With thee, false, heartless one, with thee

I lost all joy—all misery.

OUR PRACTICAL DRESS INSTRUCTOR

DESCRIPTION OF THE ENGRAVING.

Headdress of the Lady on the Right.—Hair in bandeauxà la Niobe;torsade of pearls. Moire dress, low body, with progressive revers opening over a modestie of embroidered muslin edged with lace; short open sleevesà la Watteau;undersleeves of embroidered muslin; half-long gloves; bracelets of pearls, or more often worn different, according to choice.

The other Figure(Lady seated).—Cap of tulle trimmed with lace and ribbon. Low body, with revers open to waist; loose bell-shaped sleeves, edged with a bouillonne; two skirts trimmed with the same; modestie of embroidered muslin, edged with point de Venise; black velvet bracelets, half-long gloves, and Venetian fan.

DESCRIPTION OF DIAGRAMS.

(See next page.)

Fig. 1.—Front of body as shown in the engraving.

Fig. 2.—Back of body, by placing the lettersaa.

Fig. 3.—The cape sommet worn for evening dress. Place the lettersbb, the upper part of the cape forming an epaulette over the shoulder.

Fig. 4.—The sleeve, showing the muslin sleeve underneath, as in the engraving,à Watteaushape, fastened by a bow of ribbon. We have given the pattern of the whole sleeve.

DIAGRAMS OF THE DRESS SHOWN ON PAGE453.

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The above figure is a handsome pattern for a sofa. The castors are sunk in the legs.

OR,

LITTLE MARY'S HALF-HOLIDAY.

"WELL, my dear, I am glad to see you ready for work again."

"Here are six yards of pink satin ribbon, about an inch wide, some pink sarsnet, some card-board, black net, and plaited straw. What kind of straw is it, mamma?"

BACK OF A WATCH-POCKET.

"It is called straw-beading, and is employed in the same way that split straw was once used; but as it is flexible, and to be had in any length, it is much more easily worked. Besides the things you have mentioned, there is some pink sewing silk, and a little stiff muslin. Now you have all your materials complete, and I have only to show you how to use them. Begin by cutting out the shape for the back of the watch-pocket. Here is a drawing of it. It is 7 inches long, and 4½ in the widest part. Mark the depth of three inches from the bottom, and form this into a half round, then cut it into a point from the widest part to the top. The lower part, which is for the pocket, is thus three inches deep, and the top four inches. You will require two pieces of card-board of this shape and size, which must be covered on both sides with pink silk. Tack them together round the edges."

"These pieces are for the backs. Are the fronts of the pockets made of card-board, too?"

"No; you will use the stiff muslin for them. They must be in the half circle form, 3 inches deep, but 5½ inches wide at the top. They must also be covered with silk on both sides. Now cut out two pieces of black net, rather larger than the backs, and two more (also allowing for turnings in) for the fronts. Do you remark anything peculiar in the net?"

"It is like the imitation netting you brought from Paris, mamma; is it not? The holes are perfect diamonds, and much larger than in any English net."

"Yes, it is part of that I brought with me. Being so open, it is easy to slip the straw through it. Take the end of the straw, pass it under two threads, and over three, in one line. Cut it off close to the edge of the net. Run in as many lines as you can in the same direction, but with intervals of four holes, five threads between them. Cross them with others in the same way, both straws passing under thesamehole when they cross. All the four pieces of net must be worked in the same way, and then tacked on, to cover the silk on one side. Now sew the fronts to the backs. The ribbon trimming must now be prepared. It is to be quilled in the centre, in the way calledboxquilling; that is, one plait must be to the right, and the next to the left. Do enough for the top of each pocket separately, and put it on, then a length to go completely round. Finish each pocket with a knot of ribbon at the point, and a small loop to pin it to the bed."

"Do you know, mamma, I was inclined to think you had not matched the sarsnet and ribbon well? The sarsnet looked so much the darker. Now they correspond perfectly. How is that?"

"You forget that the sarsnet is covered with net, which softens the depth of the tint considerably. Had the covering been muslin, it must have been still deeper, to correspond with the uncovered ribbon. It is for want of the consideration of these small points that there is so frequently a want of harmony in the tints of amateur needlewomen."

"And now, mamma, what next? For I have a good deal of spare time still."

"You said you would like to work papa a pair of slippers, so I have contrived a design for you, which will use up all your remnants of wool. We will call it the dice pattern. Of each color you may use, you will require two shades with black and white. You can mark on your canvas the outline of the slippers with a soft pen and ink; then work from the drawing I have made, beginning at the toe. You may use any number of colors, only let them be well chosen, and falling in stripes. Do not put green andblue, or any other two colors which do not blend well, close together. You may try the effect with shades in the following order: violet, orange, green, crimson, blue. That part which is quite white in the drawing is done in white wool, and there are two spotted squares which are to be black. Then the upper side of each die is in the darker shade of whatever color may be used, and the under light. Fill it up with black. If you work on Penelope canvas, you will find it much easier."

DICE PATTERN FOR SLIPPERS.

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(See Brown Cut in front of Book.)

Materials.—Half a yard of fine Swiss muslin; embroidery cotton, No. 100.

TRACEthe pattern upon the muslin with a quill pen and blue mixed with gum-water; make the leaves, stems, and flowers in raised satin stitch; the circles in button-hole stitch, either making them close or open, as may be preferred; if close, a raised spot must be worked in the centre of each. Work the edge in button-hole stitch.

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PART OF AN EMBROIDERED DRESS UNDER SLEEVE

(See engravings on page385.)

EVANGELINE.—Silk embroidered, and trimmed with two rows of guipure lace—one row of lace round the yoke, and one about ten inches from the bottom, each row headed with a narrow quilling of ribbon, which also goes down the front and round the neck. On the yoke and between the rows of lace there is handsome embroidery.

ANTOINETTE.An entirely new pattern.—The mantilla is entirely formed of rows of lace or pinked silk on a silk or thin foundation.

(See engravings on page388.)

LACEMANTILLA.—This mantilla has three capes—the first is in depth twenty-three inches, the second eighteen inches, and the third fourteen inches, with lace edging to match. The collar is six inches in depth, with a bow of ribbon behind.

TABLETMANTILLA.—Material.Watered or plain silk. It is made with a yoke, and falls low on the shoulders. For trimming, it is cut in turrets, trimmed with narrow braid and netted fringe sewed underneath.

(See engravings on page389.)

MARQUISE.—Silk Pelisse.The body is close; it is trimmed with three rows of goffered ribbons disposed in arcades, and terminated at each point by loops of ribbons one over the other. A row of ribbons runs round the bottom of the body, which has also a lace trimming that falls over the opening of the sleeve. The skirt falls in flutes; it has three rows of ribbons and a lace flounce.

NAVAILLES.—Shawl-Mantelet, of taffetas trimmed with lace, fringe, and silk ribbons having velvet stripes. It opens like a shawl in front, and comes high behind. A lace of two inches in width turns down on the neck as far as the bow on the breast; a point falls behind like a little shawl, and is bordered with a ribbon sewed on flat, and a lace of about five inches, besides a fringe; in front this lace forms a bertha. The lower part of the garment, sewed on under the point, is rounded, and hangs in flutes behind. It is bordered with the same ribbon, accompanied by the same, and fringe. The ends in front are pointed.

(See engraving on page390.)

Fig. 1.Dress.—Skirt of steel-colored gray silk, without any trimming. Sachet of black velvet; the front opening to a point, and the basque rounded and edged with a deep fall of black lace set on rather full. The sleeves, which are demi-long and loose at the ends, are likewise edged with lace chemisette and undersleeves of worked muslin. A round cap of Honiton lace, the front edged with pointed vandykes. The cap is ornamented at each side with bows of ribbon having long flowing ends, edged with fringe. The ribbon has a white ground, and is figured with a pattern similar to that called the Victoria plaid. The bows are intermingled with bouquets of white roses. Hair bracelets, with snaps of gold and turquoise.

Fig. 2.Little Girl's Dress.—Frock of dark blue glacé; the skirts ornamented with four narrow ruches of ribbon, placed two and two together. The corsage is in the jacket style, half high in the neck, and fitting closely to the form. The basque is edged with a double ruche of ribbon, which is carried up the front and round the top of the corsage. The sleeves just descend below the turn of the elbow, and are trimmed at the end with ribbon ruche. The undersleeves are of jaconet muslin, drawn in a full puff, confined at the wrists by bands of needlework insertion. The chemisette is high to the throat, and is formed of two rows of drawn muslin, divided by a row of needlework insertion, and finished at top by a row of the same. Short trousers of white cambric muslin edged with a bordering of needlework. The front hair banded on each side of the forehead; the back hair plaited, and the plaits turned up and fastened by rows of black velvet ribbon, two bands of which are passed across the forepart of the head.

Fig. 3.Promenade, or Carriage Dress.—Robe of brown gros de naples. The skirt is trimmed with ten rows of black velvet, of graduated width. The corsage is low, square in front, and partly open; the opening being confined by bands of black velvet. The corsage has a basque at the waist, cut out in castellated ends which are edged with velvet. The sleeves are slit open to the height of the shoulder, and the opening is confined by bands of velvet, like those in front of the corsage. The chemisette is of worked muslin, and trimmed with Valenciennes lace. Undersleeves to correspond. Bonnet of white silk, ornamented with vine leaves and blonde. Undertrimming, a wreath of flowers.

(See engraving on page391.)

Materials.—One yard and a half of sarsnet ribbon, two inches in width, and of any color preferred; one bunch of steel beads, No. 5; some sewing silk of the same color as the ribbon, and some perforated cardboard one row narrower than the ribbon.

Mark the letters and border with the beads on the cardboard, which should be about four inches long; also a piece about two inches square, worked with beads in any ornamental pattern; fasten the longest piece of cardboard to the ribbon in the centre, stitching it at both edges, then sew the smaller piece about two inches nearer the end of the ribbon; sew a piece of the same ribbon under this small piece of cardboard at each end—this forms a loop for the ribbon to pass through. This completes the band.

(See engraving on page392.)

This mantilla is one of great beauty. It is made of blue glacé silk, but can be in any choice color. Lavender and lustrous pearl and mode colors look especially well, as also the greens, in this garment. Its chief peculiarity consists in its square front and its fitting so as to just cut the edge of the shoulder. It is fastened at the top by a bow; the back falls with an easy fulness; it is embroidered.

TAKEfour needles, cast three stitches on each, knit plain round once; put thread over needle; knit once so all round. Then plain once round. Continue this process till there are five stitches between the times of widening. Plain round once; widen, knit four narrow so all round; plain round; widen, knit one, widen, knit three narrow so all round, plain round, widen, knit three, widen, knit two, narrow so all round, plain round, widen, knit five, widen, knit one, narrow so all round, plain round, widen, knit seven, widen, knit one, narrow so all round, plain round three times. Turn the basket inside out, knit three times round plain, put thread over needle and seam two in one all round, then twice plain. Continue this till you have six rows of eyelets, then two plain, three seamed, four plain. Then make one row of eyelets, knit three rows plain, hem down. Then your basket is done.

HOW TOFORM IT.—Prepare a solution of glue, dip your basket into it when it isvery wet, wring it out, have your form ready to put it on, where it must lie for a day or two. Then you can paint it any color you like. The block on which it is put to dry can be round or not, as you prefer. If you wish a large one, cast on more stitches when you begin. Four on a needle makes a large size.

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Nos 1 2 3 and 4

INaccordance with the popular fashion of the day, we "open," in the present article, a group of the most tasteful bonnets of the season. We give them not only that our lady readers may see what is worn, but as models for their own fair fingers. Is it known to them that bonnet-making is now quite a fashion among those skilful in fancy-work, the most sensible branch we have seen adopted for many years? Why should not the taste and ingenuity exercised in lamp-matsof old, and crochet tidies of the present day, be as well displayed in the light and graceful task of millinery? The neatness and patience required in covering the card-board of an ingenious needle-book can be more fully exercised in disposing the folds of silk and lace on the well-shaped frame easily procured for a trifle.

The peculiar trait of the hats of the present season is the great quantity of mixed materials, as crape, silk, lace, flowers, and ribbon, on one very small structure. Great taste is to be exercised in mingling these judiciously—ornamenting, not overloading; in the first place, selecting a good model as to shape and style.

No. 1 we have chosen for its simplicity. It is composed of three rows of pink crape or silk, drawn in a puffing, with a blonde edging rather wide on each. The crown is entirely of lace, and there is a fall of the same on the cape. A knot of pink satin bows, to the right, is all the decoration of the exterior. A full cap of blonde, with one or two pink bows, carelessly disposed, inside the brim.

No. 2 shows the extreme of the shallow brim, and two-thirds of the wearer's head at the same time. It is, notwithstanding, a neat and modest-looking dress bonnet of pomona green silk, the crown piece, which is in full flutings, extending almost to the edge of the brim. This is crossed by a band of the same with bound edges (old style). The front is a very full doublerucheof blonde, between the two green silk cordings. A full cap of the same fills the space between the face and the brim, with a spray of flowers set very high to the right.

No. 3.—A more elaborate hat of straw-colored silk and white guipure lace. It has a small plume on the left, and has a full spray of bridal roses inside the brim.

No. 4 shows the disposition of lace and bow at the back of a crown, a great point in the millinery of the present season; a stiff crown will ruin a graceful brim.

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WEoften find our correspondents writing, "Are there any new patterns for underclothes?" "Can you send me a good night-cap pattern?" etc. etc. This has suggested to us the plan of publishing designs for plain as well as ornamental needlework, and we commence the present month by two selected from the large establishment of Madame Demorest, late of Canal Street, now of 375 Broadway, New York. Besides the infinite variety of outer garments, children's clothing, etc., to which we have before alluded, Madame Demorest has patterns of everything for a lady's under wardrobe, in sets or singly, so arranged as to look exactly like the garment itself; and, as they can be sent by mail, there is thus an end to the necessity of begging and borrowing in every direction through a country neighborhood.

An article of practical instructions in the art of plain-sewing, for it is, indeed, an art, will be given from time to time. It is a great pity that this knowledge has, in most cases, to be acquired by the married woman. We think it should be considered an essential part of the education of the daughter. All the pages of instruction that may be written or read upon the subject, can never give that aptitude and ease in the performance of this very necessary household duty, which would be acquired by seeing how others do it, and being taught while young to take a part in the operation. A young mother who is not a dressmaker or seamstress by profession, but who can quietly cut out and make any article of dress that may be wanted, is looked upon by her companions as a sort of marvellous prodigy. "Oh, how can you do it?" "Well, I never had any genius that way!" are their exclamations. And why have they no genius that way? In most cases, it is simply because they have been taught at some "seminary for young ladies" to despise such employments as mean and vulgar. Those who have genius enough to knit fancy patterns, or work bunches of flowers upon canvas, are quite capable of learning how to employ their needle for useful household purposes. But express a wish to those who by profession undertake the education of girls, that your children should learn to employ the needle usefully, and you will most likely be told, "Oh, we really have not time to attend to that; there is so much else that must be learned, we cannot undertake plain needlework." And what does all that is learned tend to? Frequently, to little more than a smattering of this and that, by which the learner hopes to gain admiration, and eventually a husband. Even the few years that are sometimes spent at home, between school-days and marriage, are wasted in visiting andfrivolity and gaining a husband. How to fulfil those duties which such an acquisition brings upon her, seems to be a problem which may be answered by the assertion, "Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof." In many respects, those children who are taught in public schools are really better educated for domestic life than the children of the classes a rank or two higher, who are brought up in boarding-schools or day schools for young ladies. However, pages and volumes might usefully be written on the inappropriate mode of bringing up the daughters of families, who have nothing or little beside their own exertions to look to for their maintenance; but this is not our present object. Many there are who would willingly exchange the frivolities learned at school for a knowledge how to make out and plan the clothes of their families; and, for the benefit of such, we will endeavor, as far as paper and print can do it, to teach them.

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