in all that time-nor had the voice of friend or kinsman breathed through his lattice. His children But here my heart began to bleed-and I was forced to go on with another part of the portrait. He was sitting upon the ground upon a little straw, in the farthest corner of his dungeon, which was alternately his chair and bed; a little calendar of small sticks were laid at the head, notched all over with the dismal days and nights he had passed there. He had one of these little sticks in his hand, and with a rusty nail was etching another day of misery to add to the heap. As I darkened the little light he had, he lifted up a hopeless eye towards the door, then cast it downshook his head, and went on with his work of affliction. I heard his chains upon his legs, as he turned his body to lay his little stick upon the bundle. He gave a deep sigh-I saw the iron enter into his soul-I burst into tears--I could not sustain the picture of confinement which my fancy had drawn. STERNE. THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND. "Look now abroad! Another race has filled Those populous borders-wide the wood recedes, THE breaking waves dash'd high BRYANT. And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moor'd their bark On the wild New England shore. Not as the conqueror comes, Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear; They shook the depths of the desert gloom Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard and the sea; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free! The ocean eagle soar'd From his nest by the wide wave's foam; And the rocking pines of the forest roar'dThis was their welcome home! There were men with hoary hair There was a woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth; There was manhood's brow serenely high, And the fiery heart of youth. What sought they thus afar?- The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?- Ay-call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod; They've left unstain'd what there they found Freedom to worship God. MRS. HEMANS. NEVER HOLD MALICE. OH! never "hold malice;" it poisons our life, Oh! never "hold malice;" it cannot be good, Wait to sharpen a weapon and measure the blow. Oh! never "hold malice;" dislike if you will, ELIZA COOK. "WE ARE SEVEN." A SIMPLE child, dear brother Jem, And feels its life in every limb, I met a little cottage girl, Of eight years old, she said; She had a rustic woodland air, And she was wildly clad; Her eyes were blue, and she was fair: Her beauty made me glad : "Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?" "How many? seven in all," she said, And wondering look'd at me. “And where are they? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we : Two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea; Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother; And in the churchyard cottage I Dwell near them with my mother." "You say that two at Conway dwell, Yet you are seven-I pray you, tell, Then did the little maid reply, |