has been adopted as her rod of command, but which is more appropriated to give force and understanding to her gestures, than for any purpose of enforcing orders or awaking dulness. She opens her books and teaches the little innocents psalms, hymns and different parts of scripture. In this manner she continues her labor, until the church bells have rung in, and the congregation are coming into the body of the church. She closes then, and the little apple girl, with her youthful pupils, remain in the church and join in the service of Him, who desired little children to come unto him, and who, placing them upon his knees, blessed them as an example to all succeeding generations." 66 Why, my dear sir," said I, as he closed his relation, what you have been telling me must be a novel-is it not a fancy sketch ?" My companion assures me that the leading traits were absolute facts. "Possibly," said he, "I have made the apple girl prettier, and the little children more affectionate than they might appear at all times, to a stranger. But you may depend upon it that the actual truth, if we could contemplate it in its most secret recesses, is frequently far beyond the brightest picture of the imagination. It is perhaps easy to those who are masters of high-sounding words to give a tolerable description of outward show and pompous circumstances, but few have that delicacy of mental vision which pierces the inmost chambers of human feeling. My sketch is far short of that, I am persuaded." PERFECTION The last best, fruit which comes to late perfection even in the kindliest soul, is—tenderness towards the hard, forbearance towards the unforbearing, warmth of heart towards the cold, philanthropy towards the misanthrope. POVERTY. One solitary philosopher may be great, virtuous and happy, in the depth of poverty, but not a whole people. POETRY. LINES Written after witnessing the death of an endeared young friend. BY REV. HUGH HUTTON. There played a smile on the pale, young face, And I heard her tongue speak an angel's name, While her cheek was flushed with joys high flame, I beheld that loved one sink to rest, I look'd on the mourning friends around- And I listened to hear a parent's tongue, Oh, yes! there's a world more sure more bright, THOU HAST GONE FROM ME, MY SISTER. "Thou hast gone from me" my sister, Thy voice no more I hear, Thou hast left our kindred circle, A brighter home to cheer. Still as I wander silently, And memory brings the happy hours, But ah, the thornless flowers soon fade Whose smile shall now light up the gloom, Though many friends are round me, Yet still my heart is lonely, These blissful hopes still cheer me Where thornless flowers for ever bloom Where parting hours can never come, New Jersey, Oct. 1, 1830. HANNAH. UNCLOUDED HOURS. Lines addressed to a friend who envied the author's perpetual high spirits. Oh do not suppose that my hours Or that thorns never mix with the flowers The wounds which they never can heal. none: HENRY KIRKE WHITE. "Fifty years hence, and who will hear of Henry? Oh! H. K. WHITE. No, Henry, no! thy name shall live, Shall worth like thine neglected lie, No! bard immortal! Henry's name Shall flowers of sweetest fragrance bloom. With tears of truest sorrow yet, Yes, on eternity's bright shore, While kindred seraphs list the song Why should the envious angel death, Thy mighty mind grasped science deep, Was there no spot for thee to toil, A mind so pure, so great as thine, THE HOLY SEPULCHRE. How sweet, in the musings of faith, to repair As the Lord of her soul, breaks the bars of his prison, O! Saviour, as oft as our footsteps we bend If, with her, we may drink of thy fountains above |