INTERESTING AND INSTRUCTIVE EXTRACTS.

SYMPATHY.

"Come then with me thy sorrows join,
And ease my woes by telling thine."

It is a pure stream that swells the tide of sympathy; it is an excellent heart that interests itself in the feelings of others-it is a heaven-like disposition that engages the affections, and extorts the sympathetic tear for the misfortunes of a friend. Mankind are ever subject to ills, infirmities and disappointments. Every breast, at some particular period, experiences sorrow and distress. Pains and perplexities are long-lived plagues of human existence, but sympathy is the balm that heals these wounds. If a person, who has lost a precious friend, can find another who will feelingly participate in his misfortune, he is well nigh compensated for his loss. And delightful is the task, to a feeling mind, of softening the painful pillow of the sick, amusing the thoughts of the unhappy, and alleviating the misfortunes of the afflicted.

- GENTLENESS.

WHOEVER understands his own interest, and is pleased with the beautiful, rather than the deformed, will be careful to cherish the virtue of gentleness. It requires but a slight knowledge of human nature, to convince us that much of our happiness in life, must depend upon the cultivation of this virtue. The man of wild, boisterous spirit, who gives loose reins to his temper, is, generally speaking, a stranger to happiness; he lives in a continual storm; the bitter waters of contention and strife are always swelling up in his soul, destroying his peace, and imparting their baneful influence to all with whom he is connected. He excites the disgust and ill will of those who are acquainted with his character, and but few can be found to wish him success in any of his undertakings. Not so is the influence of gentleness. This virtue will assist its possessor in all his lawful undertakings; it will often render him successful when nothing else could; it is exceedingly lovely and attractive in its appearance; it wins the hearts of all;

it is even stronger than argument, and will often prevail when that would be powerless and ineffectual; it shows that man can put a bridle upon his passions; that he is above the ignoble vulgar, whose characteristic it is to storm and rage like the troubled ocean, at every little adversity or disappointment which may cross their paths; it shows that he can soar away in the bright atmosphere of good feeling, and live in a continual sunshine, when all around him are enveloped in clouds and darkness, and driven about like maniacs, the sport of their own passions. The most favorable situations in life, the most lovely objects in nature, wealth and all that is calculated to increase the happiness of man, lose their charm upon a heart destitute of this virtue.

DEATH OF COLUMBUS.

With all the visions and fervor of his imagination, its fondest dreams fell short of the reality. He died in ignorance of the real grandeur of the discovery. Until his last breath he entertained the idea that he had merely opened a new way to the old resorts of opulent commerce, and had discovered some of the wild regions of the east. He supposed Hispaniola to be the ancient Ophir which had been visited by the ships of Solomon, and that Cuba and Terra Firma were but remote parts of Asia. What visions of glory would have broke upon his mind, could he have known that he had indeed discovered a new continent, equal to the whole of the old world, in magnitude, and separated by two vast oceans from all the earth hitherto known by civilized man? And how would his magnanimous spirit have been consoled, amidst the afflictions of age, and the cares of penury, the neglect of a fickle public, and the injustice of an ungrateful king, could he have anticipated the splendid empires which were to spread over the beautiful world he had discovered; and the nations and tongues and languages which were to fill its lands with his renown, and to revere and bless his name to the latest posterity.

True prudence is to see from the commencement of an affair what will be the end of it.

MEMORY OF THE PAST.

No day's remembrance shall the good regret,
Nor wish one bitter moment to forget;
They stretch the liinits of this narrow span,
And, by enjoying, live past life again.

THERE is certainly no greater happiness than to be able to look back upon a life usefully and virtuously employed, to trace our own progress in existence, by such tokens as excite neither shame nor sorrow. Life, in which nothing has been done or suffered, to distinguish one day from another, is to him that has passed it, as if it had never been, except that he is couscious how ill he has husbanded the great deposit of his Creator. Life made memorable by crimes, and diversified through its several periods by wickedness, is, indeed, easily reviewed, but reviewed only with horror and re

morse.

The great consideration which ought to influence us in the use of the present moment, is to arise from the effect, which, as well or ill applied, it must have upon the time to come-for though its actual existence be inconceivably short, yet its effects are unlimited-and there is not the smallest point of time but may extend its consequences either to our hurt or to our advantage, through all eternity, and give us reason to remember it for ever, with anguish or exultation.

The time of life in which memory seems particularly to claim predominance over the other faculties of the mind, is our declining age. It has been remarked by former writers, that old men are generally narrative, and fall easily into recitals of past transactions, and accounts of persons known to them in their youth. When we approach the verge of the grave it is more eminently

true:

Life's span forbids thee to extend thy cares
And spread thy hopes beyond thy years.

We have no longer any possibility of great vicissitudes in our favor. The changes which are to happen in the world will come too late for our accommodation, and those who have no hope before them, and to whom their present state is painful and irksome, must of ne

cessity turn their thoughts back to try what retrospect will afford. It ought, therefore, to be the care of those who wish to pass their last hours with comfort, to lay up such a treasure of pleasing ideas, as shall support the expenses of that time, which is to depend wholly upon the fund already acquired.

Seek here, ye young, the anchor of your mind;
Here, suffering age, a blest provision find.

In youth, however unhappy, we solace ourselves with the hope of better fortune, and however vicious, appease our consciences with intentions of repentance—but the time comes at last, in which happiness can be drawn only from recollection, and virtue will be all that we can recollect with pleasure.

"An Idler is a watch that wants both hands;
As useless when it goes, as when it stands."

POETRY.

Those persons who are familiar with foreign periodicals, may have noticed the effusions of a lady, by the name of Mary Ann Browne. She is the author of Mont Blanc, Ada, Repentance, and other poems. She is quite young, and is as fair as young. A vein of religious feeling pervades her compositions. We select as a specimen the following lines, from a piece entitled

MOSS.

How I love to look on the fresh green moss
In the pleasant time of Spring,

When the young, light leaves in the quick breeze toss,
Like fairies on the wing.

When it springeth up in woodland walks

And a natural carpet weaves,

To cover the mass of withered stalks,
And autumn's fallen leaves.

And I love, I love to see it much,
When on the ruin gray,

Which crumbles, to time's heavy touch
It spreads its mantle gay,

While the cold ivy only gives

As it shivereth thoughts of fear,

The closely clinging moss still lives,
Like a friend, for ever near.

But oh, I love the bright moss most,
When I see it thickly spread

On the sculptur'd stone, that fain would boast,
Of the forgotten dead.

For I think if that lowly thing can efface

The fame that earth has given,

Who is there that would ever chase
Aught that is not of heaven.

THE SEASONS.-BY BISHOP HEBER.

When Spring unlocks the flowers, to paint the laughing soil;
When Summer's balmy showers refresh the mower's toil;
When winter binds in frosty chains the fallow and the flood,
In God the earth rejoiceth still, and owns its Maker good.

The birds that wake the morning, and those that love the shade,
The winds that sweep the mountain, or lull the drowsy glade;
The sun that from his amber bower rejoiceth on his way,
The moon and stars, their Master's name, in silent pomp display.

Shall man, the lord of nature, expectant of the sky,
Shall man, alone unthankful, his little praise deny?

No! let the year forsake his course, the Seasons cease to be,
Thee, Master, must we always love; and, Saviour, honor Thee:

The flowers of Spring may wither—the hope of Summer fade— The Autumn droop in Winter-the birds forsake the shadeThe winds be lull'd-the sun and moon forget their old decree ; But we, in Nature's latest hour, O Lord! will cling to thee.

"SEARCH THE SCRIPTURES."

BY A YOUNG LADY OF S. c.

Yea, search them, for in them thou'lt surely find,
Knowledge, most precious, words of life and light;
Wisdom, surpassing all of human kind,

And virtue, yielding the most pure delight.

Faith that will stand thee in the hour of death,
Hope that will gild thy pathway to the tomb,
And charity, that to thy latest breath,

Will cheer thy heart-and all thy soul illume.

Pure precepts. bright examples, there thou'lt find,
Purest and brightest-for the Lord on high

To frail mortality was even joined,

To teach us how to live, and how to die.

Oh! may we prize such knowledge-may we live
To ponder o'er the precepts of our Lord,
And fix them in our hearts, and glory give
To Him who gave us His most precious word.

M. M.