THE POWER OF HABIT.—JOHN B. Gough.

I remember once riding from Buffalo to Niagara Falls. I said to a gentleman," What river is that, sir?" "That," he said, "is Niagara river."

"Well, it is a beautiful stream," said I; "bright and fair and glassy; how far off are the rapids?" "Only a mile or two," was the reply.

"Is it possible that only a mile from us we shall find the water in the turbulence which it must show near to the Falls?"

And so I found it; and the first sight of Niagara I shall never forget. Now, launch your bark on that Niagara river; it is bright, smooth, beautiful and glassy. There is a ripple at the bow; the silver wake you leave behind adds to the enjoyment. Down the stream you glide, oars, sails and helm in proper trim, and you set out on your pleasure excursion. Suddenly some one cries out from the bank, "Young men, ahoy!"

"What is it?"

"The rapids are below you."

"Ha! ha! we have heard of the rapids, but we are not such fools as to get there. If we go too fast, then we shall up with the helm and steer to the shore; we will set the mast in the socket, hoist the sail, and speed to the land. Then on, boys; don't be alarmed—there is no danger."

"Young men, ahoy there!" "What is it?"

"The rapids are below you!"

"Ha! ha! we will laugh and quaff; all things delight us. What care we for the future! No man ever saw it. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. We will enjoy life while we may; will catch pleasure as it flies. This is enjoyment; time enough to steer out of danger when we are sailing swiftly with the current."

'Young men, ahoy!"

"What is it?"

THE SONG OF THE DYING.-CAPTAIN DOWLING.

A number of British officers were stationed at an outpost in India during the prevalence of a pestilence. Many of their companions had fallen victims; all chance of escape was cut off, and death stared them in the face. Under these circumstances, and meeting together probably for the last time, the following lines, which were written by one of their number, were sung. The author was the first to fall a victim to the grim destroyer.

We meet 'neath the sounding rafter,

And the walls around are bare;
As they echo the peals of laughter
It seems that the dead are there;
But stand to your glasses steady,
We drink to our comrades' eyes;
A cup to the dead already-
Hurrah for the next that dies!
Not here are the goblets glowing,
Not here is the vintage sweet;
'Tis cold, as our hearts are growing,
And dark as the doom we meet.
But stand to your glasses steady,
And soon shall our pulses rise;
A cup to the dead already-
Hurrah for the next that dies!

Not a sigh for the lot that darkles,
Not a tear for the friends that sink;
We'll fall, midst the wine-cup's sparkles,
As mute as the wine we drink.

So stand to your glasses steady,
"Tis in this our respite lies;
One cup to the dead already-
Hurrah for the next that dies!

Time was when we frowned at others,
We thought we were wiser then;

Ha ha! let those think of their mothers,

Who hope to see them again.

No! stand to your glasses steady,

The thoughtless are here the wise;
A cup to the dead already-

Hurrah for the next that dies!

There's many a hand that's shaking,
There's many a cheek that's sunk;

But soon, though our hearts are breaking,
They'll burn with the wine we've drunk.

So stand to your glasses steady,
'Tis here the revival lies;

A cup to the dead already-
Hurrah for the next that dies!

There's a mist on the glass congealing,
"Tis the hurricane's fiery breath;
And thus does the warmth of feeling
Turn ice in the grasp of death.

Ho! stand to your glasses steady;
For a moment the vapor flies;
A cup to the dead already-
Hurrah for the next that dies!

Who dreads to the dust returning?
Who shrinks from the sable shore,
Where the high and haughty yearning
Of the soul shall sting no more?
Ho! stand to your glasses steady;
This world is a world of lies;
A cup for the dead already-
Hurrah for the next that dies!

Cut off from the land that bore us,
Betrayed by the land we find,

Where the brightest have gone before us,

And the dullest remain behind

Stand, stand to your glasses steady!
'Tis all we have left to prize;

A cup to the dead already-
Hurrah for the next that dies!

AFFECTATION IN THE PULPIT.—WILLiam Cowper.

In man or woman,--but far most in man,
And most of all in man that ministers
And serves the altar,-in my soul I loathe
All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn;
Object of my implacable disgust.

What! will a man play tricks,—will he indulge
A silly, fond conceit of his fair form,
And just proportion, fashionable mien,
And pretty face,-in presence of his God?
Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes,

As with the diamond on his lily hand,
And play his brilliant parts before my eyes,
When I am hungry for the bread of life?
He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames
His noble office, and, instead of truth,

Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock!
Therefore, avaunt all attitude, and stare,
And start theatric, practised at the glass!
I seek divine simplicity in him

Who handles things divine, and all besides,

Though learned with labor, and though much admired By curious eyes and judgments ill-informed,

To me is odious as the nasal twang

Heard at conventicle, where worthy men,
Misled by custom, strain celestial themes
Through the pressed nostril, spectacle-bestrid.
Some, decent in demeanor while they preach,
That task performed, relapse into themselves;
And, having spoken wisely, at the close
Grow wanton, and give proof to every eye,
Whoe'er was edified, themselves were not!
I venerate the man whose heart is warm,
Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life
Coincident, exhibit lucid proof

That he is honest in the sacred cause;

To such, I render more than mere respect,

Whose actions say that they respect themselves.
But loose in morals, and in manners vain,
In conversation frivolous, in dress
Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse;
Frequent in park with lady at his side,
Ambling, and prattling scandal as he goes;
But rare at home, and never at his books,
Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card;
Constant at routs, familiar with a round
Of ladyships; a stranger to the poor;
Ambitious of preferment for its gold;
And well prepared, by ignorance and sloth,
By infidelity and love of world,

To make God's work a sinecure; a slave
To his own pleasures and his patron's pride,-
From such apostles, O ye mitred heads,
Preserve the church! and lay not careless hands
On skulls that cannot teach, and will not learn'

COUSIN SALLY DILLIARD.-H. C. JONES.
SCENE. A Court of Justice in North Carolina.

A beardless disciple of Themis rises, and thus addresses the Court: "May it please your worships, and you, gentlemen of the jury, since it has been my fortune (good or bad, I will not say,) to exercise myself in legal disquisitions, it has never befallen me to be obliged to prosecute so direful, marked, and malicious an assault; a more wilful, violent, dangerous battery ;-and finally, a more diabolical breach of the peace has seldom happened in a civilized country; and I dare say it has seldom been your duty to pass upon one so shocking to benevolent feelings, as this which took place over at Captain Rice's. But you will hear from the witnesses.”

The witnesses being sworn, two or three were examined and deposed: one said that he heard the noise, and did not see the fight; another that he saw the row, but didn't know who struck first; and a third, that he was very drunk, and couldn't say much about the scrimmage.

Lawyer Chops. I am sorry, gentlemen, to have occupied your time with the stupidity of the witnesses examined. It arises, gentlemen, altogether from misapprehension on my part. Had I known, as I now do, that I had a witness in attendance who was well acquainted with all the circumstances of the case, and who was able to make himself clearly understood by the court and the jury, I should not so long have trespassed upon your time and patience. Come forward, Mr. Harris, and be

sworn.

So forward comes the witness, a fat, shuffy old man, a "leetle" corned, and took his oath with an air.

Chops. Harris, we wish you to tell about the riot that happened the other day at Captain Rice's; and as a good deal of time has already been wasted in circumlocution, we wish you to be compendious, and at the same time as explicit as possible.