mortal loveliness became visible, though the form was partly veiled from me in the glorious brightness that surrounded it. I imagined that I perceived a resemblance to the countenance of one that I had known and loved on earth; and I girded up the powers of my mind, as I have often thought I should do, in my waking hours, to meet a spirit from the other world. But the first words that fell upon my ear, instead of inspiring me with the expected terror, spread a sacred tranquillity through all my faculties. 'Mortal!'-the voice said-'once a fellow-mortal!' -and no earthly tongue can express the soothing sweetness and tenderness that flowed into those words 'be patient,' it said, 'be strong; fear not; be not troubled. If thou couldst know!-but I may not tell thee-else would not thy faith be perfected: -be yet patient; trust in God; trust in him, and be happy!' The bright cloud was borne as by the gentlest breath of air away from me; the features slowly faded, but with such a smile of ineffable benignity and love lingering upon the countenance, that in the ecstasy of my emotions I awoke.

I awoke; the songs of the morning were around me; the sun was high in heaven; the earth seemed to me clothed with new beauty. I went forth with a firmer step, and a more cheerful brow, resolving to be patient and happy till I also 'should see as I am seen, and know even as I am known.'

TO A CITY PIGEON.

STOOP to my window, thou beautiful dove! Thy daily visits have touched my love! I watch thy coming, and list the note That stirs so low in thy mellow throat, And my joy is high

To catch the glance of thy gentle eye.

Why dost thou sit on the heated eaves, And forsake the wood with its freshened leaves? Why dost thou haunt the sultry street,

When the paths of the forest are cool and sweet? How canst thou bear

This noise of people—this breezeless air?

Thou alone of the feathered race, Dost look unscared on the human face; Thou alone, with a wing to flee,

Dost love with man in his haunts to be;

And the 'gentle dove'

Has become a name for trust and love.

A holy gift is thine, sweet bird!

Thou 'rt named with childhood's earliest word; Thou 'rt linked with all that is fresh and wild In the prisoned thoughts of the city child— And thy even wings

Are its brightest image of moving things.

It is no light chance. Thou art set apart Wisely by him who tamed thy heartTo stir the love for the bright and fair, That else were sealed in the crowded airI sometimes dream

Angelic rays from thy pinions stream.

Come, then, ever when daylight leaves
The page I read, to my humble eaves;
And wash thy breast in the hollow spout,
And murmur thy low, sweet music out-
I hear and see

Lessons of heaven, sweet bird, in thee!

4

TO THE MOONBEAMS.

BY HANNAH F. GOULD.

AWAY! Away! from her favorite bower,
Where ye loved to come in the evening hour,
To silver the leaf, and smile on the flower-
Away! away! for the maid ye seek
Hath a clouded eye, and a pale, pale cheek,
As the lonely walk, and the flowers all speak.

Away! for the voice that ye could win
To flow with the melody found within,
'Tis hushed, 't is gone, as it never had been ;-
And the fearful harp that ye could make
Its deepest and tenderest tones awake,
It hath not a string but it fain would break.

Away! to the slope of the dew-bright hill,
Where the sod is fresh and the air is chill,
Where the marble is white and all is still;
But never reveal who there is led

By your light, to mourn for the early dead,
And weep o'er the lost, in her lonely bed!

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