important route, lay at the river side, puffing, snorting, and emitting all those other disagreeable utterances, which betoken the departure to be immediate. I hurried on board with the rest of the passengers, most of whom were in great perturbation; some bawling out for their baggage; some tearing their hair and exclaiming that the boat would explode or sink; some already pale with the heaving of the stream; some gazing affrighted at the ugly aspect of the steersman; and some still dizzy with the slumberous influences of the Enchanted Ground. Looking back to the shore, I was amazed to discern Mr. Smooth-it-away waving his hand in token of farewell! "Don't you go over to the Celestial City?" exclaimed I. My recollections of the journey are now, for a little space, dim and confused, inasmuch as a singular drowsiness here overcame me, owing to the fact that we were passing over the enchanted ground, the air of which encourages a disposition to sleep. I awoke, however, as soon as we crossed the borders of the pleasant land of Beulah. All the passengers were rubbing their eyes, comparing watches, and congratulating one another on the prospect of arriving so seasonably at the journey's end. The sweet breezes of this happy clime came refreshingly to our nostrils; we beheld the glimmering gush of silver fountains, over-hung by trees of beautiful foliage and delicious fruit, which were propogated by grafts from the celestial gardens. Once, as we dashed onward like a hurricane, there was a flutter of wings, and the bright appearance of an angel in the air, Oh, no!" answered he with a queer smile, and speeding forth on some heavenly mission. The en- that same disagreeable contortion of visage which I gine now announced the close vicinity of the final had remarked in the inhabitants of the Dark Valley, Station House, by one last and horrible scream, in" Oh, no!" I have come thus far only for the sake which there seemed to be distinguishable every kind of your pleasant company. Good bye! We shall of wailing and woe, and bitter fierceness of wrath, meet again." all mixed up with the wild laughter of a devil or a And then did my excellent friend, Mr. Smooth-itmadman. Throughout our journey, at every stop-away, laugh outright; in the midst of which cachiping place, Apollyon had exercised his ingenuity in screwing the most abomniable sounds out of the whistle of the steam engine; but, in this closing effort he outdid himself, and created an infernal uproar, which, besides disturbing the peaceful inhabitants of Beulah, must have sent its discord even through the celestial gates. nation, a smoke-wreath issued from his mouth and nostrils, while a twinkle of livid flame darted out of either eye, proving indubitably that his heart was all of a red blaze. The impudent fiend! To deny the existence of Tophet, when he felt its fiery tortures raging within his breast! I rushed to the side of the boat, intending to fling myself on shore. But the wheels, as they began their revolutions, threw a dash of spray over me, so cold-so deadly cold, with the chill that will never leave those waters, until Death be drowned in his own river-that, with a shiver and a heart-quake, I awoke. Thank heaven, it was a Dream! While the horrid clamor was still ringing in our ears, we heard an exulting strain, as if thousand instruments of music, with height, and depth, and sweetness in their tones, at once tender and triumphant, were struck in unison, to greet the approach of some illustrious hero, who had fought the good fight and won a glorious victory, and was come to lay aside his battered arms for ever. Looking to ascertain what might be the occasion of this glad harmony, I perceived on alighting from the cars, that a multitude of shining ones had assembled on the other side of the river, to welcome two poor pilgrims, who were just emerging from its depths. They were the same whom Apollyon and ourselves had persecuted with taunts and gibes, and scalding My hope and heart is with thee-thou wilt be steam, at the commencement of our journey-the A latter Luther, and a soldier-priest SONNET TO J. M. K. BY ALFRED TENNYSON. same whose unworldly aspect and impressive words To scare church-harpies from the master's feast; had stirred my conscience, amid the wild revellers | Our dusted velvets have much need of thee: of Vanity Fair. How amazingly well those men have got on!" cried I to Mr. Smooth-it-away. "I wish we were secure of as good a reception." "Never fear-never fear!" answered my friend. "Come-make haste; the ferry-boat will be off directly; and in three minutes you will be on the other side of the river. No doubt you will find coaches to carry you up to the city gates." Thou art no Sabbath-drawler of old saws, A steam ferry-boat, the last improvement on this Arrows of lightnings. I will stand and mark. THE SOUL'S ERRAND. BY JOSHUA SYLVESTER. Go, soul, the body's guest, Upon a thankless errand! The truth shall be thy warrant ; Go, tell the court it glows, Tell potentates, they live Acting by others' actions, Not strong but by their factions. Tell men of high condition, That rule affairs of state, Their purpose is ambition, Their practice only hate. And if they once reply, Give them all the lie. Tell them that brave it most, They beg for more by spending, Who in their greatest cost, Seek nothing but commending. And if they make reply, Then give them all the lie. Tell zeal it lacks devotion, Tell age it daily wasteth, Tell honor how it alters, Tell wit how much it wrangles Tell physic of her boldness, Tell charity of coldness, So give them still the lie. Tell fortune of her blindness, Tell nature of decay, Tell friendship of unkindness, Tell justice of delay. And if they will reply, Then give them all the lie. Tell arts they have no soundness, But vary by esteeming, If arts and schools reply, Tell faith it's fled the city, Tell how the country erreth, Tell, manhood shakes off pity, Tell, virtue least preferreth, And if they do reply, Spare not to give the lie. So, when thou hast, as I Commanded thee, done blabbing; Although to give the lie, Deserves no less than stabbing; Yet stab at thee who will, No stab the soul can kill. ETTY ROVER. BY L. E. L. Thou lovely and thou happy child, I should be glad to change our state, And yet it is a lingering joy A little monarch thou art there, Thy world is in thy own glad will, And in thy unused heart, which makes With no misgivings in thy past, Thy future with no fear; How little is the happiness, A word will fill the little heart That such can be denied. And yet how many weary hours Those joyous creatures know; How much of sorrow and restraint They to their elders owe! How much they suffer from our faults, We overrule, and overteach, We curb and we confine; And put the heart to school too soon, To learn our narrow line. No; only taught by love to love, Seems childhood's natural task; Affection, gentleness, and hope, Are all its brief years ask. Enjoy thy happiness, sweet child, With careless heart and eye; Enjoy those few bright hours which now, E'en now, are hurrying by. And let the gazer on thy face Grow glad with watching thee, And better, kinder-such, at least, Its influence on me. THE IRISH EMIGRANT'S LAMENT. BY MRS. BLACKWOOD. I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, One bright May morning long ago, The corn was springing fresh and green, The place is little changed, Mary; And the corn is green again : But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, And your breath warm on my cheek, And I still keep list'ning for the words You never more may speak. 'Tis but a step down yonder lane, And the little church stands near- And my step might break your rest; I'm very lonely now, Mary, For the poor make no new friends; Your's was the good, brave heart, Mary, That still kept hoping on, When the trust in God had left my soul, And my arms' young strength had gone. There was comfort ever on your lip, And the kind look on your brow; I bless you Mary, for that same, I thank you for the patient smile, I bless you for the pleasant word, I'm bidding you a long farewell, And often in those grand old woods Where we sat side by side, And the springing corn, and bright May morn, When first you were my bride! LOST-Yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered, for they are gone forever. FORGIVENESS is the odor exhaled by flowers when trampled upon. VOICES OF THE TRUE HEARTED. No. 9. A DIRGE. BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. POET! lonely is thy bed, Cold earth is thy cover; Mid the drowsy clover; Darkening the river; Thou hearest the clear water run, Through thy silence quiver. Thou wast full of love and truth, Thy great heart with hope and youth Tided to o'erflowing; Thou didst dwell in mysteries, Awfully wild memories and wrong, That were like foreknowing; And dearly thou didst rue it. "Thou sow'st no gold, and shalt not reap!" Muttered Earth, turning in her sleep; "Come home to the eternal deep!" Murmured a voice, and a wide sweep Of wings through thy soul's hush did creep, It seemed as thy strong heart would leap Men could not fathom thy deep fears, Of bitter self-denying; So once, when, high above the spheres, It came not back to face the jeers Poet! underneath the turf, Soft thou sleepest, free from morrow; Thou hast struggled through the surf Of wild thoughts, and want, and sorrow; Now, beneath the moaning pine, Full of rest thy body lieth, While, far up in pure sunshine, Underneath a sky divine, Her loosed wings thy spirit trieth; Oft she strove to spread them here, But they were too white and clear For our dingy atmosphere. Thy body findeth ample room By the silent river; Which it dreamed of ever; And of that more grievous crime,An ideal too sublime For the low-hung sky of Time. The calm spot where thy body lies Gladdens thy soul in Paradise, It is so still and holy; Thy body sleeps serenely there, And well for it thy soul may care, It was so beautiful and rare, Lily-white so wholly : From so pure and sweet a frame |