Graves, by the lonely forest, by the shore

Of rivers and of ocean, by the ways

Of the thronged city, have been hollowed out,
And filled and closed. This day has parted friends,
That ne'er before were parted; it hath knit
New friendships; it hath seen the maiden plight
Her faith and trust, her peace to him who long
Hath wooed; and it hath heard from lips which late
Were eloquent of love, the first harsh word,
That told the wedded one her peace was flown.

Farewell to the sweet sunshine! One glad day

Is added now to childhood's merry days,
And one calm day to those of quiet age.

Still the fleet hours run on, and as I lean
Amid the thickening darkness, lamps are lit

By those who watch the dead, and those who twins
Flowers for the bride. The mother from the eyes
Of her sick infant shades the painful light,
And sadly listens to his quick-drawn breath.
O, thou great movement of the universe,
Or change, or flight of time-for ye are one—
That bearest silently this visible scene
Into night's shadow, and the streaming rays
Of starlight, whither art thou bearing me?
I feel the mighty current sweep me on,
Yet know not whither. Man foretells afar
The courses of the stars, the very hour,

He knows when they shall darken or grow bright,
Yet does the eclipse of sorrow or of death

Come unforewarned! Who next of those I love
Shall pass from life, or sadder yet, shall fall
From virtue? Strife with foes, or bitter strife
With friends, or shame, and general scorn of men,
Which, who can bear? Or the fierce rack of pain,
Lie they within my path? Or shall the years
Push me with soft and inoffensive pace,
Into the stilly twilight of my age?

Or do the portals of another life,

Even now, while I am glorying in my strength,
Impend around me? O! beyond that bourne,
In the vast cycle of being, which begins

At the broad threshold, with what fairy forms
Shall the great law of change and progress clothe
Its workings? Gently-so have good men taught—
Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide
Into the new, the eternal flow of things,
Like a bright river of the fields of heaven,
Shall journey onward in perpetual peace.

A DOMESTIC SKETCH.

BY MRS. SIGOURNEY.

Ir is the duty of mothers to sustain the reverses of fortune. Frequent and sudden as they have been to our own country, it is important that young females should possess some employment by which they might obtain a livelihood, in case they should be reduced to the necessity of supporting themselves. When families are unexpectedly reduced from affluence to poverty, how pitifully contemptible it is to see the mother desponding or helpless, and permitting her daughters to embarrass those whom it is their duty to assist and cheer!

"I have lost my whole fortune," said a merchant, as he returned one evening to his home; "we can no longer keep our carriage. We must leave this large house. The children can no longer go to expensive schools. Yesterday I was a rich man; to-day there is nothing I can call my own."

"Dear husband," said the wife, "we are still rich in each other and our children. Money may pass away, but God has given us a better treasure in those active hands and loving hearts."

"Dear father,” said the children, " do not look so sober. We will help you to get a living."

"What can you do, poor things?" said he.

"You shall see, you shall see," answered several cheerful voices. "It is a pity if we have been to school for nothing. How can the father of eight children be poor? We shall work, and make you rich again."

"I shall help," said the youngest girl, hardly four years old. "I will not have any new things bought, and I shall sell my great doll."

The heart of the husband and father, which had sunk within his bosom like a stone, was lifted up. The sweet enthusiasm of the scene cheered him, and his nightly prayer was like a song of praise.

They left this stately house. The servants were dismissed. Pictures and plate, rich carpet and furniture were sold, and she who had been so long the mistress of the mansion, shed no tear. แ Pay every debt," said she, "let no one suffer through us, and we may yet be happy."

He rented a neat cottage and a small piece of ground a few miles from the city. With the aid of his sons he cultivated vegetables for the market. He viewed with delight and astonishment the economy of his wife, nurtured as she had been in wealth, and the efficiency which his daughters soon acquired under her training.

The eldest one assisted her in the work of the household, and also instructed the younger children. Besides, they executed various works, which they had learned as accomplishments, but which they found could be disposed of to advantage. They

embroidered with taste some of the ornamental parts of female apparel, which were readily sold to a merchant in the city.

They cultivated flowers, and sent bouquets to market in the cart that conveyed the vegetables; they platted straw, they painted maps, they executed plain needlework. Every one was at her post, busy and cheerful.

beehive.

The cottage was like a

"I never enjoyed such health before," said the father. "And I never was so happy before," said the mother.

"We never knew how many things we could do, when we lived in the great house," said the children, "and we love each other a great deal better here. You call us your little bees."

"Yes," replied the father, "and you make just such honey as the heart likes to feed on."

Economy, as well as industry, was strictly observed; nothing was wasted. Nothing unnecessary was purchased. The eldest daughter became assistant teacher in a distinguished female seminary, and the second took her place as instructress to the family.

The little dwelling, which had always been kept neat, they were soon able to beautify. Its construction was improved, and the vines and flowering trees were replanted around it. The merchant was happier under his woodbine-covered porch, in a summer's evening, than he had been in his showy dressing-room.

"We are now thriving and prosperous," said he; "shall we return to the city?"

"Oh no, no," was the unanimous reply.