And think I had no master save his own.-
You know the jutting cliff, round which a track
Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow
To such another one, with scanty room
For two abreast to pass? O'ertaken there
By the mountain blast, I've laid me flat along,
And while gust followed gust more furiously,
As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink,
And I have thought of other lands, whose storms
Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just

Have wished me there;-the thought that mine was free
Has checked that wish, and I have raised my head
And cried in thraldom to that furious wind,
BLOW ON! THIS IS THE LAND OF LIBERTY!

SONNET.

The honey-bee that wanders all day long
The field, the woodland, and the garden o'er,
To gather in his fragrant winter store,
Humming in calm content his quiet song,
Sucks not alone the rose's glowing breast,
The lily's dainty cup, the violet's lips,

But from all rank and noisome weeds he sips
The single drop of sweetness ever pressed
Within the poison chalice. Thus, if we

Seek only to draw forth the hidden sweet
In all the varied human flowers we meet,
In the wide garden of humanity,

And, like the bee, if home the spoil we bear,
Hived in our hearts it turns to nectar there.

SEEING AND NOT SEEING.-Trans. by C. T. BROOKS.
Two travelers through the gateway went
To the glorious Alpine world's ascent;
The one, he followed fashion's behest,
The other felt the glow in his breast.

And when the two came home again,
Their kin all clustered round the men:
"Twas a buzz of questions on every side,
"And what have you seen? do tell!" they cried.

The one with yawning made reply:

"What have we seen?-Not much have I!

Trees, meadows, mountains, groves, and streams,
Blue sky and clouds, and sunny gleams."

The other, smiling, said the same;

But with face transfigured and eye of flame:

"Trees, meadows, mountains, groves, and streams! Blue sky and clouds, and sunny gleams!"

NUMBER ONE.

TIME NOT TO BE RECALLED.

Mark that swift arrow, how it cuts the air,-
How it out-runs the following eye!
Use all persuasions now, and try

If thou canst call it back, or stay it there.
That way it went, but thou shalt find
No track is left behind.

Fool! 'tis thy life, and the fond archer thou.
Of all the time thou 'st shot away
I'll bid thee fetch but yesterday,
And it shall be too hard a task to do.
Besides repentance, what canst find
That it hath left behind?

REASONS FOR HUMILITY.-BEATTIE.

One part, one little part, we dimly scan,
Through the dark medium of life's feverish dream
Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan,
If but that little part incongruous seem;
Nor is that part, perhaps, what mortals deem.
Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise:
Oh! then renounce that impious self-esteem
That aims to trace the secrets of the skies;
For thou art but of dust,-be humble and be wise

DIFFERENT TASTES.

A Boston publisher has issued an illustrated edition of the beautiful poen ie the beginning of this book, entitled, "Oh, why should the spirit of nicetal be proud?" and also a companion volume, of the hymn, "Nearer, my God, to Thee." A lady, on a Christmas day, sent to her friend a copy of the first-named book, and, on New Year's day, received from her friend a copy of the last-named, with the following explanatory lines:

"Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?"

It shouldn't if always kept under a cloud

Like that which hangs over and in and around
Your volume of verse of lugubrious sound,

That I've carefully placed in a cold, clammy nook,
Just fitted to hold such a dolorous book;
And out of a sweet, sunny corner I've brought
A volume for you, full of crystalline thought.
Cast away the dull dogmas of fear and distress,
And behold the bright world in its holiday dress;
Enjoy the grand life by Omnipotence given,—

And, with faith, hope, and charity, drawn nearer heaven,—
As your days of earth's sojourn in cheerfulness flee,
Live "nearer, oh, nearer, my God, unto Thee."

THE DYING GLADIATOR.-LORD BYRON.

I see before me the Gladiator lie:

He leans upon his hand,-his manly brow
Consents to death, but conquers agony,

And his drooped head sinks gradually low,-
And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one,

Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now

The arena swims around him-he is gone,

Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who

won.

He heard it, but he heeded not: his eyes
Were with his heart, and that was far away;
He recked not of the life he lost nor prize,
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay,
There were his young barbarians all at play,
There was his Dacian mother,-he, their sire,
Butchered to make a Roman holiday,--

All this rushed with his blood.-Shall he expire,
And unavenged?—Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire.

A LECTURE ON PATENT MEDICINES.-DR. PUFF STUFF Ladies and Gentlemen :-My name is Puff Stuff, the physician to that great and mighty Han Kann, Emperor of all the Chinas; I was converted to Christianity during the embassy of the late Lord Macartney, and left that there country, and came to this here, which may be reckoned the greatest blessing that ever happened to Europe, for I've brought with me the following unparalleled, inestimable, and never-to-be matched medicines: the first is called the great Parry Mandyron Rapskianum, from Whandy Whang Whang-one drop of which, poured into any of your gums, if you should have the misfortune to lose your teeth, will cause a new set to sprout out, like mushrooms from a hot-bed; and if any lady should happen to be troubled with that unpleasant and redundant exuberance, called a beard, it will remove it in three applications, and with greater ease than Pack wood's razor strops.

I'm also very celebrated in the cure of eyes; the late Emperor of China had the misfortune to lose his eyes by a cataract. I very dexterously took out the eyes of his Majesty, and after anointing the sockets with a particular glutinous application. I placed in two eyes from the head of a living lion, which not only restored his Majesty's vision, but made him

dreadful to all his enemies and beholders. I beg leave to say, that I have hyes from different hannimals, and to suit all your different faces and professions. This here bottle which I holds in my 'and, is called the great-elliptical-asiatical-panticurial-nervous cordial, which cures all the diseases incident to humanity. I don't like to talk of myself, ladies and gentlemen, because the man that talks of himself is a Hegotist; but this I will venture to say, that I am not only the greatest physician and philosopher of the age, but the greatest genius that ever illuminated mankind—but you know I don't like to talk of myself: you should only read one or two of my lists of cures, out of the many thousands I have by me; if you knew the benefits so many people have received from my grand-elliptical-asiatical - panticurial-nervous cordial, that cures all diseases incident to humanity, none of you would be such fools as to be sick at all. I'll just read one or two. (Reads several letters.) "Sir, I was jammed to a jelly in a linseed-oil mill; cured with one bottle." "Sir, I was cut in half in a saw-pit; cured with one bottle." "Sir, I was boiled to death in a soap-manufactory; cured with half a bottle." Now comes the most wonderful of all.

66

"Sir, venturing too near a powder-mill at Faversham, I was, by a sudden explosion, blown into a million of atoms; by this unpleasant accident, I was rendered unfit for my business, (a banker's clerk); but, hearing of your grand-ellipticalasiatical-panticurial-nervous cordial, I was persuaded to make essay thereof; the first bottle united my strayed particles; the second animated my shattered frame; the third effected a radical cure; the fourth sent me home to Lombardy street, to count guineas, make out bills for acceptance, and recount the wonderful effects of your grand-elliptical-asiatical panticurial-nervous cordial, that cures all diseases incident to humanity."

KNEEL AT NO HUMAN SHRINE.-A. F. KENT.

"Must then that peerless form,

Which love and admiration cannot view,
Without a beating of the heart; those veins
That steal like streams along a field of snow,
That lovely outline that is fair

As breathing marble, perish?”

Kneel not, oh! friend of mine, before a shrine,
That bears the impress of humanity;

SHELLEY.

Have thou no idol; lest those hopes of thine,

Prove but false lights upon a treacherous sea
Know'st thou that clouds freighted with storm and rain,
Will overspread with darkest gloom again,
Yon azure sky?

Know'st thou that rose that blooms beside thy door,
Will waste upon the gale its fragrant store,
And fade and die?

Know also that the loved and tried for years,
The cynosure of all thy hopes and fears,
May pass thee by.

Maiden! upon whose fair unclouded brow,
Half hid by many a curl of clustering hair,
I mark the buds of promise bursting now,

Unmingled with a thought of future care,-
Thou, for whose sake the bridal wreath is made,
For whom the rose, in spotless white arrayed,
Expands its leaf,-

Oh! let me teach thee, as a sister may,
A lesson thou should'st bear in mind alway,
That life is brief;

That bridal flowers have decked the silent bier,
And smiles of joy been melted with the tear
Of burning grief.

Mother! who gazeth with a mother's joy,
And all a mother's changeless love and pride,
Upon the noble forehead of thy boy,

Who stands in childish beauty by thy side,
And gazing through the mists of coming time,
Beholds him standing in the verdant prime
Of manhood's day;

I warn thee! build no castles in the air,
That form, so full of life-so matchless fair,
Is only clay!

That bud just bursting to a perfect flower,
May, like the treasures of thy garden bower
Soon pass away.

Father! whose days though in "the yellow leaf,"
Have golden tints from life's rich sunset thrown,
Whose heart, a stranger to the pangs of grief,
Still suns itself within the loves of home,
Who with thy dear companion by thy side,
Hast felt thy barque adown life's current glide
With peaceful breeze,

Burn thou no incense here! hast thou not seen
The forest change its summer robe of green,
For leafless trees?

elieve me, all who breathe the vital breath