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tion. I was like one who, in his troubled dream of midnight, treads on air, and finds it strangely sustaining him.

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But every night I went to my daughter's grave; I laid me down there in unutterable bitterness. While the stars looked coldly on me, I spoke to her fondly and earnestly, as one who could not be denied. I said, Angel! who art mine no longer, listen to me! Thou, who art raised above all tears, cause one tear to moisten my burning brow; give it to me as a token that thou hearest me, that thou has not forgotten me!" And the blasts of winter, through the leafless boughs, mocking, replied, "Give it to me, give it to me"but I wept not. Ten days and nights passed over me, and still I wept not!

My brain was heated to agony. The visual nerves were scorched and withered. My heart was parched and arid, as the Libyan desert. Then I knew that the throne of grief was in the heart; that though her sceptre may reach the remotest nerve, and touch the minutest cell where the brain slumbers, and perplex every ethereal ambassador from spirit to sense; yet the pavilion where her darkest dregs are wrung out, the laboratory where her consuming fires are compounded is the heart-the heart.

I have implied that my intellect faltered; yet every morning I went to the scene of my labours; I put my shoulder to the wheel, caring not though it crushed me. I looked at men fixedly and haughtily with my red eyeball; but I spoke no word to betray the flame feeding at my vitals; the heart-strings shrivelled and broke before it, yet the martyrdom was in silence.

Again night drew her sable curtain, and I sought my daughter's grave. Methought its turf covering was discomposed, and some half-rooted shrubs, that shuddered and drooped when placed in that drear assemblage of the dead, had been trampled and broken. A horrible suspicion took possession of

my mind. I rushed to the house of the sexton : "Has any one troubled my daughter's grave?" Alarmed at my vehemence, he remained speechless and irresolute.

"Tell me," I exclaimed, in a voice of terror," who has disturbed my daughter's grave." He evaded my adjuration, and murmured something about an injunction to secrecy. With the grasp of a maniac I bore him to an inner apartment, and bade him satisfy my question. Trembling at my violence, he confessed that the grave had been watched for ten nights.

"Who has watched my daughter's grave?" Reluctantly he gave me the names of those friends-names for ever graven upon my soul.

"And so, for those ten long wintry nights, so dreary and interminable, which I had cast away amid the tossings of profitless, delirious, despairing sorrow, they had been watching, that the repose of that unsullied clay might remain unbroken.

A new tide of emotion was awakened. I threw myself down, as powerless as the weaned infant. Torrents of tears flowed. The tenderness of man wrought what the severity of heaven had failed to produce. It was not the earthquake, nor the thunder, nor the tempest, that subdued me it was the still, small voice. I wept until the fountains of tears had failed. The relief of that hour of weeping can never be shadowed forth in language. The prison-house of passionate agony was unlocked. I said to God that he was merciful; and I loved him because my angel lived in his presence. Since then, it would seem that my heart has been made better; its aspirations are upward, whither she has ascended, and as I tread the devious path of my pilgrimage, both the sunbeam and the thorn point me as a suppliant to the Redeemer of man, that I may be at last fitted to dwell with her for ever.

Poetry.

LINES WRITTEN ON A PUN

CHEON OF SPIRITS. Within these wooden walls confined, The ruin lurks of human kind; More mischiefs here united dwell, And more diseases haunt this cell,

Than ever plagued the Egyptian flocks,
Or ever cursed Pandora's box.
Within these prison walls repose
The seeds of many a bloody nose;
The chattering tongue, the horrid oath;
The fist for fighting, nothing loath;

The passion quick, no words can tame,
That bursts like sulphur into flame,
The nose with diamonds glowing red,
The bloated eye, the broken head!
For ever fastened be this door!
Confined within, a thousand more
Destructive fiends of hateful shape,
Even now are plotting their escape:
In all their dirt of death reside
Revenge, that ne'er was satisfied;
The tree that bears the deadly fruit
Of murder, maiming, and dispute :
Assault, that innocence assails,
The images of gloomy jails,
The giddy thought, on mischief bent,
The midnight hour in folly spent ;
All these within this cask appear,
And Jack the hangman in the rear.
Thrice happy he, who early taught,
By nature, ne'er this poison sought:
Who friendly to his own repose,
Treads under foot this worst of foes:
He, with the purling stream content,
The beverage quaft that nature meant,
In reason's scale his actions weighed,
His spirits want no foreign aid;
Nor swelled too high, or sunk too low,
Placid his easy minutes flow;
Long life is his, in vigour passed,
Existence welcome to the last.
A spring that never yet grew stale-
Such virtue lies in ADAM'S ALE.
FRENEAU.

"MOTHER! MUST I DIE?"

BY R. RUGG. CHILD.

My mother; I have heard you say,
That you and I must die;
And, like the flower, pass away
Into eternity!

When baby in the grave was lain,
And I did nought but cry,
You said 'twas useless to complain,
And wiped my tearful eye.
And when upon her dying bed,

The infant gasped for breath, "You too, my dear, must die," you said. Dear Mother, what is death?

MOTHER.

Baby is gone, my lovely boy,
Baby is gone to heaven;
Her spirit to the realms of joy,

On angel wings has risen:
The God who call'd my babe away,

May call thee, boy, to-night! And thou must bid farewell, for aye, To scenes of mortal light.

Thy spirit may be called above,

Thy heart may cease its breath, Thy glowing limbs forbear to move,My darling, this is death!

CHILD.

Dear mother! must I go away,
And never come again?
No more return to run and play
On hill or grassy plain?
And must I leave my brother dear,
My little sister too?

And all I so much value here,

My father dear,—and you?
No more behold thy tender smile,
Nor see thy laughing eye,

Which brightens, (when I play,) erewhile?

Oh! mother, must I die!

MOTHER.

Yes! thou must die, my darling boy,
And leave us all behind;
But where thou go'st there's greater joy
Than here thou e'er canst find;
Oh! lift thy young heart up to God,
And turn thy thoughts above;
Behold the path thy Saviour trod,
The way of holy love;

And then my boy will wish to die,
And joy to part with breath;
Turn! turn to heaven thy youthful eye,
And triumph over death!

HEAVEN.

We speak of the realms of the blest,
Of that country so bright and so fair,
And oft are its glories confest,

But what must it be to be there!

We speak of its pathways of gold,

Of its walls deck'd with jewels so rare, Of its wonders and pleasures untold, But what must it be to be there!

We speak of its freedom from sin,

From sorrow, temptation, and care, From trials without and within,

But what must it be to be there!

We speak of its service of love,

Of the robes which the glorified wear, Of the Church of the first-born above, But what must it be to be there!

Do thou, Lord, midst pleasure or woe, Still for heaven our spirits prepare, And shortly we also shall know

And feel what it is to be there!

ANON.

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Miscellanies.

THE SEVEN LAST PLAGUES. — A certain clergyman, not long ago, wrote a book to prove that the Bible, and Sunday School, and tract, and temperance cause, with their kindred associations, were the seven last plagues," spoken of by John in the Revelation, which should visit and afflict the earth. By accident a stray copy of his new and wonderfully profound exposition of prophecy, fell into the hands of a tavern-keeper who had persevered most manfully in resisting all efforts to win him over to the side of temperance. Having read it, he was more confirmed than ever, that his was a lawful calling-that he might sell spirits with impunity, and that the opposers of his freedom in this respect were very properly classed among the authors of the "seven last plagues." But then his customers began to decline; and in order to confirm the wavering, and prevent the total desertion of his bar, he sent off for a number of copies of "the seven last plagues." The bookseller forthwith executed his order; and sent withal a show bill to attract public notice. Upon receiving the books the tavern-keeper looked around the establishment to select the most suitable place for pasting up the bill, that all might see with advantage the new commodity which he had for sale. At last he pitched upon the very front of the bar; and there every one who entered the room could not fail to see in large capitals,

THE SEVEN LAST PLAGUES

FOR SALE HERE.

A motto more appropriate could not be selected for the bar of a tavern. And he had the mortification to find that his anxiety to procure the sale of this book, was the means of preventing many from having any further intercourse with those liquid plagues with which they had heretofore been but too familiar. And every one saw, sooner than himself, that he had unintentionally given the true style and title of his occupation.

AN INGENIOUS MINISTER.-A public fast being appointed in the seventeenth century for the persecuted Protestants in the valley of Piedmont, Dr.

Manton engaged Mr. Baxter and Dr. Wilkins, (afterwards Bishop of Chester,) to assist him. Mr. Baxter prayed and preached from Amos vi. 6, "But they are not grieved for the affliction of Joseph." Dr. Manton followed him; and having undesignedly chosen the same text, he was compelled to refer often to the former discourse, by saying, every now and then, "As it has been observed by my reverend brother." All this while Dr. Wilkins sat very uneasy, supposing that between them he should have nothing left to say; for it so hap pened that he had likewise pitched upon the same text. He therefore entreated to be excused his part of the service; but Dr. Manton would accept no excuse: so he went up into the pulpit, and by an ingenious plan succeeded admirably in gaining the attention of the people. Before he named his text, he prepared his audience, by expressing his fears of their narrow-mindedness and little concern for the interest of God in the world, "For," said he, "without any knowledge or design of our own, we have all three been directed to the same text;" which, spoken with the majesty and authority peculiar to himself, so awakened the attention and disposed the minds of the people, that he was heard with more regard, and was thought to do more good than either of his brethren, though he had scarcely a thought different from them.

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by these seven rules, and then judge of best adapted for the purpose, because their fitness.

THE BEST REVENGE.-Depend upon it, no revenge cuts more keenly than kindness, and this is seldom forgotten by an enemy. Acts of kindness and soft words have an irresistible power. "When I was a small boy," says Southey," there was a black boy in the neighbourhood, by the name of Jim Dick. Myself and a number of my play-fellows were one evening collected together at our sports, and began tormenting the poor black, by calling him negro, blackamoor, and other degrading epithets: the poor fellow appeared excessively grieved at our conduct, and soon left us. We soon after made an appointment to go a skating in the neighbourhood, and on the day of the appointment I had the misfortune to break my skates, and I could not go without borrowing Jim's skates. I went to him and asked him for them. 'O yes, John, you may have them and welcome,' was his answer. When I went to return them I found Jim sitting by the fire in the kitchen, reading the Bible. I told him I had returned his skates, and was under great obligations to him for his kindness. He looked at me as he took his skates, and with tears in his eyes, said to me, 'John, don't never call me blackamoor again," and immediately left the room. The words pierced my heart, and I burst into tears, and from that time resolved not to abuse a poor black in future."

What a noble example is here! Who will not imitate the poor black, and oblige those who treat them with unkindness?

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Vessels

HINTS TO HOUSEWIVES. intended to contain a liquid at a higher temperature than the surrounding medium, and to keep that liquid as long as possible at the highest temperature, should be constructed of materials which are the worst radiators of heat. Thus, tea-urns and tea-pots are best adapted for their purpose when constructed of polished metal, and worst when constructed of black porcelain. A black porcelain tea-pot is the worst conceiveable material for that vessel, for both its material and colour are good radiators of heat, and the liquid contained in it cools with the greatest possible rapidity. On the other hand, a bright metal tea-pot is

it is the worst radiator of heat, and, therefore, cools as slowly as possible. A polished silver or brass tea-urn is better adapted to retain the heat of the water than one of a dull brown colour, such as is most commonly used. A tin kettle retains the heat of water boiled in it more effectually, if it be kept clean and polished, than if it be allowed to collect the smoke and soot, to which it is exposed from the action of the fire. When coated with this, its surface becomes rough and black, and is a powerful radiator of heat. A set of polished fire-irons may remain for a long time in front of a hot fire without receiving from it any increase of temperature beyond that of the chamber, because the heat radiated by the fire is all reflected by the polished surface of the irons, and none of it is absorbed; but, if a set of rough, unpolished irons were similarly placed, they would become speedily hot, so that they could not be used without inconvenience. The polish of fire-irons is, therefore, not merely a matter of ornament, but of use and convenience. The rough, unpolished poker, sometimes used in a kitchen, becomes speedily so hot that it cannot be held without pain. A close stove, intended to warm an apartment, should not have a polished surface, for in that case it is one of the worst radiators of heat, and nothing could be contrived more unfit for the purpose to which it is applied. On the other hand, a rough, unpolished surface of cast iron, is favourable to radiation, and a fire in such a stove will always produce a most powerful effect.-Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopædia.

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A NOBLE BOY.-A child of twelve years had importuned his mother many times to permit him to attend a temperance meeting; but she, being opposed to the society, would not let him go. At last he urged her so closely that she permitted him to go, but charged him not to join; "for if you do," said the prudent mother, you shall have nothing but bread and water for three days." The boy went, and saw that these societies were the thing to prevent boys from becoming drunkards when they grew to be men. When the list came round, he signed. "And now," said the noble boy, "I am willing to live on bread and water three days, or longer, if necessary.”

SPEAKING FOR POSTERITY.-During the delivery of one of those tedious and interminable speeches which are sometimes inflicted upon the House of Representatives in America, as well as on our own House of Commons, a member who had occupied the floor for several hours, was called to order, on the ground that his remarks were not pertinent to the question before the house. "I know it," said he, "I am not speaking for the benefit of the house, but for posterity."

"Speak a little longer," said John Randolph, in an under-tone," and you will have your audience before you."

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GENIUS.-In the Hunterian oration, recently delivered by Mr. Lawrence, occur the following just observations: "It has been a trite, but, in my opinion, a most unfounded complaint, that genius is neglected, and that men of talent and information are precluded from opportunities of exertion and display, by favouritism, monopoly, or other obstacles. Within my own experience, the difficulty has always been to find talent for the plot, not opportunity for the talent. This, indeed, is natural : genius being rare, while fit occasions for its exercise are of constant occurrence. Genius will never be neglected by the public, unless it neglects itself; it must not disdain the humble alliance of industry. How can it expect encouragement, unless its existence can be manifested by performances? The chemist can apply tests for latent heat, but what criterion is there for latent ability? The surest evidence of superior talent is,

that it forces itself into notice in spite of adverse circumstances; that it makes a road where it finds none."

He

W. WILBERFORCE, ESQ.-From a speech delivered by Joseph John Gurney, Esq., at the last meeting of the British and Foreign Bible Society, we learn that Mr. Wilberforce was in the 24th year of his age when he was elected member of Parliament for Hull. attended the county election afterwards, and such was the charm of his eloquence on that occasion, in the large castle area at York, that the people all cried out, "We will have that little man for our member." He was then one of the gayest of the gay; not a vicious man, but peculiar for his wit, and his distinction in the fashionable circles. He was always remarkable for his wit, but it became innocuous under Christian principles. He was said to be "the joy and crown of Doncaster races." visit to a relation at Nice, and was acHe went to pay a companied by the Rev. Isaac Miller, afterwards Dean of Canterbury. Mention Iwas made of a certain individual who

moved in the same rank, an ecclesiastical gentleman, a man devoted to his duty. Mr. W. said, regarding him, "that he thought he carried things too far;" to which Mr. Milner said, "he was inclined to think he (Mr. W.) would form a different estimate on the subject, were he carefully to peruse the whole of the New Testament. Mr. Wilberforce re

plied, "that he would take him at his word, and read it through with pleasure."

They were both Greek scholars, and in their journey they perused the New Testament together. That single perusal was so blessed to Mr. Wilberforce, that he was revolutionized; he became a new man; the witty songster, the joy and crown of Doncaster races, became the Christian senator, and the abolisher of the slave trade.

Domestic and Foreign Entelligence.
LONDON AND MIDDLESEX.

THE FIRST OF AUGUST.-Never did we see a more lively interest excited than that which was manifested on the day our last number met the eyes of its readers. Both in town and country the spirit of grateful devotion appears to have manifested itself, and to have bestowed its highest hallowed pleasures.

The

sanctuaries of God were thrown open, and fervent thanksgivings and prayers were offered at the Divine throne; addresses breathing the most fervid eloquence were almost every where delivered, which were listened to by throngs of intensely interested hearers, who, at the close of the respective services, li

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