Within a window'd niche of that high hall Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear That sound the first amidst the festival, And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear; And when they smiled because he deem'd it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise! And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips—" The foe! They come! they come!"

THE CATHEDRAL.

BUT thou, of temples old, or altars new,
Standest alone---with nothing like to thee—
Worthiest of God, the holy and the true.
Since Zion's desolation, when that He
Forsook His former city, what could be,
Of earthly structures, in His honour piled,
Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty

Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled In this eternal ark of worship undefiled.

Enter: its grandeur overwhelms thee not;
And why? it is not lessen'd; but thy mind,
Expanded by the genius of the spot,

The Hon. Mrs Norton.

Born 1808.

CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH SHERIDAN was born in 1808. She is granddaughter of Richard Brinsley Sheridan. From her earliest years she had a taste for versification, and while in her teens appeared before the public as an author. In 1827 she married the Hon. George C. Norton, now a police magistrate of London. The marriage has been an unhappy one, and in 1836 a separation took place, by mutual consent. Mrs Norton is the author of numerous poetical works displaying great beauty and force of expression.

THE WIDOWED MOTHER.

OFT since that hour, in sadness I retrace
My childhood's vision of thy calm, sweet face;
Oft see thy form, its mournful beauty shrouded
In thy black weeds, and coif of widow's woe;
Thy dark, expressive eyes, all dim and clouded
By that deep wretchedness the lonely know;
Stifling thy grief, to hear some weary task,

Conn'd by unwilling lips with listless air:
Hoarding thy means lest future need might ask
More than the widow's pittance then could spare.
Hidden, forgotten by the great and gay,
Enduring sorrow not by fits and starts,
But the long self-denial day by day,

Alone amidst thy brood of careless hearts!
Striving to guide, to teach, or to restrain,

The young rebellious spirits crowding round,
Who saw not, knew not, felt not for the pain,
And could not comfort-yet had power to wound.

Ah! how my selfish heart, which since has grown
Familiar with deep trials of its own,

With riper judgment, looking to the past,
Regrets the careless days that flew so fast,
Stamps with remorse each wasted hour of time,
And darkens every folly into crime.

Reb. Horatius Bonar, D.D.

Born 1808.

A DISTINGUISHED clergyman of the Free Church of Scotland in Kelso, he was born at Edinburgh, 19th December 1808. His spiritual songs and his prose works are full of the richest fruits of Christian experience.

IS THIS ALL?

(From "Hymns of Faith and Peace.")

Sometimes I catch sweet glimpses of His face,
But that is all.

Sometimes He looks on me, and seems to smile,
But that is all.

Sometimes He speaks a passing word of peace,

But that is all.

Sometimes I think I hear His loving voice
Upon me call.

And is this all He meant when thus He spoke,
"Come unto me?"

Is there no deeper, more enduring rest,
In Him for thee?

Is there no steadier light for thee in Him?
O come and see!

O come and see! O look, and look again;
All shall be right;

O taste His love, and see that it is good,
Thou child of night.

O trust thou, trust thou in His grace and power,
Then all is bright.

Nay, do not wrong Him by thy heavy thoughts,
But love His love.

Do thou full justice to His tenderness,

His mercy prove;

Take Him for what He is; Oh take Him all,
And look above!

Then shall thy tossing soul find anchorage,
And steadfast peace;

Thy love shall rest on His; thy weary doubts
For ever cease.

Thy heart shall find in Him, and in His grace,
Its rest and bliss!

Christ and His love shall be thy blessed all
For evermore !

Christ and His light shall shine on all thy ways
For evermore!

Christ and His peace shall keep thy troubled soul
For evermore!

Mrs Browning.

Born 1809.

Died 1861.

ELIZABETH BARRETT, one of the greatest of the female poets of Britain, was born in London, of a family in affluent circumstances. At a very early age she wrote verses, and became a frequent contributor to the periodicals. In 1838 she published a collection of her fugitive pieces, which won for her an extraordinary reputation. Miss Barrett was in feeble health, and retired to Torquay to recruit; but she obtained no benefit from her stay, and returned to London a confirmed invalid. Confined to her chamber, she there devoted herself to that poetry "of which she seemed born to be the priestess." In 1844 she published a new edition of her poems, greatly enlarged; and about 1849, in partly restored health, she married Robert Browning the poet. They repaired to Italy, and the change was greatly beneficial to Mrs Browning. They resided there till her death, on 29th June 1861.

VICTORIA'S TEARS.

("When the Princess Victoria was first informed that she was Queen of Great Britain, she was so affected by the responsibilities of her new position, that she burst into tears.")

"O MAIDEN, heir of kings,
A king has left his place;

The Majesty of death has swept
All other from his face.

And thou, upon thy mother's breast,

No longer lean adown-

But take the glory for the rest,

And rule the land that loves thee best."

The maiden wept ;

She wept to wear a crown!

They decked her courtly halls-
They reined her hundred steeds-

They shouted at her palace gate,
"A noble Queen succeeds!"