degree of contentment in his family; and I fear the gentle beings mentioned above are an unusual instance of peace and harmony. You may find in many an appearant resemblance, but good breeding and pride often smooth over the surface, while indifference, or jealousy, or hatred, lurk like monsters beneath. Real domestic bliss requires such a combination of favorable circumstances as to render its existence almost

impossible. That several persons should be amiable, intelli. gent, good-humoured, and of an affectionate disposition, is not wonderful, but that all the members of a household should be so, cannot very frequently be the case. A single individual often spoils the peace of a whole family. How frequently I have seen a charming circle gathered around the winter fire, the native liveliness of the pretty children breaking out innocently, and their conversation and actions, such as in youth are natural and graceful, and all this sunshiny scene in a moment overclouded by the entrance of a scolding mother or an austere and tyrannical father; or intruded upon by the dark countenance and bitter discontent of some of those who are never happy themselves unless they are making every one around them miserable. Such a being in my eye is a criminal. The world is so thronged with dangers and disturbances, and so full of anguish and melancholy, that when I behold any group escaping, for a time, from the general wretchedness, and surrendering their souls to merriment and contentment, I pause to contemplate it as something rare and beautiful; aud I look upon him who ruthlessly destroys that of which mortals have so little, as an enemy to his fellow creatures.

What should such a person think if, doomed to travel over a parched desert, some enemy should ruin the spring of cool water just as he was kneeling to drink. To many, life is this desert, and few are their fountains of happiness, and how cruel it is to sully those precious streams with unneces sary austerity or ill nature. When old age preaches to youth, let it reflect whether it does not itself sometimes fall into error. I have seen a lovely child suffer punishment simply because it did not act as if it were forty, and parents displaying the most pernicious examples to their offspring by cross glances, cutting sarcasms, and open reproaches. I once knew a mistaken father who on a certain day of the week

would not permit his children to utter a single word. It was a painful sight to behold their eyes, from which nature strove to shoot out the lustre of sprightliness and unshadowed innocence, casting down their pretty orbs with a forced seriousness more proper to broken health, withered hopes, and troubled age; and ever and anon, by a furtive look, contradicting the artificial gravity of their innocent sweet mouths, where smiles were as natural as fragrance to flowers.

lt re

minded me of some free wild bird forced from the forest, and compelled to sit all day in a narrow close cage. Yet even he is not demanded to hold his little wings motionless, cast down his bright eyes, and hush the warblings that gush up in his throat. Do not fathers know, if their own hearts do not persuade them, that it is their best policy to possess themselves of the affections of their children? However pure and full of love may be their young hearts, they cannot be insensible to the distinction between happiness and misery; and what a reflection for a dying father, that he leaves behind him beings who, when he is in the grave, will only for the first time begin to enjoy the free blessing of existence !

THE BRIDE.

BY MISS EMMA LOUISA SARGEANT.

Whilst at the sacred altar kneeling,
She knew that still he lov'd her not ;
Yet all but bliss and holy feeling,
Was by the maiden then forgot:
For her young heart was wholly given
To him to whom she pledg'd that vow;
And every fearful thought was driven,
Far from that happy gay heart now.

'Twas true he had not sought to wake

That ardent love within her breast;
Love, which would e'en for his dear sake,
Forego each joy which she possess'd :
It was in childhood's early years,
They had been destin'd for each other;
Yet had she now no anxious fears,
That he had ever lov'd another.

She knew each feeling of his heart,
And his esteem was all her own;
And oft her actions would impart, -

That which she strove to hide alone :
For oh! he ne'er had heard her tell,
That he was lov'd so fervently;
She thought that she had hidden well,
At least its deep intensity.

When kneeling on that bridal night,

To breathe the vows which bound for ever Her life to him, her soul's delight,

Bonds which no mortal arm could sever:
Oh! could he meet her sparkling eye,
Or gaze upon her features fair,
Deck'd with such smiles of brilliancy,
And read not love depicted there.

He could not-no-one transient glance,
Suffic'd to tell her happiness;
The knowledge could not but enhance
Her whom his life was doom'd to bless :
And fervently she prayed that he,
Who with her at the altar knelt,
Might love with that intensity,

Which her own constant bosom felt.

She was his own and there were those
Who envied him that lovely bride;
When from the sacred steps she rose,
And something like a flush of pride
Brighten'd his features as he led

Her beauteous youthful form along,
And sorrow seemed for ever fled,
The idol of the happy throng.

Years roll'd away-her prayers were heard,
Each day he lov'd her more and more;
Some proof of love-some tender word
Which she had dared not speak before:
His heart to her's more closely drew,
Her study was his happiness;
'Twas then he own'd he little knew

How much fond woman's love can bless.

From him her every pleasure sprung,
Her only wish his heart to gain;
Words which once trembled on her tongue,
She sought no longer to restrain:
When in affliction's gloomy day,

Sorrow around his brow was thrown;
She chased it with her smiles away,
Until his love was all her own.

GOOD BYE!

Good bye!-good bye!-what dreams and thoughts these simple words can bring,

A shadow, length'ning with our years, across the heart they fling:

In childhood they have little pow'r upon the heart or mind, And like a light bark on the wave no furrows leave behind.

In youth we breathe these simple words, unmindful of their
weight,
And if they cause a moment's pang, with feelings still elate,
To join our playmates in their sport, with haste again we flee,
And drown the pang and parting tone in reckless gaiety.

But 'tis in man's maturer hours such words as these appeal, When o'er his heart and inmost thoughts the bonds of friendship steal.

'Tis then on his susceptive soul with giant-force they press, And hopes and fears are blended in another's happiness.

And why should I the pow'rs disown that in my breast now reign,

While I am loosing friendship's bond, years may not link again;

The warmest wish—the fondest pray'r-e'er tender'd yet on high;

All that I feel and would express are blended in-good bye! Oxford.

HESPERUS.

L. 33. 2

R

THE DENTIST.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "LEGENDS OF THE WEST," ETC.

I am not aware whether the following story has been told before; nor is it any matter-if it has, my relation of it will have the effect of corroborating evidence, and if it has not, it will possess the merit of novelty. The circumstance which led to a developement of the whole affair, occurred in the shop of a respectable milliner in the village of R—. The worthy proprietor of this rural emporium of fashions, a maiden lady of fifty, stood behind the counter, as gay as a May morning, and as neat as if she had just stepped out of one of her own bandboxes. On the opposite side was a grave, middle-aged gentleman, who might have been buying a bonnet for his wife, or paying for finery for his daughters. His countenance was shrewd, though benevolent, and his appearance that of a professional man who was thriving in his business. He was about to leave the shop, when a young girl who stepped in attracted his attention, and without seeming to notice her, he lingered, leaning upon the counter, and apparently absorbed in reading a newspaper. She was delivering some beautiful specimens of needle-work. While the milliner examined the patterns, the gentleman stood in a situation to have a full view of the face of the fair stranger, and was struck with its extraordinary beauty. Not only were the features and expression pleasing, and the complexion fine, but the rich glow of the cheek, the softness and intelligence of the clear blue eye, and the youthful brilliancy of the whole countenance, pointed out this young female as the possessor of more than ordinary attractions. But he was most surprised at the evidence of extreme poverty exhibited in the transaction before him. She was disposing of work, for a mere pittance, which must have cost her immense labour, and which showed accomplishments, such as the "labouring poor" do not or dinarily possess. Her own dress, though perfectly neat, and managed with care, was worn and faded, and entirely destitute of ornament. Every indication, except such as her face and form afforded, announced her to belong to the bumblest rank of life, and to be then enduring the extreme of poverty.