the swellings of Jordan are not less regular in their rise than when the Hebrews first approached its banks; and he who goes down from Jerusalem to Jericho still incurs the greatest hazard of falling among thieves. There is in fact, in the scenery and manners of Palestine, a perpetuity that accords well with the everlasting imports of its historical records, and which enables us to identify with the utmost readiness the local imagery of every great transaction.

MAGNANIMITY.

Cæsar has had the testimony of ages to his bravery, and yet he refused a challenge from Anthony. He very calmly answered the bearer of the message-" If Anthony is weary of his life, tell him there are other ways to death, besides the point of my sword." How well would it be, if there were more instances of the like independence of mind.

DEATH.

It is doubtless hard to die; but it is agreeable to hope we shall not live here for ever, and that a better life will put an end to the troubles of this.-If we were offered immortality on earth, who is there would accept so melancholy a gift? What resource, what hope, what consolation would then be left us against the rigour of fortune, and the injustice of man?

THOUGHTS.

How one powerful passion, indulged without restraint, may lay waste the finest qualities of the soul, and changing from the most generous, to the most selfish of human affections, cease to deserve any other tribute, than christian compassion for its afflictive excess.

GUILT.

Guilt is generally afraid of light; it considers darkness as a natural shelter, and makes night the confidant of those actions, which cannot be trusted to the tell-tale day

The two most engaging powers of an author are, to make new things familiar, and familiar things new.

POETRY.

THE DWELLING OF MY CHOICE.

BY S. F. SMITH.

Where gorgeous clouds usher the morning's first ray,
And brightness and beauty repose all the day;

Their gladness the birds in sweet warbled notes tell,
And skip in the greenness that smiles where they dwell;
Where gales in the evening, like Arabies breathe,
And peace spreads its mantle around and beneath;
Where all things the traces of loveliness wear,
My dwelling for life,-let it ever be there.

Where flows the still river away to the sea;
Where bands of swift insects hum, happy and free,
Or far, where the ocean, with deafening roar,
Swells under and round me, behind and before,
Where, dashing and foaming, it never has peace,
And tossing of billows and waves never cease-
Where grandeur and might all their wonders prepare-
Let the scene be sublime-then, my dwelling be there.

Where melody pours its harmonious swell,
And spreads o'er the soul its mysterious spell;
The chanting of thousands at vespers or morn-
The plaint of the mourner-the hunter's shrill horn-
The voice of the flute-or the village church bell-
O! be it but music-and there I will dwell.

Where storms never rustle and winds never blow-
Beyond where the stars in their brilliancy glow-
Where millions of suns in their majesty burn,

And blaze on the eyes from each point where they turn;
Where seraphs and angels and sainted ones be,-
The loved ones on earth I shall never more see-
Where bliss flows in richness that man cannot tell-
And God shines in glory-O there let me dwell!

LINES

Written on seeing a young female friend, for the first time, approach the Communion Table.

Go forth, thou lovely one, and take

Thy seat with those who now are met

The bread of holy love to break,

And mingle joy with fond regret;

And they are met the cup to drink,

That Jesus blessed for such as thee,

And of his last request to think,
"Do this in memory of me."

Go forth, and in thy joyous days
Let all thy thoughts to God be given;
Go, join the song of holy praise,

That echoes now from earth to heav'n;
Go, in thy youth yield up thy soul

To Him, who for thy sins hath bled,
And let Religion's soft control

Around thy heart its blessings shed.

Go forth, and wipe the tears away
That now are trembling in thine eye,
Thou should'st not weep on such a day,
But thou should'st smile like yonder sky;
For such a day as this should make

All earth with songs of gladness ring,
Then why should'st thou, lov'd one awake
Within thy heart such sorrowing!

Go forth and take thy seat-for thou
High heaven hath chosen for its own;

Go then and offer up thy vow,

To worship God, and God alone;
Go forth, resolving every hour
In holiness and love to live,
Looking above for strength and power,
The strength alone that God can give.

Thou art gone-the uncreated light

Of heaven is shining round thy brow;
And now the crown of glory bright
Is thine, for thou hast sealed thy vow;
And angels now around the throne
Of God their glad hosannas sing,
The holy vow to heaven hath flown
On the recording angel's wing.

THE REST OF THE RANSOMED.

O is there a land, where the loved ones ne'er sever,
Far off, in some region, where joys live for ever?
Where pleasure and friendship and peace never ceasing,
And knowledge and wisdom and worth are increasing?

O is there a land, where the storms never lower?
Where sorrows and sickness and death have no power?
Where anguish and darkness and doubt, are excluded,
Corrupters and spoilers, the impure and deluded?

O is there a land, where the pure gushing fountains

Pour forth their clear streams from the hills and the mountains? Winding through the green groves and the fair sunny bowers, Delightfully sweet, with the perfume of flowers?

O is there a land of such exquisite splendor

The moon and the sun-beams no brightness can render? Where shining ones bow 'inid the glory that's pouring From God and the Lamb they're with rapture adoring?

There is such a land, 'tis the Pearl of creation, Far off in bright regions it holds its high station, 'Tis the hope of the Pilgrim when fainting he dies, 'Tis the rest of the Ransomed-his home in the skies.

THE LAND OF OUR BIRTH.

There is not a spot in this wide peopled earth
So dear to the heart as the land of our birth;
'Tis the home of our childhood! the beautiful spot
Which mem'ry retains when all else is forgot.
May the blessings of God

Ever hallow the sod,

And its valleys and hills by our children be trod.

Can the language of strangers in accents unknown,
Send a thrill to our bosom like that of our own?
The face may be fair, and the smile may be bland,
But it breathes not the tones of our dear native land!
There's no spot on earth

Like the land of our birth,

Where heroes keep guard o'er the altar and hearth!

How sweet is the language which taught us to blend
The dear name of parent, of husband and friend;
Which taught us to lisp on our mother's soft breast,
The ballads she sung as she rock'd us to rest.
May the blessings of God

Ever hallow the sod,

And its valleys and hills by our children be trod !

TO A FOUNTAIN.

Sweet Fountain, in thy cool and glassy bed
The forms of things around reflected lie
With all the brightness of reality,

And all the softness which thy wave can shed-
As clear as if within thy depths were laid

Some brighter world beneath that pictured sky;
But with a thought the vision passes by
Before the rising breeze, and all is fled.
So on the stream of life, all bright and gay,
A thousand pleasures glitter to the view,
Which hope enlightens with her fairest ray,
And Fancy colors with her richest hue;
But with the breath of Truth they pass away
Like thine, sweet fountain-fair, but fleeting too.