GENIUS. THERE is a certain charm about great superiority of intellect, that winds into deep afflictions, which a much more constant and even amiability of manners, in lesser men, often fails to reach. Genius makes many enemies, but it makes sure friends friends who forgive much, who endure long, who exact little; they partake of the character of disciples as well as friends. There lingers about the human heart a strong inclination to look upward, to revere: in this inclination lies the source of religion, of loyalty, and also of the worship and immortality which are rendered so cheerfully to the great of old. And, in truth, it is a divine pleasure to admire! admiration seems, in some measure, to appropriate to ourselves the qualities it honors in others. We wed ·we root ourselves to the natures we so love to contemplate, and their life grows a part of our own. FEW and precious are the words which the lips of Wisdom utter. To what shall their rarity be likened? What price shall count their worth? They be chance pearls, flung among the rocks by the sullen waters of Oblivion, which Diligence loveth to gather and hang round the neck of Memory; they be white-winged seeds of happiness, wafted from the islands of the blessed, which Thought carefully tendeth, in the kindly garden of the heart; they be sproutings of an harvest for eternity, bursting through the tilth of time, green promise of the golden wheat, that yieldeth angel's food; they be drops of the crystal dew, which the wings of seraphs scatter, when on some brighter Sabbath their plumes quiver most with delight. NOTICES. 1 We have received from the publisher a work called "Riches of Grace." It contains the experiences of different minds on the subject of religion. Many of these narrations are clothed in great beauty of style - all of them bear the marks of genuine piety. No one can read them without an earnest wish that the spirit which breathes in every line might animate his own soul. The work is edited by Rev. D. S. KING, and published by G. C. RAND & Co. THE SWISS BOY'S FAREWELL TO THE RHONE. BY MISS H. J. WOODMAN. [See Plate.] I must depart! Thou brightly flowing stream, And when an exile, weary, sick and lone, Unto the life I loathe, whose shadows round me lie. Oh, glorious river! famed in years of eld, Morning's serenest beauty wakes for thee, Most dazzlingly the noon-tide rays descend, For thee night opens her cerulean sea, While stars the brightest, on thy course attend; All Nature lays its tribute at thy feet, Why should thy child withhold his guerdon meet? A long farewell! With pilgrim staff in hand Slowly I turn, to see thee never more, When my feet wander in a stranger land, Full many a thought shall sweep the ocean o'er' And rest upon thy banks. Thy murmurs then Shall fill the city's paths, or wood, or glen. For the Ladies' Casket. THE GUARDIAN'S DAUGHTER. BY CAMILLA. Chapter Second. SOME months after the conversation recorded in the foregoing chapter, Edmund Conway was seated in a pleasant apartment, in a fashionable hotel in London, listlessly turning over the leaves of a book, and occasionally glancing out of the window, while his whole air betokened that he was suffering from a fit of ennui. At last he rose, and flinging aside the book, he opened the window, and looked out. I re A lady, passing, attracted his attention for a moment. "If Amy were but in town!" he exclaimed; "or if these lawyers would not keep me from accompanying her! Heigho! member wishing in my boyhood," he continued, speaking half aloud, "that I had nothing to do; but for these last two years, I have had a surfeit of that luxury. Well, I will call on Moreton; his entertaining conversation will at least serve to pass away an hour or two. He may have heard of Herbert, too; and I long to know if he is yet married. Ah, Bertie and I may both say with Signior Benedick, When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live to be married.'” He left the house, and directed his steps to the hotel where Moreton resided. Entering his friend's room, with the freedom of an intimate acquaintance, he started with surprise. A young lady was seated on the sofa reading, and bending over her, with a look and attitude expressive of the most devoted affection-Was it possible? Conway's sudden exclamation caused the readers to look up, and the recognition was instant and delightful. "Herbert!" "Edmund! "" "But how came you in London, Bertie ?" inquired Conway, when the first affectionate greetings were over. "And why do you in Moreton's sanctum ?" I find "How came I here? By the last steamer. And why am I in this room? Because no other parlor was disengaged, and Moreton kindly offered to resign his for the few days we remain. But you? I thought you were in Germany." Edmund laughed and colored slightly as he answered, "Oh, 't is a long story; I will tell it you some other time.. But a glance at the lady completed the sentence. "Excuse my forgetfulness; permit me to introduce you to Mrs. Carlton. She has too often heard me speak of you, to consider you as a stranger. So delighted was Edmund at the unexpected meeting, and so charmed with the grace and intelligence of his friend's wife, that he prolonged his stay, as he himself said, in utter defiance of all politeness; but when he took leave, Herbert rose to accompany him. 6 "I will walk home with you, Ned; we may have other engagements to-morrow, and I, at least, am determined to make the most of present opportunities. My curiosity is excited, too, respecting the long story' of which you speak. Nay, no speeches like that take me away from Mrs. Carlton, indeed! Why, Emmeline will be perfectly delighted to be relieved from my presence a few hours." 666 Emmeline,' is it?" said Conway to himself. what he has done with his guardian's daughter?" "I wonder He asked no questions, however, until they reached his own apartment, when he summoned his servant, and giving directions to let no one interrupt them, scarcely waited for the man to leave the room, before he exclaimed, "Now, Herbert, tell me the sequel of your love story. Out with it, man! I am dying with curiosity." 66 "I have seen it in your eyes these two hours," returned the laughing Herbert; " and it was with the charitable design of bringing you back to life, by relieving your curiosity, that I proposed to accompany you home. Where shall I begin my narrative?" 66 Oh, where you left it some six months ago; but first answer me one question. Miss Irving is she alive and well?" A peculiar smile played upon Herbert's lip as he answered. "She is, and married. Happily, I believe," he added, anticipating the question Conway was about to utter. "Her former partiality for me, at least, whether it was real or fancied, does not interfere with her present happiness. But I will tell you more of her by-and-bye; where was I in my love story, as you call it, when you left for Europe?” "In the midst of perplexity, because Miss Irving was determined to have you, and you were determined to have Miss Maurice. Pray hasten your tale." "Very well; I was, you may remember, about to write to Mr. Irving, declaring my sentiments with reference to the union he proposed; but, having an unfortunate habit of delaying disagreeable tasks as long as possible, I deferred it from day to day, and from week to week. At last a letter came from my guardian; he was very ill, not expecting to recover, and desired me instantly to come to Thorndale. Of course, I could not refuse, and a few days saw me at my guardian's door. I was evidently expected, and all civilities were offered, but I saw neither Mr. Irving nor his daughter. Her master was too ill, the house-keeper said, to see me that day, and Miss Louise was exhausted by her care and fatigue. She had devoted herself to her father until her own strength failed, and even now she scarce allowed any one to attend him during the days, save herself." "No wonder she did n't wish to see you, then. No lady should ever be visible after playing the nurse. But go on." course. 6 "The day after my arrival, Mr. Irving sent for me, and I was shocked at the change in his appearance. I had no idea until that moment, how ill he had been, and I suppose my countenance expressed my feelings. Ah, my son,' said he, taking my hand, 'you did not expect to find me so near the end of my But I am ready to go - I have not one care.' He looked earnestly in my face as he uttered the last words, and I stammered a few sentences, expressive of my desire to gratify him in any thing that I could. Then you will make my poor Louise happy?' he said. I thank you, Herbert; I know no one on whom I would so willingly bestow her. But one wordshe does not know she must not know that I made this pro |