The Wanderer to her Child. Grahame. 214 Morning Thoughts.. .J. Montgomery. 214 Bernardo del Carpio.. Mrs. Hemans. 215 Animals in a State of Nature .J. Montgomery. 218 London at Sunrise Wordsworth. 220 On a Sleeping Infant Original. 221 The Worm 221 Sabbath Enjoyments.. R. Montgomery. 222 The City of Benares Miss Landon. 223 The Ship at Anchor Carrington. 224 The Thorn .Wordsworth, 225 The Fisherman. Barry Cornwall. 228 Conscience.. .J. Montgomery. 229 The Drum .I. Scott. 230 Man Immortal ..J. Montgomery. 230 The Flowers of the Field prove God's Existence Dr. Good. 231 The Yew-Tree Seat Wordsworth. 232 The Minstrel . Sir W. Scott. 233 A Storm Southey. 234 Exercise promotes Health Thompson. 235 Alexander the Great at the Tomb of Cyrus Asiatic Journal. 236 Morning.. Blanchard. 239 Evening ..ditto. 239 The Dying Child Miss Landon. 240 POETIC GEMS. THE BETTER LAND. “ I HEAR thee speak of the better land; Thou callest its children a happy band; boughs?” _“Not there, not there, my child ?" “ Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies? -“Not there, not there, my child ?” “ Is it far away, in some region old, , Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold ?- strand ?- -“Not there, not there, my child ?” “ Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy! Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy; B Dreams cannot picture a world so fair- Mrs. Hemans. THE FIRST GRAVE. The following pathetic little poem was written on the circum stance of the first grave being formed in the churchyard of In this unbroken ground, Are lingering around. How utterly alone Not one familiar tone: All but the distant sky- When the dark winds pass’d by: My lip has gasp'd for breath; The solitude of death ! How sunder human ties, When round the silent place of rest A gather'd kindred lies. And watch each quiet tomb; Solemnity, not gloom : The hope that is of prayer; And pious faith are there. And many a stone appears, Wet with affection's tears. Is loos’d, not rent in twain; To bring the past again. With no remembering stone, No fellow-graves for sympathy 'Tis utterly alone. I do not know who sleeps beneath, His history or name He is in death the same : The last leaf on the bough; Is weeping for him now. Perhaps this is too fanciful : Though single be his sod, The presence of his God. But yet its kindliest, best; It could be less represt. Man closer with his kind- The music which they find. How many a pang 'twould save, L, E. L. MEMORY. Oft in our peaceful home, that shelter'd nest, |